text:
Architecture is the new medium taking the forefront of modern art and design. These five Chicago-based photographers show us exactly what it’s like living in the concrete jungle, from different cities around the world.

Vittoria Zupicich Captures An Italian Church That Is Anything But ArchaicBehancehttps://www.behance.net/gallery/38763247/Building-with-LightYou wouldn’t typically think of a church as an example of modern architecture, but The Church of Saint Paul the Apostle in Foligno proves us wrong. With geometric concrete windows and bold lighting fixtures, this church was one of photographer Vittoria Zupicich’s most well-received projects. Zupicich is an architectural photographer who travels between San Francisco and Chicago to capture architectural art and design. Her work is especially popular in San Francisco. However, this church project was one of her personal favorites. She says it “forces the viewer to wonder about the meaning of Christian architecture of our time.”nextpage

In need of the perfect architectural photographer in Los Angeles? You can never go wrong with this list!

Hunter KerhartPhoto courtesy of hunterkerhart.comhttp://hunterkerhart.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/The-Spring-Arcade-by-Hunter-Kerhart-Small.jpgHunter Kerhart is freelance architectural photographer specializing in historic sites and structures. Certified by the Association of Independent Architectural Photographers (AIAP) and the Professional Aerial Photographers Association (PAPA), his work ranges from aerial, exteriors, interiors, to urban and cityscape.
WEBSITE: www.hunterkerhart.comnextpage

As an oil, gas, and energy hub, many people don’t think of Houston as an architectural powerhouse. But, as a growing city with other major industries like healthcare, research and technology, the Texas town has a lot more to offer than meets the eye. These top five architectural photographers have the skill and creativity to showcase the hidden beauty of the city.

Vittoria ZupicichVittoria Zupichichhttp://vittoriazupicich.com/After making a name for herself on the West Coast, Vittoria Zupicich is now making a splash in Texas with her award-winning skills photographing the architecture and design throughout Houston. Her photographs of architecture for an array of clients is showcased in exhibits as far as California. In addition, she was ranked first in American Photographic Artists (APAs) Architecture Category. Her many accolades and accomplishments, along with her impressive portfolio make her an excellent pick to shoot commercial architecture.nextpage

The City of Brotherly Love also has a lot of love for its amazing architecture. These five photographers from the city have showcased these buildings in astonishing ways.

Vittoria ZupicichVittoria Zupicichhttp://vittoriazupicich.com/galleria.php?rif=49Vittoria Zupicich’s biggest inspiration for photography was her father. “From his very first day of parenthood, he became obsessed with photographing every moment of his three daughters’ lives,” she stated on her website. Over the recent years, Zupicich has become a praised photographer with numerous accolades to her name.nextpage

When it comes to astonishing architectural photographers in the Big Apple, the list is endless. These five photographers are surely some of the most prolific out there today.

Chris CooperChris Cooperhttp://www.chriscooperphotographer.com/From Carrier & Company to Specter DeSouza Architects, Chris Cooper has worked with a long list of clients in the area. The photographer manages to show off his versatile styles on occasion. “My shooting style varies by project… I’m as fluent in a highly crafted controlled lighting style as I am in a natural light ‘decisive moment’ journalistic style,” he said on his website.nextpage

Vakil Mosque, ShirazPhoto courtesy of: 500pxhttps://500px.com/photo/86103851/vakil-mosque-by-mohammad-reza-domiri-ganji-In their entirety, Mosques showcase a few of the most beautiful architecture that the world has ever seen. The dedication to the work, the mathematics and geometry utilized is just wondrous and fitting for a temple of one of the most largest religions on earth. Since there is too much awesomeness in on structure, we’ve decided to cover Mosque ceilings in this article. And boy are they intricately beautiful and absolutely takes your breath away.nextpage

Capital Hill Residence, RussiaNaomi Campbell, supermodel girlfriend of Russian billionaire Vladislav Doronin, certainly received a unique and special gift — a holiday retreat in Barvikha, Russia. Not exactly a deal your everyday mortgage adviser could have arranged. Doronin hired Zaha Hadid Architects to design a residence resembling a space ship straight out of a science fiction movie. The 22 meter tall watch tower encloses private quarters with a view that imitates the feeling of sitting in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon.nextpage

If you’re looking to break into the world of architecture, find a firm that will support your endeavors. Finding the right firm could kick start your career to architectural success. Discover how to make millions by signing with one of these firms.

If you’re looking to break into the world of architecture, find a firm that will support your endeavors. Finding the right firm could kick start your career to architectural success. Discover how to make millions by signing with one of these firms.nextpage

Ever wonder what other buildings in other country looks like? Well look no more for today, we’ll bombard you with eye candy that’ll make you wish you belong in that place in particular.

The Lookout, ScotlandPhoto courtesy of: Processacrafthttp://processascraft.tumblr.com/Designed by two architectural design students from Strathclyde University, the idea was to help tourist frame up the beautiful scenery. The maximum it can hold is only three people! You must admit, it does accentuate the scenery around it. I wonder what it would be like to have an entire house made out of this material!? You would have an invisible house!nextpage

The Ryugyong Hotel, Pyongyang, North KoreaIn the architectural industry, it is all about prestige and coming up with the most innovative, modern and beautiful designs. Face it, there are a few firms that get all the work and if you aren’t coming up with top notch creative ideas, you aren’t going to be able to compete. Yet, when we saw the following buildings, we weren’t sure what happened. I suppose you will always love something that you made but bleh! these creations sure make you think twice about what some people like versus others.
As things tend to go in North Korea, this hotel supposedly began construction in 1992 but was kept secret and seemed to be incomplete and abandoned until unveiled as complete in 2009. It’s shape, an ode to the Egyptian pyramids but when made almost entirely of cold, rough, bland, grey concrete, it is almost sad how far behind the times this massive monstrosity is. Perhaps they could have gone with a bit smaller and more tasteful looking figure.nextpage

question: What does the text say about architecture in Houston?

