Nic

**Distinction between the classes. ** She awakes from her deep slumber, and she gracefully arises from her caven of bedclothes. He got up. After her regal bathing, she dresses in her robe and glides toward her dressing room. He put on his rag. Her assistants dress in her grand linens and perfect her hair and make-up. He splashed water on his face. Her chair at the dining table was pulled out for her, her napkin laid across her lap. He lined up for rations. Her breakfast spread was laid out for her, she made her selections, and ate quite calmly. He scoffed down his rations. She arose from the table, ordered the staff to clean after her, and strode out of the room. He began work. She took a leisurely stroll in her gardens, admiring her work, then retired for tea. He slaved away. She attended her society dinner on her lovers arm, and next moved on to her bed chamber. <span style="font-family: 'Arial Rounded MT Bold','sans-serif'; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">He still worked. <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif';">She slept, eye ask covering her eyes and a gentle fragrance in the air. <span style="font-family: 'Arial Rounded MT Bold','sans-serif'; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">He slept. **<span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif';">Fear First and Third Person ** <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">She stood in the corner of the room, away from the others. She held herself, and kept telling herself that everything will work out. <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Make it stop. My jaw is clenched, my palms are moist and I can’t seem to stand still. I keep telling myself I can do this, but the pain in my stomach is holding me back. **__<span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A man in New York. __** <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The man stands in his jacket and scarf, his moustache keeping his upper lip from quivering, the locks of grimy grey hair flicker in the January winter cold. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he thinks, how am I going to keep this up? The workers leave their offices from across Park Avenue, the man watches them. I bet you they can pay the bills, he reckons. He slams the window of his pretzel cart of which he makes his living off to support his family living in one of the boroughs in the city. His anger is swallowed up in the sounds of traffic, and his emotions are lost in the waves of people, bustling along the promenade. **<span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif';">The three things that I have learnt. ** <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One. The four stages to story writing (preparation, first draft, re-writing, production) <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Two. Instead of saying that they are heroic, write a scene that shows they are. <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Three. Demonstrate character through emotions, talk and thoughts. <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif';">The newspaper article. <span style="font-family: 'Cambria','serif';">A pair of thermals, two pairs of Dobson’s trackies, one t-shirt and flanny and then a sloppy Joe, a hoodie, a knitted woollen jumper, imported from Nepal, a pair of rainbow gloves and my new beanie from my best friend was my attire for the Wednesday of our Writers Workshop camp. I sat shivering, looking like I weighed about 25 kilos in a pair of new orange slippers. It would be an understatement to say that it was a struggle to write under the tin roof, which pattered with rain, without relief. But some work was accomplished, and the blow heater which resided in cabin seven came as a comfort, and all the chills from earlier were forgotten.