Introduction

Question 5 of GCSE English Language Paper 1 asks you to either write a piece of narrative writing or a piece of descriptive writing. It is worth noting that, regardless of which question you choose, the foundational principles of good writing still apply – you will include elements of description in the narrative writing question and elements of narrative writing in the descriptive writing question.

Paper 1 Question 5 is the extended writing question. It is your opportunity to write at length in an imaginative and creative way. The question is always linked in some way to the reading on Section A and you can use similar techniques in your own writing as inspiration. AO5 focuses on your ideas, the content, the organisation of these and the style of your writing. AO6 focuses on  your spelling, punctuation and grammar, as well as your use of ambitious vocabulary. This question is worth 50% of the total marks available on this paper. Make sure you leave enough time to answer it in full. 45 minutes is a good benchmark for time on this question.

The Assessment Objectives for Question 5 are AO5 and AO6:

AO5 (24 marks)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences

• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts

AO6 (16 marks)

• Use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation

Synopsis

Question 5:

• Writing Question

• 40 marks

• Write between two and three pages of A4

• 45 minutes

Question 5 is your opportunity to show your examiners your creative and imaginative mind. This means utilising your understanding of what makes fiction effective; you must interest your reader by producing a cohesive and fluent piece of creative writing. 

Remember, all writers plan their writing in order to ensure that the reader thinks and feels certain emotions whilst they read. By the time you answer Question 5, you will have read a good example of creative writing in the reading section of the paper. You can use the ideas and structure to influence your writing. You can also use it to influence your ideas about plot, setting and character. These are the three central components to great creative writing.

To achieve success on Question 5:

• Plan what you will write about and the order you will write it in

• Aim to write between two and three pages of A4 – it’s about both quality and quantity.

• Consider how you will make your characters engaging through good description

• Consider what your setting will be and how you will use it to create a particular mood

• Use a variety of methods in order to add to this feeling

The creative writing question assesses your ability to create a convincing piece of either narrative writing or descriptive writing. Here is an example of the kind of question you might be asked:

Your local magazine is in charge of a creative writing competition.

Either 

Describe a journey by train as suggested by this picture.

Or

Write a story about a person with an interesting background.

You have a choice of two tasks – you can also choose to combine the two questions. As mentioned earlier, regardless of which question you choose, the foundational principles of good writing still apply – you will include elements of description in the narrative writing question and elements of narrative writing in the descriptive writing question.

Plot:

Before you start to write your answer to this question, plan your response. This will allow you to create a well-connected plot. Make sure you include how your story will end so that you have something to aim for. The character you introduce will help drive your story forward. It’s up to you whether your ending is positive or negative; there are no extra marks for picking one or the other. The simplest way to structure your answer is by using Freytag’s Pyramid:

Exposition – Introduce Setting

Focus on one main setting and start at the location.

If you’re using the image to inspire you, pick four sections of the setting and use those as the basis for your description.

It is generally easier to write in the first person and describe what you can ‘see’.
Use the five senses to create a particular mood – this mood should reflect the eventual mood of your character.

Inciting incident – this is a moment of narrative that ‘starts the story’ – this could be the arrival of your character.

Rising Action – Introduce Character

Build tension and interest in this section by introducing and describing your character – how do I show my examiner what my character looks like in first person? Have them walk by a mirror, puddle or reflection and note the way you appear.

Climax – Introduce Obstacle

The obstacle is something that your character must overcome – it could ben an external problem (like a bridge that they cannot cross) or an internal problem (like whether to reveal a secret).

Falling Action – Return To Character

Here, we should see the consequences of the decision that the character makes regarding the obstacle.

We can also develop further examples of characterisation – by exploring the thoughts and feelings that the character is experiencing

Resolution – Conclude Your Story

It is generally best to resolve your story – by having the character reflect on what they have been through

You could also return to the setting you introduced in the opening – and describing it in slightly different ways, influenced by the events – similarly, you could change the atmosphere.

Setting:

Since this task assesses your ability to communicate clearly, effectively, and imaginatively, it’s crucial to consider how language can shape atmosphere and mood in a short story. One of the most effective ways to achieve this is through setting.

Setting and Character Mood

Your setting should reflect your main character’s emotions—this technique, known as pathetic fallacy, mirrors a character’s mood in their surroundings. For example, describing “a lonely road” can reinforce feelings of isolation.

As your story progresses, your setting may evolve alongside your character’s emotions. Contrasting scenes can enhance storytelling and engage the reader. For instance, your story might begin on a bright, sunny afternoon but shift to darkness as the sun sets or a storm rolls in. Whatever contrast you choose, ensure it aligns with your character’s mood.