answer: Houston is an oil, gas, and energy hub, but it is also a growing city with other major industries like healthcare, research, and technology. The city has a lot to offer, and these top five architectural photographers have the skill and creativity to showcase the hidden beauty of the city.

critique: The answer should mention the photographers.

critique: The highlighted text isn't on Houston so it should be omitted.

critique: The answer should mention Vittoria Zupicich.

critique: The photographers are not the focus of the article.

critique: It's omitted that one of those photographers is Vittoria Zupicich.

critique: The text doesn't say anything about Houston's architecture.


split: train

text:
I wrote this first draft for an English creative writing assessment, it's probably terrible, so constructive criticism is welcome! Sorry I haven't done any for other stories, I'm kinda new to writing and I just discovered this subreddit.
Btw, you'll probably be able to spot the influences in this story ;)

Tight leather gloves gripped the wheel, as the sound of the engines fired up. A deep roar reverberated through the vehicle, sending shivers down Harvey's spine. The 1970 Chevy Nova sped off in a burst of speed with an almighty cacophony of metal and rubber. Harvey was on the hunt.

Heading down the interstate, Harvey stroked the Glock next to him in anticipation. In his mind, he purred. Seeing the neon sign of his favourite diner, he pulled over and parked his machine. One snakeskin boot at a time, Harvey sauntered out of the car and escaped the night, pushing his way into "Drool and Dine." This particular watering-hole was a seedy, run down place by the road, but it added to the charm that was so enticing.

"The usual?" A gravelly voice echoed from the counter, where a dishevelled man stood, wearing a greasy apron. Harvey nodded his head and sat down in the nearest seat. His beady eyes watched the owner of the fair establishment shuffle into the kitchen. The fluorescent lights flickered faintly through the layer of cigarette smoke filtering through Harvey's lips. This man's addiction was not in the nicotine, but in what he was about to do next. With a flourish, Harvey slid out his Bowie knife, and held it up in the light. It glimmered and shone brilliantly as his leather grip tightened around the handle. He whistled a joyous tune and stood up. Several steps later, he began his work in the kitchen.

By the time Harvey returned home, blood washed out of his jacket, the sun shone on his Americana dreamland. Disappointed with his catch last night, Harvey prepared for new prey. His arsenal, packed into his vehicle, included: two shotguns loaded with buck shot, a chainsaw, four Glock pistols (two in the trunk, two under the passenger seats) and his prized Katana taken from a pawn shop.

The desert sun beamed down upon the caked earth. Officer Leon stared through his binoculars, scanning the horizon. After a string of killing sprees terrified the American population, the Highway Patrol was under constant pressure to find the man responsible. Two months of searching had went by, and nothing turned up; it seems as if the killer had disappeared. Leon sat back into his car seat and sighed in exasperation. He reached over and flicked on the radio. A couple of seconds of static. Then, music flooded the dry air, as "Baby It's You" by Smith poured out of the speakers and into Leon's ears. The officer leaned back and placed his feet on the dashboard. 20 minutes went by in a haze of simmering heat and song. Suddenly, a moment of static pierced the police scanner and a voice filtered through.
"Calling Officers to Route 19, a suspected serial killer has been spotted driving up towards El Paso-"

"Officer Leon here, going into pursuit of the suspect." the police officer replied to the voice in the box.

The lights came on in a red and blue flash and the wheels screeched on the shining asphalt. If Leon caught this son of a gun, he thought to himself, he might finally get that promotion. The car sped down the road as Willy DeVilles "It's So Easy" started up on the radio. In the distance, Leon spotted his target parked by the road, the black Chevy Nova glinting in the sunlight. Even as the police car approached, there was no movement. No chances would be taken however; the police officer slid out his magnum revolver and clutched it in his hands. He then flipped a switch and took the responder handset.
"If anybody is there, step out of the vehicle and have your hands placed on the roof of the car." Officer Leon spoke through the loudspeaker, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice.

Suddenly, sparks ignited across the surface of Leon's car hood and the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun blast boomed across the desert. Leon ducked down, the adrenaline suppressing any pain he might be now in. Tires squealed as the other vehicle escaped, leaving the police car in the dust. Leon got up and fumbled with the ignition, ignoring the blood seeping out of his left arm. The engine revved up and the police officer got back onto the desert road in hot pursuit.

The humid air made Harvey's mind go in circles. Why did he make the mistake of coming here? Was he that stupid to get caught now? He pushed these thoughts out of his head, as he knew it didn't matter. It was only a game of cat and mouse now. Harvey pushed the accelerator down to the floor and continued the chase.

Leon felt the thrill of the hunt, now that he was in the shoes of the predator. He could see his prey getting ever closer, as he caught up to the speeding psychopath. Leon licked his lips and took the handgun out again. He lowered the window and aimed the piece at the other car. Firing a few rounds, all of varying accuracy, Leon knew he had to get closer to his target. The police car sped up with it's blue and red lights reflecting in the Chevy's side mirrors. In almost an instant, the killers car turned down a side road that Leon didn't even notice beforehand. He followed the vehicle and with a grin on his face, the officer caught up.

