Why I Give Sample Answers

Sample answers are the best possible ways to study for english essays, compiled with actually writing the answers based on these essays yourself. 

When I was practicing for the SAT, I had to work on my essays. Sure, the techniques definitely helped me, but what pushed me above average was the fact that I could compare my essays to the full-scoring essays. It allowed me to critically analyze the problems with my essay and fix them, know exactly what my answer should look like, and bridge the gap between my essay and the model answers.

Without tutors, without external graders, without anything else, except for a good strategy and the sample answers, I obtained a 24/24 on the essay. And I'm no natural writer. 

My sample answers aren't a guide on their own - you need to use them to develop a strategy that you will consistently use for all the descriptive essays, after trial and error of what you feel will work. Then, use them to compare your essays to mine - have they reached this benchmark?

Moving on to Paper 3, Question 1

Now that descriptive writing is over and done with, I'm moving on to question 1 of Paper 3. Here, a passage is given and it involves writing a letter to a person that explains certain aspects of the passage whilst revolving around the main point, such as advantages, disadvantages, a final choice, and goes into further detail to develop these points.

My answer to a recent paper, from the following sources:

http://www.cie.org.uk/images/148848-0500-specimen-paper-3-2015.pdf

http://www.cie.org.uk/images/147702-specimen-paper-3-insert-2015.pdf

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Imagine that your aunt and uncle are considering educating your cousin at home and have asked for your views. Your cousin is an only child and, in your opinion, rather spoilt. Y/15/SIN3

Write a letter to your aunt and uncle in which you should explain:

• the advantages of being home schooled

• the reasons why home-schooling may not be advisable

• why you would or would not recommend home-schooling for your cousin.

Base your letter on the fact file and the magazine article, but be careful to use your own words. Address each of the three bullets. Begin your letter: ‘Dear Aunt and Uncle…’.

Write about 250 to 350 words. Up to 10 marks are available for the content of your answer, and up to 15 marks for the quality of your writing.

Dear Aunt and Uncle,

I’m pleased that you are looking for the best schooling option for Robert - education, of course, not only builds up a child academically, but also builds their personality. Home-schooling is not something to looked down on - it’s simply another way for a child to approach studies individually. If Robert chose this path, he would not be constricted by the mundane load of schoolwork, exams, and deadlines, rather, he could focus on aspects that he has a predilection toward, and take initiative to pursue them. Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be alone in this endeavor - there are organizations that bring together other home-schooled students for trips to museums, and group projects. These establishments could in turn respond to any questions Robert has, piquing his dying interest in education, and persuading him to go to university.

Nonetheless, you are sure to have some justified worries. The paucity of social gatherings, like at school, can curtail the development of Robert’s genial personality, especially since he is not one to be motivated and pursue this. Moreover, Robert, truth be told, is quite the hedonist and will forgo self-discipline for months in front of the television, losing out on physical activity and becoming as lethargic as a sloth. It’s difficult to obtain qualifications that would be appreciated by universities, many of whom say they do not discriminate based on homeschooling, but in spite of this, do. You, too, will have to cooperate, aiding Robert when necessary, so patience and tenacity are needed from your side.

You will need to ask yourself: why are you making this change? Is Robert performing poorly in his studies now? Has his school been closed down? The freedom that Robert welcomes at home may not be in his best interest, and rather than being diligent, he may take advantage of the situation. Although you may think there is no extra cost, depending on Robert’s strength in studies, you will have to consider hiring tutors for a multitude of subjects. He will likely need the constant reminder of tests and schoolwork to be focused. You could try home-schooling during the summer, letting him pursue his own interests and see how he responds to being a maverick (likely to be negatively). If you see downfall, go back to school.

Sincerely,

[Your name]

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How exactly did I go about writing this? What were the steps that I took? What are essential things I must include? I'll go over all of this in the next post. Till then, you now know exactly what an answer looks like, what your goal should be. Keep this in mind.

DAY 7, ESSAY #7

Describe a market place or a busy street that you know. [25]

The farmer’s market, located in the center of the city, was the perfect getaway from the towering skyscrapers, the honking of cars, and the crowding city centers. Entering the market, Laura was bombarded with the smells; the sharp cinnamon and cayenne poking her nose, the pungent meats causing her pinch her nose, the muddy odor from leafy vegetables and ripening fruits. She heard the clucking chickens and the callings of the vendors, the county band playing country music and the constant low chatter of the first-comers. The sun had just broken out, blessing the treetops, and so the market had begun. 

Stepping inside, the troubles of the city seemed to be washed away by the freeing wind. The booths were lined in a neat rows, which had looked like building blocks from the top of Laura’s apartment. She strolled around, taking her time to peek at each stall; this day was marked in her calendar four times a month, every Saturday. 

