Year 8 English CEAP Advertisements.

This term, the Year 8 English cohort conducted an analysis of visual language techniques using advertisements. As part of this task, the CEAP cohort designed and pitched their own advertisements to their peers. Take a look at the amazing creations they came up with!

Year 11 VCE Literature Gothic Genre Study.

Inspired by famous Gothic authors like Edgar Allan Poe and Daphne DuMaurier, the Year 11 VCE Literature students were asked to closely study the writing style, elements, and conventions common to this genre before innovating with them to craft a unique creative response. The focus text for the unit was Rebecca – a psychological thriller which unravels the mystery of a young woman’s obsession with her husband’s first wife.

Throughout the term, students were provided with Gothic inspired image prompts as well as quotes from Rebecca to encourage experimentation with structure, language, and grammar in their writing. They worked incredibly hard to produce quality samples for feedback before crafting their assessment piece. Take a look at some of the writing below from our incredibly talented students!

“Tap-tap-tap. Frozen in my tracks. Heart racing.

Without wasting another second, I duck down.

Tap-tap-tap. Blood dripping echos through the night.

Who was that?

Complete silence now – nothing other than the tap-tap-tap.

It’s sickening really, feeling so hopeless.”

“I ran and I ran and I ran, my feet getting heavier with every step. My lungs start to hurt with every sharp breath my body takes, my hair falls in my face, and my dress trips me up.

“Somebody help me!” I cried.

I reach a pair of stairs and begin my descent. I don’t dare look over my shoulder, I keep running. Forward. Fast. Alone. My body is tired, I can’t breathe, I know I must run away. Across the gravestones I jump, like a game of hopscotch, rocks falling with every shift of weight. Across the lawn, avoiding grass, through the gates. When do I stop? Do I stop? How far must I run? The moon glows, almost taunting me, the night getting darker with every minute I move.

Stop.

Look.

Stare.

DEAD.”

“Standing there; emotionless…

A warning – a threat – a guide?

Fog sweeps the ground. Still.

Leaves and bark crunch. Still.

Trees sway.

Still.”

“At first I despised the notion. My skin would crawl at the thought of such violence. Yet in the back of my mind, I craved the power one would attain from snatching the life from the clutches of another’s cold, dead hands. Thoughts like these were the ones that pushed me into self-isolation, to restrain my murderous urges. The feelings of guilt worked well in encasing the twisted violent mind beneath. My own scared mind would stop me from committing an action that would haunt my soul even after death.”

“Just then I saw her. Who – how – where did she come from? Where did she go? Go, go, go, run, run, run away – stay out – stay gone. Go away. Do not come back. Why? Why? Why? She’ll get you. You must run, run, run, go, go, go away. She may find you. Snap of twigs – soft whispers. Stop, stop, stop breathing. Stop running. Start counting. Don’t move. Call mum – police – sister – wife – someone help. That’s not counting, but I need help, but you stopped counting. Hot breath, shivering. Don’t twitch – breath – speak. Don’t die, don’t blink. It’s not just her anymore."

Camp Rumbug