Now the two fast cars were in touching distance, Leon pulled out his magnum and shot.
The first bullet glanced off the back of the bumper.
The second bullet pierced through the rear window and stopped inside a passenger seat.
The third bullet flew through the air and hit it's mark, the rear tire exploding into pieces of rubber.

The Chevy Nova was then smashed from behind by the aggressive police car. All control the killer had was now lost in those final moments of the car chase. It flipped onto it's side and skidded across the road, sparks flying wildly in the air. A satisfying crunch filled Leon's ears as the metal grinded and dented. The officer had to apprehend the suspect now, so he parked his cruiser and got out.

All of the wreckage was littered over the landscape, with the main chassis laying dead in the dirt. Leon edged closer to the car, handgun still held between his white knuckles. He knocked on the seemingly empty cage of the car, but in the corner of his eye, he saw a gloved hand poking out. The police officer strolled over and aimed his gun at the man inside. Unfortunately, the man was doing the same to him.

Harvey adjusted the grip on his second Glock and kept the cops head in his sights. Somehow, someway, he'd get out of this situation, but first, he had to sort out this mexican standoff.

title: [AA] Summertime Killer

question: Summarize the main conflict.

answer: The main conflict is the chase between Harvey and Officer Leon. Harvey is a serial killer who has been on the run for two months. He is spotted by Officer Leon, who chases him. Harvey shoots at Leon, who shoots back. Harvey is eventually caught.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is armed and that Leon is a police officer.

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is armed.

critique: The officer shoots at Harvey first, after arriving on the scene.

critique: It's omitted that Harvey has a gun pointed at Leon.

text: It's not completely accurate to state that Harvey is caught. Rather, he and Leon wind up in a Mexican standoff.

category: accuracy

question: What does the text say about clothing?

answer: Harvey wears snakeskin boots and tight leather gloves. He also wears a snakeskin jacket. Leon wears a police uniform.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is wearing a snakeskin jacket when he kills the owner of the diner.

critique: The answer is incorrect. Harvey doesn't wear a snakeskin jacket.

critique: The answer omits that Harvey is wearing a snakeskin jacket.

critique: The answer should mention the type of clothing worn by the diner's owner.

critique: Leon wears a police uniform, but this is irrelevant.

text: The material of Harvey's jackey is not mentioned in the story, therefore the claim that it is snakeskin is inaccurate.

question: Summarize Leon's main goal.

answer: Leon's main goal throughout the story is to try and catch Harvey, the serial killer.

critique: It's omitted that Leon wants to catch Harvey to get a promotion.

critique: The answer should mention that Leon wants to catch Harvey to get a promotion.

critique: "Leon's main goal throughout the story is to try and catch Harvey, the serial killer." - it's more than just "try and catch" because Leon had been after Harvey for two months and Harvey was finally spotted.

critique: He tries to catch him specifically by capturing him alive

critique: Leon's goal is to catch Harvey, not "try and catch" him.

critique: "Leon's main goal throughout the story is to try and catch Harvey, the serial killer." - Leon is a police officer, so the "try" part is unnecessary.

question: Summarize what happens when Leon realizes Harvey isn't dead from the car crash.

answer: Harvey remains in the car and aims his gun at Leon. Leon edges closer to Harvey, still aiming his gun at him. Harvey seems to be trying to get out of the situation, but first he has to sort out the Mexican standoff.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is the one who shot Leon.

critique: The story does not say that Harvey brands a gun on Leon; They both wield weapons on one another.

critique: "Harvey remains in the car and aims his gun at Leon." - Harvey is already out of the car.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is aiming his gun at Leon.

critique: "Leon edges closer to Harvey, still aiming his gun at him." - this is inaccurate. Leon edges closer to the car and aims his gun at Harvey.

critique: The answer should mention that Harvey is armed.


text:
PRINCE TALAL BIN MUHAMMAD (born 26 July 1965) is a member of the Jordanian royal family. He is the eldest son of Prince Muhammad bin Talal, the brother of King Hussein Talal of Jordan, and first cousin of the current King Abdullah; this makes him 15th in the line of succession to the Jordanian throne. He has one brother, Prince Ghazi (b. 1966).[1]

Biography

Prince Talal's early education took place in Jordan, and from 1975 to 1983 he attended Harrow School in the United Kingdom.[2] In September 1983 he entered the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst in the United Kingdom, and upon passing in April 1984 was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Jordan Arab Army.[3] After a few months in the Jordanian Army, he entered the School of Foreign Service of Georgetown University, Washington DC in September 1984. He completed the five-year joint degree Bachelor of Science in Foreign Service – Master of Science in Foreign Service (BSFS-MSFS) program, concentrating in International Politics for his BS Degree and US Foreign Policy and Diplomacy for his MS Degree.[4]

After undergoing further military training the US and the UK, Talal returned to the Jordanian Armed Forces, where he served as a Company Commander in a Special Forces battalion from March 1990 until March 1991. On 25 March 1991, he was appointed as Military Secretary to King Hussein. In this capacity he functioned as a personal aide to the King, taking the minutes of his meetings and accompanying him daily on his activities within Jordan and his official trips abroad. These duties expanded to charge of the King's political correspondence and speech writing – Prince Talal co-authored King Hussein's speech before a Joint Session of the US Congress marking the end of a State of War between Jordan and Israel in July 1994. Talal was further entrusted by King Hussein with intelligence liaison activities and confidential political missions.[5]

In addition to this, Prince Talal was appointed by King Hussein as his Personal Representative in the United States in February 1992 – a position he held until the death of King Hussein in February 1999. This involved enhancing relations with the US Administration, Government and Congress following the Gulf War of 1991. Talal also advanced the King's official trips to the US, arranging his program and topics of discussion with US officials. He would then prepare his talking points, and remain behind in the US after each visit to follow up any outstanding issues. He was closely involved in securing the forgiveness of Jordan's $700 million debt to the US and the transfer of a squadron of F-16 fighter aircraft from the US to Jordan following the Washington Declaration of July 1994.