An old woman was selling varieties of honey. Her face was wrinkled, but experienced, from the years in the honey field. She gave a knowing nod to Laura as she poured the thick, gold liquid into a tasting sample, oozing out of the jars. Laura licked it and let the sweet, sticky substance envelop her into a feeling of total relaxation. 

Laura sifted through the fruits in a nearby stall, the ripe strawberries, cherries, oranges, and bananas, smiled back at her with their beautiful array of colors that were hard to gain in the dull city. She handled them carefully, and couldn’t wait to savour each one when she got home. A mother and her daughter had come to the stall. The daughter slept soundly on her mother’s shoulder as she softly completed all of her grocery shopping - the girl didn’t stir even once.

The pie vendor swiftly turned around as Laura called her name. Laura’s mouth began to water as she stared at the peach, pecan, blueberry, and cherry pies. The man smiled at her - his young face amid the general crowd was refreshing, as he had only recently joined the market. His apron was stained with colors of blue, brown, and pink, as though he had been painting.

The barks of dogs interrupted her stroll around the market. Each one seemed happy as it wagged its tail from side to side, their coats were shiny and soft. The crowd was thickening; joggers from their morning run began to come in like ants returning to their anthill. The sun rose overhead, shining fiercely into what had been another wonderful day.

DAY 6, ESSAY #6

You discover an old photograph album that has been hidden away for many years. Describe the album and what you find in it. [25]

Boxes were strewn here and there, waiting for old memories to be placed carefully into them. I sat down on the bare ground in the middle of the mess - books and clothes and collectables were scattered everywhere - the old teak furniture had been packed away. As I sifted through each item, I suddenly noticed an old, leather album. Sweeping the dust away carefully with a damp, dirty rag, it had dawned on me that this book had belonged to my grandmother, who had passed away. 

The thick hazel album had been carefully preserved over decades. I flipped open the cover, and stared at ancient black and white photograph of our house. The family stood in front of the house with smiles on our faces - my old, although adventurous grandma with her wiry hair, my grandfather with his stoic expression (with a hint of a smile), my mother standing confidently in front of them (holding me), and my father shyly to the side. It was as if I could still feel the warm, soft clothes of my mother. The page was still crisp and white, without any signs of weathering over time. 

Moving through the pages, I watched the story of my family unfold. Black and white slowly turned into clearer, crisper, brighter colors, but our story didn’t. The pages became crinkly and torn, creased and folded. My grandfather’s casket lay on a bed of white roses as we stood and stared solemnly at it. My father surrounded by and poring over newspaper listings, with his frayed and messy black hair. My mother lain strewn on a stained couch, seemingly dulled by the images on the screen. But soon, came more colorful decorations, and with them more delicate leafs of paper. Our birthdays were celebrated with great vigor - colors and decorations, friends and family. The birthday cake glowed like a light in dark times, and the sounds of everyone clapping and laughing, the taste of the butterscotch cake, smell of pizza came back to me.

Finally, I reached the last page, my grandmother’s final message. I looked at the way we laughed on the warm summer day, sitting on the country veranda, eating delicious orange popsicles on the fourth of July, while watching the fireworks work their magical colors. I almost turned around to point out the picture to her, but stopped half way. The light outside had faded away, and the house was in the same state as in the morning. Soon, it would be empty, leaving only the memories it created inside.

DAY 5, ESSAY #5

Describe a town or city centre in the early hours of the morning. [25]

The sun shone its way through and penetrated the heavy, cold darkness, transforming the black sky slowly into a baby blue, like watercolors washing away the wintery world with warmth. Only the toughest of the worker bees buzz around at the untimely hour, the rest sound asleep in the hive, lost in their dreams. Slowly, one by one, the dark windows of the towering, grey buildings turn white and bright, eager to begin a new day. 

It was as though someone had begun to sprinkle the city with a box of sugar overnight, but the lid had come off in the process. White and soft, the fragile substance belies its cruel nature, coating every niche and corner. The revving of its engine and the whoosh of the snow signal the monster plow’s victory as it mows its way through the barren streets, welcomed by those few who drove along in their multi-colored mechanisms. The tall, leaning streetlights awaited to be relieved from their heavy shift, breaking the ice-cold with their humming radiance.

A crowd formed. On the street corner, yawns hopped from men to women to children, their rosy-red cheeks protesting the motion, covering their chapped mouths with their numbed fingers. The frigid cold teased and bit at their noses, threatened to soak straight into their bones. Although the drink burnt, each sip fed the furnace inside; the strong smell of cacao beans accompanied a warm mist from hands of a few. Bright red changes to green, and away they rush. 

