Sally Jones - The Art Gallery. Brush Up On Your Writing Skills

Title Page

Creative Writing Tutor

THE ART GALLERY

by

Sally Jones and Amanda Jones

Publisher Information

Published by GUINEA PIG EDUCATION

2 Cobs Way

New Haw, Addlestone

Surrey, KT15 3AF

www.guineapigeducation.co.uk

Digital edition converted and distributed in 2013 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

Copyright 2011, 2013 Sally A Jones and Amanda C Jones

This pack may not under any circumstances be photocopied, without the prior consent of the publisher.

Choose a topic and start to practise writing. Each booklet has a theme to help you start to write...stories, reports, articles, letters and many more. Start collecting them now.

Guinea Pig Creative Writing booklets also provide extra practice for children who have completed:

- Creative Story Writing

- Persuasive Writing & Argument

- Information Writing

They are for children who are working at Key Stage 2 of the National Curriculum, levels 3-5 (in Years 5 and 6 of primary school), children who are working at Key Stage 3, levels 3-5 (Years 7 and 8 of Secondary School). They provide practice for all 9-13 year olds, especially children taking 11+ examinations.

First things first...

Lets learn to write fiction.

When you write fiction, you must:

• Decide who will be your audience?
• Think of different genres - realistic, detective, ghost, gothic horror.
• Ask what is the purpose of my writing?

When you write to entertain , remember that you must :

• Have an interesting opening and a memorable ending
• Have good characters, setting and plot
• Build up suspense
• Use dialogue - to move the story along
• Use a variety of simple, compound and complex sentences

Plan Your Fiction Writing

PARAGRAPH 1

• Start with a memorable first sentence to make the reader want to read on.
• Introduce the characters and the setting.
• Introduce the plot.

PARAGRAPH 2

• Develop the plot.
• What might happen to trigger off a series of events?
• Build up suspense.

PARAGRAPH 3

• Wind up your story with a good ending. In the resolution you will have solved all the problems.
• It could be happy, sad, a cliff hanger (which leaves the reader to make up his or her own mind), or a moral ending
• Have a memorable final sentence.

Write

• in FIRST PERSON, so you are the main character telling the story (using I or we).
• or
• in THIRD PERSON (using he or she) as if you were a fly watching from the wall.

Remember:

• Use connectives or conjunctions:
  • and or but (to join compound sentences)
  • or, so, if, when, while, after, before, because, unless, until, whereas, although (to join complex sentences)
  • use pronouns - who, which, whose, what, that
  • to link ideas use - firstly, later, therefore, on the other hand, at that moment, by this time, next, soon...
• Use a range of sentences - simple, compound and complex sentences
• Use we to identify with the reader.
• Use you for second person - in persuasive pieces and to speak directly to the reader.

The Art Gallery

Every year, the city gallery held an art exhibition, but I only remember one of them because it still haunts me. The exhibition presented a collection of famous paintings, old masters by painters who lived over four hundred years ago. I was dragged round it by Uncle Jim and my sister Kath because they were both crazy about art. I pretended to be interested in those old paintings, (though history was my least favourite subject). Can you imagine the scene in the gallery? There were crowds of people, walking round as slow as snails, taking ten minutes to study each painting. I was staring reluctantly at some old canvases, which portrayed strange people in weird, old-fashioned costumes. They were sitting in rooms as dark as pitch, full of antique furnishings. Through the windows of their houses, I saw a landscape stretching into nothingness, which consisted of green trees, rolling hills and a grey lake. Seriously, how could they lead a happy life in those places: with no technology, no cars, planes or computers? Thats why I stared blankly at each canvas, pretending to be interested, but thinking about the burger and chips they served in the restaurant.

I jumped the queue of art connoisseurs and wandered off on my own. Uncle Jim and Kathryn were being annoying, ambling round so slowly, commenting on every little detail in each painting. I wanted to move quickly, so I could get to the caf. Anyway, what harm could come to me in here? I left the main hall and entered a small side room. Immediately, I sensed it had a mysterious atmosphere; it was strangely empty. There was only one painting on the end wall. The artist had painted a scene of a rich family, (a duke and duchess and their kids perhaps), eating a lavish feast. The food was set out on a huge table, lit by a giant candelabrum. The flickering flames of the candles lit up the pale, sad faces of the people at the table. It lit the faces of the musicians who were entertaining them. One man was dressed in a clowns costume. Satisfied, that I had learnt enough about the life of these people, I turned to go.

At that moment, I heard a low voice. It was hardly audible, but it was calling my name. Come closer Stephen, it croaked like a toad. I want to have a word with you. I turned round, expecting to see the curator, but to my surprise there was no one there. Was the voice coming from the painting? NO of course not! I dismissed this crazy thought instantly, until I caught the eye of the ominous looking clown in the painting. He fixed his gaze on me. His mouth twitched. His thin bony finger beckoned me to come closer. In a mad moment, I went over to him and stared up into those sad, black eyes.

I have a proposition to make to you boy. Yes, you down there. I stared dumbfounded. Why dont we swap places, you and me? You can come into my seventeenth century world and wear this ridiculous costume and Ill be a modern boy. I stood speechless trying to grasp what was happening. Before I could reply, to my absolute horror, he started to move slowly, very slowly from his position, No, no, no, I stammered the modern world is stressful, theres pollution... our technology breaks down... Youd need loads of money. But, he was clambering down from the painting, reaching out for my arm to help him down. Suddenly, the movement caused the painting to tip. Then it crashed down. BANG! It fell on the floor. It smashed in several pieces. My head was spinning and I was falling, falling

Alerted by the security alarm (that goes off automatically if a valuable painting is touched), the curator strolled briskly into the room, Whats going on he demanded to know? That painting is priceless. How did it fall? Ill call the police It just fell off the wall, insisted a man with a soft croaky voice, and I think it may have bumped this young man. I found myself sitting on the floor, dazed from a bump on my head. Uncle Jim and Kath were fussing over me; someone was applying first aid, Are you sure youre all right? asked the soft voiced man, staring down at me with a weird expression. Was that a twinkle in his eye? He bore an uncanny resemblance to somebody familiar, but after the bump on my head I felt confused. Who is he, I pondered? I watched him leave by the exit and he went out into the real world.