In August 1996, Prince Talal was appointed by King Hussein as Director of the National Security Council, with the task of establishing the National Security Council of Jordan. Amongst other things, he was responsible for the recruitment, training, and organization of the NSC Staff; the compilation of electronic data bases and Intelnet setup; coordination with the relevant government officials and bodies; intelligence liaison; producing and distributing a daily brief and in-depth studies; and compiling the Agenda for NSC meetings. Following the death of King Hussein, Prince Talal continued to hold this post until August 1999, when King Abdullah II appointed him as his National Security Advisor. He held this post until September 2001 when he was appointed Special Advisor to King Abdullah II.[6]

Personal life

In 1991, Prince Talal married Ghida Salaam, daughter of Hany Sala'am and Raja'a Arab. The couple live in Jordan with their three children: Prince Hussein (born 1999) and twins Princess Raja'a and Prince Muhammad (born 2001).

Education

1975–1983 The Harrow School in Harrow, London, England.

1983–1984 The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, UK. (Standard Military Course No.34)

1984–1989 Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service, Washington DC, USA. Five-year Bachelor of Science in Foreign Service-Master of Science in Foreign Service Joint Degree program BSFS Concentration: International Politics, Law and Organization. MSFS Concentration: US Foreign Policy and Diplomacy

1975–1978 St Edmund's School, UK

1973–1975 American Community School, Amman

1972–1973 Orthodox College, Amman

Career

-   Sept. 2001 – present

Special Advisor to King Abdullah II

-   Aug.1999-Sept.2001

National Security Advisor to King Abdullah II and Director of the National Security Council

-   Aug.1996-Aug.1999

Director of the National Security Council[7]

-   Feb.1992-Feb.1999

Personal Representative of King Hussein in the United States of America

-   Mar.1991-Aug.1996

Military Secretary of King Hussein

-   Mar.1990-Mar.1991

Officer Commanding, 2nd Company, 91st SpecialForces Battalion, Khaw, Jordan

-   Aug.1984-Mar.1990

Special Forces Brigade Headquarters

-   May–Aug. 1984

Deputy A-Team Leader, 1st Company, 101st Special Forces Battalion, Hashemiyyah, Jordan

Other activities

-   Sept. 2008 – present

Advisory Board Member, The James Martin 21st century School, Oxford University, UK

-   Feb.2001– March 2002

Chairman of the National Landmine Removal and Rehabilitation Commission, Jordan

-   Sept.1997 – present

Member of the Higher Committee of the Retired Servicemen and Veterans Association, Jordan

-   Sept.1998-Sept.2001

Chairman of the Board of Trustees, Mu’tah University, Kerak, Jordan

-   Sept.1998-Sept.2001

Member of the Committee of Higher Education, Jordan

Honours

National honours

-   : Grand Cordon of the Order of the Star of Jordan

-   : Grand Cordon of the Order of Independence

Foreign honours

-   : Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Norwegian Order of Merit (4.4.2000)

-   : Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Order of Isabella the Catholic (2.12.1994)[8]

Appointments

Military promotions

-   June 2009 Major-General
-   June 2002 Brigadier-General
-   May 1997 Colonel
-   June 1994 Lieutenant-Colonel
-   Nov.1992 Major
-   Nov.1989 Captain
-   Nov.1986 1st Lieutenant
-   Apr. 1984 Commissioned 2nd Lieutenant

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] 1

[6]

[7]

[8]

title: Prince Talal bin Muhammad

question: What does the text say about the cause of the State of War between Jordan and Israel?

answer: No answer

critique: The response is incorrect and an accurate answer needs to be written.

question: What does the text say about Prince Talal bin Muhammad's place in the Jordanian Royal family?

answer: Prince Talal is a member of the Jordanian royal family. He is the eldest son of Prince Muhammad bin Talal. His brother is Prince Ghazi. Prince Talal's cousin and uncle are King Hussein Talal of Jordan and King Abdullah respectively.

critique: He is the brother of King Hussein Talal of Jordan, not his cousin.

critique: The answer should mention his place in the line of succession.

critique: There's no evidence for the claim that he is the brother of Prince Ghazi.

critique: Prince Talal is the 15th in the line of succession to the Jordanian throne. He is not the eldest son.

text: "Prince Talal's cousin and uncle are King Hussein Talal of Jordan and King Abdullah respectively." - this is inaccurate. Prince Talal is King Hussein's nephew and current King Abdullah's first cousin.

question: Summarize Prince Talal's military career.

answer: Talal's military career started in 1984 when he enrolled at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. He passed in April 1984 and was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Jordan Arab Army. In 1990, he was appointed as a company commander in a special forces battalion. In 1991, he was further appointed by King Hussein as his personal representative in the United States. In 1996, he was appointed by King Hussein as Director of the National Security Council, tasked with establishing the National Security Council of Jordan.

critique: It is omitted that he served as a company commander until 1991.

question: What does the text say about how close Prince Talal was with King Hussein?

answer: Prince Talal was close to King Hussein. He was appointed as King Hussein's personal secretary in 1991. He functioned as a personal aide to the King, taking the minutes of his meetings and accompanying him daily on his activities within Jordan and his official trips abroad. Prince Talal co-authored King Hussein's speech before a Joint Session of the US Congress marking the end of a State of War between Jordan and Israel in July 1994. Prince Talal was further entrusted by King Hussein with intelligence liaison activities and confidential political missions.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.


text:
HUGH RAYMOND WRIGHT (born 24 August 1938) is an English schoolmaster and educationalist who was chairman of the Headmasters' Conference for 1995–1996.