Stepping into routine, cafe owners turn their welcome signs, switch on the lights, start up their kitchens. Sticky and syrupy waffles, sizzling hot omelets, strong punching coffee waft onto the streets, beckoning passersby, awaiting the chattering and gossiping of the day. The sun hits the streets, and business begins. Like a river, the line moves along, a seemingly endless supply of workers rushing to start the day, from entry to order to exit. The taste of soothing chocolate chip muffins, the nutritiously delightful eggs and sandwiches; the sight of the Starry Night hanging on the pastel colored walls; the melody of the jazz music played are ignored by the rush - for work.

Mellow orange and pink ribbons of light decorate the sky as white, migrating birds fly in a “v” across the backdrop. The snow-coated city shimmers with the rising sun, which soothes it into action.

DAY 4, ESSAY #4

Describe a party in full swing, and then what the place is like when all the visitors have gone home. [25]

Flowing from the stereo, the beats of music bumped and thumped up and down, the disco-jockey directing the dancer’s drops and dives. Cups of fizzy, mellow orange soda sloshed from side to side as arms waved and swayed, the sweet, tangy liquid gulped down in a frenzy before heads push through the squashed crowd to reach out at the punch table, where the aroma of cheesy Cheetos, salty potato chips, sour yet tangy ranch and hot cheesy pizza wafted into the stuffy, warm air. 

The comfy cornflower couch was crammed with countless numbers packed in a chattering crowd, each one seeming to croon to the music, like parrots squawking constantly. Spots of multi-colored red, green, blue light whirled and gleamed against the shiny make-up lathered on their faces and the slick gel in their hair as they stomped their high heels and flat Converse to the blasting music. Sharp darts and round rubber balls moved across the room, accompanied by an “ooh” or “aah” each time one landed. Eyelids closing heavily, I drifted off into an elusive dream, like a puppy taking a short nap after rampant playtime. 

Suddenly, the thud of the door shook me awake to reality - echoing through the empty hall, breaking the eerie silence, complementing the chilly air drifting in from the half-open window. Bleach! The pungent after-taste dwelling in mouth couldn’t nearly be soothed by the chunks left on the messy paper plates scattered on the floor, neither could it be assuaged by the pools of brown and yellow liquid on the table that had lost their fizz.

I gauged each step through the fur hats and coats lying strewn, goosebumps forming on my arms at the thought that each one might snap and bounce to life. Steadily, sunlight began to pour through the window, illuminating in a bright, mellow light, revealing the aftermath of the quake of a party. It was seldom when quiet moments occurred, as rare as a four-leafed clover. It’s always good to celebrate, but sometimes it’s good to be left to one’s own thoughts - and not a mess left to clean!

DAY 3, ESSAY #3

Describe your feelings and reactions when you realize you have lost a very important item. [25]

I kept glancing at the bleachers, craning my neck over the bouncing pool of people, like a gazelle flinching to the slightest movement in the tall, dancing prairie grass. ‘The safest spot’ Elaine had said, the stronghold safe, where nothing could penetrate - laying in the gaps between the planks of metal was my black, leathery purse. That shiny penny’s buckle gleamed against the spots of flashing multicolored disco lights. 

Each jerk and kick, each twist and turn towards the right hand, upper corner of the wall of the metal acted as an impetus to my countless worried grimaces, my popping eyes, my hand reaching absently at my side, longing for the reassuring ‘click’ of the clip’s closing. The sloshing, fruity punch could wet it, the cheesy, saucy pizza could blemish it, and the harsh beats of the pounding music could only shatter it, leaving only a tainted white sand. 

Shrill screams rang out, bursts of long wails like lava oozing out of a trembling volcano. I ran at the speed of light, sprang with kangaroo feet, reaching and clawing into the depths of the vast emptiness, only to abandon my heart and let it sink into the depths of guilt. Using my mellifluous voice, I persuaded my friends to  into an intensive search party, but somehow I heard barking, coarse screeches parting from my matted lips as I awkwardly scooted on the cold, bare ground, running my hands over each diminutive nook and cranny. 

As I closed my eyes, pictures began to emerge - father handing it to me, a small cemetery, and raindrops blending in with the tears on my cheek as I carefully clasped it in my hands. I pinched myself once, twice - leaving not this nightmare but a red bruise in its place. The empty hands of my returning team caused eyeliner to streak down, staining my beautiful white dress. I had left no stone unturned. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, adamant to either fly away from mother’s soft, disappointing eyes, or fight the damned figure swinging the golden chains of my priceless purse. My eyes blazed in fury, seeking revenge.