Building an Effective Setting

The strongest responses establish a vivid setting before introducing characters or events. To make your setting immersive:

• Use sensory details—describe light, darkness, colors, sounds, smells, and weather to bring the environment to life.

• `Dedicate an entire paragraph to setting description before introducing other elements, preventing reader confusion.

• Ensure all descriptive language maintains a consistent mood—avoid conflicting imagery. For example, “The graveyard was dark, cold, and smelled like fragrant flowers” creates a jarring contrast that confuses the reader.

Keeping the Reader Engaged

Don’t reveal everything at once! A well-crafted setting should intrigue your reader, prompting questions like:

“What is happening here?”

“Why does this place feel this way?”

“Who is experiencing this?”

Think of describing a setting like playing the game Taboo—you need to convey the essence of a place without stating it outright, allowing the reader to infer details through atmosphere and mood.

By mastering setting, you can craft a compelling and immersive story that leaves a lasting impact on your audience.

This question requires you to write a short story, which means developing detailed characterisation is essential. Consider what your character(s) represent—characters are often more than just people; they can embody ideas or themes. For example:

• A character might symbolize abandonment, portraying the struggles of isolation.

• A villain could represent injustice or evil, serving as a symbol of corruption or cruelty.

Since time is limited, it’s best to focus on just one or two characters to ensure depth and clarity.

Characters:

This question requires you to write a short story, which means developing detailed characterisation is essential. Consider what your character(s) represent—characters are often more than just people; they can embody ideas or themes. For example:

• A character might symbolize abandonment, portraying the struggles of isolation.

• A villain could represent injustice or evil, serving as a symbol of corruption or cruelty.

Since time is limited, it’s best to focus on just one or two characters to ensure depth and clarity.

Characterisation

Appearance 

Ensure you take the time to describe the way your character looks – as many students neglect to do this. Ask yourself these questions as you decide:

• Is it relevant? Not every detail, such as hair color, needs to be included unless it serves a purpose.

• Does it symbolize something? Appearance can be important when a character represents an idea, such as a king, a soldier, or someone in distress.

• Use expressions to show emotion—instead of listing features, convey personality and mood through details like “her tear-stained face” or “he frowned”.

If you’re writing in first-person, remember to employ the use of a mirror or reflection in order to bring your character’s appearance into the story.

Movements

One of the most powerful ways to bring a character to life is through their actions—after all, we often judge people more by what they do than by how they look.

• Use movements to reveal emotions or circumstances. For example, “His head dropped” subtly conveys defeat or sadness.

• Strong verbs and adverbs can enhance characterisation, making actions more vivid and meaningful.

• If your story includes dialogue, consider using expressive verbs instead of just “said”—for example, “whispered” to show secrecy or “bellowed” to indicate anger.

• By focusing on how your character moves and speaks, you can create a more immersive and engaging portrayal.

Internal Monologue

If you choose to write in first-person, incorporating a monologue can help readers connect deeply with your character.

• This perspective creates a personal tone, drawing the reader into the character’s thoughts and emotions.

• Punctuation and sentence structure can shape your character’s voice—for example, short sentences can convey nervousness or hesitation.

• Questions can reflect a character’s uncertainty or inner conflict.

• Emotive language helps readers understand and empathize with your character’s feelings.

By carefully crafting your character’s inner voice, you can create a more engaging and authentic narrative.

Question:

Your local magazine is in charge of a creative writing competition.

Either 

Describe a journey by train as suggested by this picture.

Or
Write a story about a person with an interesting background.

Annotated Models:

Description:

The train shuddered softly as it pulled away from the platform, its rhythmic clatter gradually settling into a lulling cadence that echoed faintly through the carriage. Outside, the late evening sun daubed the horizon with streaks of honeyed gold and bruised lavender, casting the countryside in a warm, almost dreamlike glow.

As we trundled past the suburbs, rows of red-bricked terraces and washing lines strung like bunting gave way to undulating fields and copse-lined meadows. The view unfurled like a moving painting, ever shifting, never still. Long grass swayed lazily in the breeze, dandelions releasing their fragile parachutes into the still air. Every so often, a hare darted through the stubble, a fleeting blur of motion against the languid backdrop.

Within the carriage, the air was faintly tinged with the scent of machine oil and faint citrus, the latter courtesy of the young woman two rows ahead, who was reading something worn and well-loved. The scent of summer drifted in through the partially opened window: sun-warmed wheat, the distant smoke of a garden fire, and the delicate tang of ozone hinting at a storm beyond the hills.

Children whispered behind me, their voices rising occasionally with a suppressed giggle or exclamation. The quiet murmur of conversations, the rustle of newspapers, and the occasional chime of a mobile phone blended into a kind of subdued symphony of transit. A businessman, loosened tie drooping like a wilted petal, dozed fitfully against the glass, his briefcase clutched like a lifebuoy.