Early life

The son of the Rev. Raymond Blayney Wright and his wife Alice Mary Hawksworth, Wright was educated at Kingswood School, Bath, from 1949 to 1957[1] and The Queen's College, Oxford, where he was a Bible Clerk and graduated BA and later MA in Literae Humaniores.[2]

Career

His first post was as an assistant master at Brentwood School, from 1961 to 1964. From 1964 to 1979, he taught at Cheltenham College, where he was Head of Classics from 1967 to 1972 and housemaster of Boyne House, 1971 to 1979. His first appointment as a headmaster came at Stockport Grammar School, from 1979, and in 1985 he became head of Gresham's School, Holt, remaining there until 1991. Finally he was Chief Master of King Edward's School, Birmingham, from 1991 to 1998.[3][4]

He was elected Chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995, a year before it became the Headmasters' and Headmistresses' Conference, having previously chaired its North West District from 1983 and its Community Service Sub-Committee from 1985 to 1990.[5]

In Birmingham in the mid-1990s, Wright worked with Tim Brighouse, the city's chief education officer, to develop a partnership between King Edward's and the state sector of education, commenting “We are looking at a new era of public-private co-operation reinforcing the community base. We are talking about one-off initiatives, not grandiose schemes”. He chaired a group called the 'Children's University', providing Saturday schools, and a summer literacy scheme for eleven-year-olds was held at King Edward's in 1997.[6][7]

Other appointments

-   Admiralty Interview Board Panel, 1982–95[8]
-   Church of England Advisory Board of Ministry (formerly Advisory Council for the Church's Ministry), 1982–[9]
-   Chairman of National Steering Committee for Children's University, 1995–2001[10]
-   Member of Bloxham Project Committee, 1993–1998, and Trustee, 1998–2006[11]
-   Chairman of Governors, Kingswood School, Bath, 1998–2006 (and governor, 1995–1998)[12][13]
-   Member of Governing Bodies Association Committee, 2000–03[14]
-   Member of Chaplaincy Team, Shepton Mallet Prison, 2001–[15]

Publications

-   _The Origins of Christianity and the Medieval Church_ (1980)[16]
-   _Auden and Gresham's_ in _Conference Common Room_, Vol. 44, No. 2, Summer 2007[17]

Private life

In 1962, Wright married Jillian Mary McIldowie Meiklejohn, and they have three sons.[18]

He is a member of the East India Club and gives his recreations in Who's Who as “music, theatre, hill walking, wildfowl, gardening, Rugby football”.[19]

[1] ''Kingswood Association Magazine, Vol. 2, no. 12, April 2004 online at ka.typepad.com (accessed 25 April 2008)

[2] _WRIGHT, Hugh Raymond MA_ in Who's Who 2007 (London, A. & C. Black, 2007)

[3]

[4] The Role of the Governors at kingswood.bath.sch.uk (accessed 25 April 2008)

[5]

[6]

[7] Adonis, Andrew & Bright, Martin, _Labour's private agenda unravels_ in _The Observer_ online dated 1 February 1998 (accessed 25 April 2008)

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17] _Conference Common Room_ Vol. 44, No. 2, Summer 2007 online at schoolsearch.co.uk (accessed 25 April 2008)

[18]

[19]

title: Hugh Wright

question: Summarize everything that happened in the 1980's.

answer: Not explicitly answered in the timeline, but it's likely Wright wrote his first book, "The Origins of Christianity and the Medieval Church", in 1980. He was also on the Admiralty Interview Board Panel from 1982 to 1995, and the Church of England Advisory Board of Ministry from 1982 to

critique: The response should include more information about what happened in the 1980s.

critique: The answer omits the fact that Wright was elected Chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995.

critique: Wright was, however, elected chairman of the National Steering Committee for Children's University in 1995.

critique: The answer does not mention his marriage in 1962.

critique: The answer is missing information about Wright's life in the 1980s.

critique: The answer omits that Wright was elected Chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995.

question: What does the text say about the Headmasters' Conference?

answer: The Headmasters' Conference is a group of schoolmasters. Hugh Wright was elected Chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995. The group became the Headmasters' and Headmistresses' Conference in 1996.

critique: The answer omits that Wright was elected chairman of the Headmasters' Conference for 1995-1996.

critique: The answer should mention Wright's role as chairman.

critique: Replace "schoolmasters" with "schoolmasters and headmistresses"

critique: The answer omits that Wright was chairman of the Headmasters' Conference for 1995-1996.

critique: It's omitted that Wright was the chairman for 1995-1996.

critique: The group became the Headmasters' and Headmistresses' Conference in 1996, not 1996.

critique: The text does not say that the group is a group of schoolmasters.

critique: The group was already the Headmasters' Conference, Wright's election is irrelevant.

question: Summarize Hugh Wright's career progression to headmaster.

answer: Hugh Wright's first post was as an assistant master at Brentwood School. He then taught at Cheltenham College, where he was Head of Classics from 1967 to 1972 and housemaster of Boyne House, 1971 to 1979. His first appointment as a headmaster came at Stockport Grammar School, from 1979, and in 1985 he became head of Gresham's School, Holt, remaining there until 1991. Finally he was Chief Master of King Edward's School, Birmingham, from 1991 to 1998.

critique: the date of Wright's first post is irrelevant and can be omitted

critique: Wright's first appointment as headmaster was at Stockport Grammar School.

critique: Remove the first sentence, it is not relevant to the question.

critique: It is omitted that he was elected Chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995.

critique: The answer should mention that Wright was elected chairman of the Headmasters' Conference in 1995.

critique: The answer omits Wright's assistant master post.

question: Summarize all the duties of a Bible Clerk.

answer: No answer

critique: The answer is not relevant to the question.


text:
The cabin had a musty, unused smell to it. It had been a couple of years since anyone had been here, so he went around and opened up all the doors and windows and just let the wind carry out the emptiness while he swept and dusted. It wasn’t too long, though, before he heard a car door out front.
“Who could that be?” he thought. His wife and son weren’t due until tomorrow. Jenny and her family weren’t supposed to be there until the day after. Puzzled, he frowned to himself before going to check, but he stopped and smiled again as soon as he turned around. There, leaning against the doorpost, was Jenny, looking the same as she always did with her long red hair hanging down her back, blue eyes, and a gentle, soft smile on her lips.
“Hey,” he said quietly. She walked toward him and said, “Hey,” before giving him a hug. They parted and he shook his head, marveling at the fact that although it had been almost two years since they had seen each other, there was no unfamiliarity there, no sense of distance grown as often happens. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow night,” he said. “I decided to come early to air the place out.” She looked around the cabin and smiled at him. “Looks like you beat me to it.”
The day finished with them cleaning out the cabin, top to bottom. As often happens when two old friends find themselves doing some menial chores together, they wound up spending most of the time laughing at each other. Old jokes, new jokes, stories about people they knew now, and tales about people they knew back in the day. Just… enjoying the company of a person they didn’t have to hide anything from and have no reason to impress. As the afternoon came and went, and the evening turned to dusk, they cracked open the beer he’d brought and sat down on the porch to watch the sun sink behind the trees. A quiet peace drifted over them in the stillness of an evening free of demand.
Night fell and they decided to go inside and light a lamp or two so they could spend the rest of the evening playing cards at the kitchen table, they way they used to. As they sat and played, a peaceful quiet lingered with them and they didn’t disturb it with unnecessary chatter. After all, why should two people who know each other more intimately than most married couples ever do need to speak to feel comfortable around each other? As they sat there in the comfortable quiet, his mind began to drift across his memories, and across to her, thinking about all the things they had shared over almost thirty years of friendship. Growing up together, grade school, her boyfriends, his girlfriends, the breakups and the weddings, all of it touched his mind as they played. He realized, with a small amount of surprise, that almost all of his happy memories were ones he shared with her.
There had never been a relationship between them, never any hint that things should be other than what they were, and though they both acknowledged that it was a bit of an oddity whenever other people pointed it out, they had never thought much of it on their own. He looked over at her, picking up a card from the table, her hair and face glowing in the soft, yellow lamplight, and he couldn’t help but think of the only time the idea had presented itself that there could be more to their friendship than simply being friends.
They had gone camping, just the two of them, after her college sweetheart had left her and she wanted to get away, just get away from everything and everyone that reminded her of him. So they went out to the woods and just let it all go. That night, he remembered they had just looked across the fire at each other, her face and hair glowing then so much like they were glowing now, and he had thought to himself that she was beautiful. Not beautiful the way he told other people she was beautiful, but beautiful to him, in a much more personal and intimate way than he had known. He had thought, then, that he might be in love with her, and as she raised her eyes to meet his, he had known that the thought he saw in her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes glowing in the firelight, was the same as his. But the moment passed without record, and soon enough their hearts had gone their separate ways again.
He realized it was his turn to play and looked over at her, at this beautiful, amazing woman he had somehow spent his whole life with, and found her looking at him. A moment passed between them that seemed to last far longer than a heartbeat before her eyes left his again, but that was all it took, just one moment, for both of them to realize. She reached for another card, distractedly, and as she reached for it, he reached for her, and gently, oh so gently, placed his hand on hers. She lifted her gaze to meet his once again, and this time there was no hiding the question in her eyes, the desperate longing needing an answer. A sad smile drew across his face and, heart breaking oh so gently, he shook his head, just a tiny motion back and forth. His hand left hers, and she drew her card.
They played into the night, still holding onto that quiet comfort, but he wondered now if his life would feel the same to him, now that it had been acknowledged. It seemed a lonely life, knowing that the woman you had married wasn’t the one you should have, that the one you loved wasn’t the one waiting at home for you.
They finished their game and said goodnight. He changed out of his clothes and into his pajamas, and lay down in bed before he let it take him. They knew, both of them, that it was too late. It wasn’t a regret, or even a chance untaken. It was just a choice they had never made, and nothing more. There was a gentle sadness in him, a vast wondering question in his heart. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he heard the door open behind him in the dark. Soft footsteps crossed the floor, and his blanket lifted. Rolling over, he put his arms around her and pulled her close, holding her tightly as tears dropped silently onto his pillow.

title: The Cabin

question: Summarise what the story says about the relationship between Jenny and the protagonist.

answer: The protagonist and Jenny have been friends for thirty years. They have never been in a romantic relationship, but they have always been close. The protagonist has always had feelings for Jenny, but he never acted on them. He has always loved her, but he married someone else.