The light outside softened further, filtering through the trees in golden shards. Shadows lengthened across the fields, revealing the silhouettes of cows grazing lazily, unbothered by the rumbling serpent carving its path through their domain. A church spire pierced the horizon in the distance, presiding over a slumbering village of thatched cottages and chimney smoke curling in thin tendrils skywards.

Time became elastic, stretched between one station and the next. Each pause at a platform brought with it the gentle chaos of shifting passengers: the clink of luggage wheels, the scrape of seat-backs, the fleeting gust of warm air from outside tinged with perfume, diesel, and the scent of tar on sun-baked tracks.

As we drew deeper into the countryside, the fading light stained the windows with peach and amethyst. I watched my reflection blur and reform against the twilight, superimposed over farmland and hedgerows. The blur of hedges, the flicker of telegraph poles like metronome ticks, gave the journey its quiet rhythm, its patient pulse.

At times, I closed my eyes. The gentle sway of the carriage, the occasional jolt as we passed over points, the comforting hum of the engine beneath the floor—it was hypnotic. I felt removed from the world, suspended in a pocket of movement that held no urgency, no fixed direction but forward.

When I opened my eyes again, the first stars had begun to prick the indigo sky. The light inside the train now glowed softly, reflected in the windows like floating orbs. Passengers were quiet, caught in their own thoughts, eyes glazed with tiredness or reverie.

The train pressed on into the darkening landscape, steady and sure. Outside, the world rolled by in silence, and inside, the hush was almost sacred. It was not just a journey between places, but a journey between states of being—between day and night, movement and stillness, self and something greater than self. Something almost timeless.

Story:

There was, in a crumbling tenement near the soot-stained docks, a girl named Eliza Greaves, who wore sorrow like a second skin. Barefoot in winter, ink-stained in summer, and invisible all year round, she survived by scavenging clock parts from the wreckage of old ships and fixing broken watches for halfpennies and scraps of bread. Her parents had perished in a fire that spared only a grandfather clock—charred, unyielding, and long since silent. By fourteen, she had taught herself to coax mechanisms back to life, though her own heart ticked unevenly, uncertain of its worth in a world that passed her by.

It was a Tuesday of little note when the stranger arrived, clad in a coat too fine for the alleyways he walked. He watched Eliza from across the square, then approached with the quiet certainty of someone long accustomed to disbelief. In his gloved hands, he held a pocket watch of exquisite make—its face cracked, its hands still. “Fix this,” he said simply. “And come back with it at midnight.” She worked for hours, breathing life into the cogs with hands that trembled. When she returned it as the church bell struck twelve, he smiled not with his lips, but with his eyes, and said, “I have need of an apprentice.” Thus began the slow turning of her fortunes, each day a lesson, each hour another key to the locks of mastery.

Soon, Eliza was no longer the girl who mended for bread, but the one who could repair heirlooms that had defied repair for generations. The stranger—known to all as Master Farrow—introduced her to a world of mechanism and mystery: of timepieces that ran backwards, clocks that sang in voices long dead, and secrets stored in springs. They travelled to cities lit with gas and wonder, to mansions where she was addressed as “Miss Greaves” and paid in gold instead of glances. At eighteen, she dined with patrons and debated horology with barons. She laughed more, stood taller, and, for the first time, owned shoes that clicked on marble floors.

But time, as she well knew, is no gentle companion. It was in Geneva—of all places, the holy land of her craft—that the unraveling began. Master Farrow disappeared without word or warning, his workshop found stripped of its treasures and scrawled with cryptic diagrams. Worse still, his name—her name, by association—was dragged through scandal and suspicion. Commissions dried up, reputations collapsed, and Eliza, lost in a city of ticking clocks, could do nothing but watch as everything she had built came tumbling down. In the silence that followed, all she had was the stubborn beat of her own heart and the knowledge that, if nothing else, she could still mend what was broken.

Years passed. She opened a modest shop on a crooked London street, where the air smelt of brass and rain, and the door chimed sweetly for each soul who entered. She trained others—children like she had once been—and they called her Mistress Greaves with quiet reverence. One morning, a letter arrived, unsigned, containing only a single sentence: “Well done, Eliza. Time chose wisely.” She framed it, for reasons she did not entirely understand, and placed it above the grandfather clock that had survived the fire all those years ago—now restored, resplendent, and ticking in perfect time.

And so, her story settled into the gentle rhythm of contentment. Not loud, not legendary—but full of life, and love, and the small kind of magic that changes everything.

How To Approach Paper 1 Question 5

Model Answer -  Paper 1 Question 5