critique: The protagonist and Jenny have been friends for thirty years. They have never been in a romantic relationship, but they have always been close. The protagonist has always had feelings for Jenny, but he never acted on them. He has always loved her, but he married someone else.

critique: The second sentence is reiterating that the protagonist and Jenny have not been in a relationship.

critique: The protagonist's love for Jenny is irrelevant

critique: It is omitted that they are both married.

critique: "The protagonist has always had feelings for Jenny, but he never acted on them." - this is incorrect. The protagonist never acted on his feelings for Jenny because he was married.

critique: "The protagonist has always had feelings for Jenny, but he never acted on them." - this is incorrect. He never acted on his feelings for Jenny because he was married.

text: It could also be mentioned that it is implied Jenny reciprocates those feelings as well.

category: coverage


text:
	The writing on the wall was scribbled in a way that looked as if it was done by a toddler scurrying along with a marker doing something they know shouldn't be done. Only the writing on his wall was done it paint and was up higher then a toddler could reach. And what toddler could break into a house mid-afternoon while they should be tucked in for their after-lunch nap? This was done by someone much older and much more frightening then a toddler. This was done by someone with intent.
	The writing read: 'I know who you are …
				I know what you have …
				       I want it.'
	The last period was made with a glob of the paint that dripped down the wall.
	He stood in place and looked at the writing for some time. He tried to search his mind to find any answers as to who could have done this but came up with none. He knew who he was and the vandal claimed to know as well, but Josh seriously questioned whether whoever did this had the right man. He held nothing of value. Hell, he had just moved back to this country a few months ago and the house was still bare, it was a new purchase. The most expensive thing in here, as far as he knew at least, was the flat-screen downstairs. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the wall and sent it to his friend Mike. Maybe it was just one of those fucked up pranks a friend pulls, the kind that only they find funny. Mike was the only one with a spare set of keys. Most of his friends and all of his family lived a thousand miles away so there could be no relatives playing a practical joke on him. It was Mike. It had to be Mike. He was the only one who could get in. If it wasn't him, then who else?
	His phone buzzed; it was a text from Mike.
	'Aha. What's that man? Looks like the beginning to a bad murder show.' The message read.
	 Is he just holding off and waiting for me to ask? He thought, or does he really not know?
	His pride told him to put the phone back in his pocket; it's Mike, a voice said, it's Mike. He stared at the message and glanced up to the wall again. Still scared stiff, the rational part of his brain was telling him it was Mike but the irrational side was screaming, RUUNN!!,  eventually, he tapped the message box and typed. He valued his life more then he valued his friends laughter. He sent the message, but still couldn't move.
	A few minutes passed and he still stood there, in the same position he was when he walked into this thing, whatever it is, then his phone buzzed; it was Mike.
	'No Bro. It wasn't me. Just got out of work. Call the cops man. That's some fucked up shit.'
	Your not wrong on that, Josh thought looking down at his phone. He didn't know where to go from here. Clearly now the police needed to be called. Mike wouldn't take it that far. He wouldn't allow him to call the cops on a foolish prank that he had pulled. Sometimes he had a tenancy to be an asshole, what friends don't, but no one would take it that far.
	He dialed 9-1-1 and that's when he heard the first footstep.
	“Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?” a monotone voice answered.
	He waited, trying to hear the noise again. It came from the stairs just by the kitchen, no more then ten feet from where he now stood.
	“Hello? Sir? Madame?” the voice said again.
	“ … Uh … ahh … I came home to find some threatening messages written on my walls. I was” –  a step creaked and Josh inhaled deeply and thought he was going to pass out. He slowly began to slide to the right to get as close to the door as he could.
	“Hello? Sir? Are you there?”
	“Y-y-yea … can you send someone. Now. Please,” he was almost whispering now and still edging toward the door.
	“What's your address sir?”
	“It's –,” the last creak was heard, it sounded more like a snap!, and a man up leaped from the steps. Pointing a gun at Josh's head in a very crude and horrifying way, saying; 'Hang up.'
	 Josh fumbled the phone and eventually dropped it. He bent down quickly to pick it up and the gun went off.
	At first he thought he was fine. He thought the guy missed. But just as he looked up, he saw the man run to the door. His face peeked in before he left and the two made eye contact for a second, the man looked remorseful, he looked sorry. Josh put a hand on his knee to steady himself but became light-headed and collapsed. When he fell it felt the blood creep onto his neck, it slithered into his hair and then onto the laminate flooring. It began to pool around him. He had a cold feeling in his stomach, almost like the feeling you get when you accidentally swallow an ice cube whole, but not quiet. This was different. This coldness had an emptiness to it.
	He could feel his eyes getting heavier and heavier; he started to breath in his own blood off the floor; he could hear a faint 'Hello?' on the phone but it was too far to reach. It would be much easier to just close his eyes, and sleep …

title: A short story.

question: Summarize the conflict in the story.

answer: Josh comes home to find writing on his wall, which threatens him. He calls his friend Mike, who he thinks is the only one with a spare set of keys to his house. He calls the police, but is attacked by the man who wrote on his wall.

critique: The answer should mention that the man who attacked Josh was the one who wrote the message on the wall.

text: It should be added that he thinks the writings are Mike's joke on him, but it turns it is not. The attacker shoots him.

question: Summarize the negative parts of the story.

answer: The narrator receives a threatening message on his wall. He believes it is written by his friend Mike, but it is not. The narrator believes the writer is just messing around. However, he ends up calling the police, who arrive after he is shot.

critique: It is omitted that the writing was written by an intruder when the homeowner is on the phone with 911.

text: It is not stated that the police arrive.

question: Describe the climactic moment of the story.

answer: Josh answers the phone and the intruder has a gun in hand. The man tells Josh to hang up but doesn't hurt him. Josh falls and starts to lose consciousness.

critique: The answer should include that the intruder shoots Josh.

critique: The response could include more details about what happens after Josh answers the phone.


text:
First post to reddit.  I'm no writer but wrote this for the fun a week ago.  I'd love some feedback.
*************************************

	With a crash and a flash and a bash and a smash: Two young males struggled into the small apartment.  The door slammed open and with a screeching dragged gravel across  the tile floor, before coming to a halt.  The two boys stumbled over the threshold, streetlight streaming in from behind them lighting up the entry in a dulled yellow half light and throwing shadows into the hallway and kitchen.  The boys rolled after these shadows, chasing them inside.

	The sudden crash and flash were alarming and the sudden commotion paralyzed the third guest in the house.  And as the shadows thrown by the streetlight faded, accompanied once more with the screeching tiles, this unwelcome guest slunk as far into the dark as it could.  Attempting to envelope himself in the darkness, but his quivering body had not much room to creep.  Only the meagre shelter allowed beneath the lip of a soup plate, the only refuge offered in this stainless pit, which was quickly becoming a dungeon.

	Stainless steel imbues a feeling of clean and modernity, extravagant kitchens stamped with the big names of interior designers.  This first assumption must be corrected.  For the house the two boys stumbled inside had a different feeling.  It was the house of four-boys, four twenty year old college boys, in an aging brick and plaster building of little portugal.  Furnished comfortably with all the loving care mothers and fathers have when their children grow up and go off to college.  But this current state of disarray is not how those parents left it.  The furniture was haphazardly rearranged, and fallen couch cushions crudely assembled circles around the beer stained dining and coffee tables.  And the impressive collection of empty cans and bottles, lay littered upon every horizontal surface.  Like common nicknacks, making the boys feel right at home.  All that was curious was the out of place modern sink, sticking out like a sore thumb beneath a cupboard hanging limply by its only remaining hinge.

	And it is in this sink, huddled under a soup plate with a rim stained by chilli sauce and beans, backed up onto a cold, empty, dented, metal beer can the third guest was hid.  The brief calm submitted once again to the boys clatter, as the concentration required to balance while removing shoes abated.  Their decisive pounding gait rekindled, and it brought these young giants across the scratched pinewood flooring onto the brown ceramic kitchen tile.  With foresight one wouldn't expect from the boys in their state, one of them stomped purposely towards the sink in search of a large glass of water, to help stave off the worst of tomorrow morning's inevitable ailments.  The second closed in on the kitchen as well and with a click, flicked on the light switch.

	The growing proximity of the broad shouldered boys in their denim dress shirts and scraggly unkempt beard hair had the hidden sink prisoner already on edge.  His silent quest for a midnight morsel had led him down into this hell hole.  And more and more the half nibbled Romano bean an inch from his whisker seemed a meagre prize to take such risks.  Fretting, regretting, and still quivering; the mouse lay still, without a squeak or a peep, cowering ever more tightly to the dented blue can.  But his nerves got the best of him.  And as the sudden blinding incandescent bulbs evaporated the moonlit apartment into the clear resolve of the twentieth century, it drew forth a characteristic squeak from the kitchen's midnight guest.  The boys had heard it, he had no doubt.  And the bright lighting reflecting from all angles exposed him inn his hiding place.  But the mouse did not wimpier and cower, the mouse's resolve for life redoubled, as if his mean squeak was instead a battle cry reverberating off the reflective walls.  His clandestine methods were immediately abandoned and with a scuttle (caused from the poor grip of claws on stainless steel) stormed into the flooded light of the sink basin.

	The squeak and the scuttle coming from the sink procured an uncharacteristic yelp from the boys in the kitchen, as the small noises caused the young men to flinch backwards.  An unlikely response for moments before they had been unfazed by their own cacophonous stomping.  And this frightened call only further pervaded the mouse with a sense of determination and zeal.  The walls were too tall to jump and the smooth steel only scratched as the mouse tried in vain to climb free from this damp pit.  But the mouse was not disheartened, and with a beady eye spotted and plotted his escape.  With the lightning reflex that had so frightened those brave rugged boys, the mouse scrabbled back to his soup plate.  But not into its shadow, triumphantly he climbed, clambering onto the porcelain rim and basking in the full glow of the electric bulbs.  His fervent goal--a wooden stirring spatula leaning upright on the edge of a small metal pot .  Cast into the sink after serving up the chilli, the utensil was now serving as a tool in the mouse's escape.  Serving up justice, for death is too high a price to pay for a nibble of a discarded Romano bean!

	His paws moved deftly over the spoon, hand over hand as he had finally found a proper surface for which to grip his claws.  The edge mere inches away, and past that the cluttered countertop with a neglected hole in the corner baseboard.  Any specialist of mouse facial expressions (a field of study beginning and ending outside of the human species) would've recognized the excitement and elation between our hero's whiskers.  But this did not last long, for while those few inches of sink basin, plate rim, soup pot, and spatula handle were being navigated the boys were reacting.  At first with laughter over his friend's feminine squeal, but then with a new found home owners responsibility.  With malice in his eye the young man closed the gap to the sink, the metallic scratches had given way to subtler noises as the mouse had found his way onto the spatula.

	The mouse ran quickly, but was not fast enough, and with a look of dread watched as the boys bony knuckles barred his freedom, by grasping the end of the spatula.  The boy flicked and shook the it, and it was too much, the spatula was wrenched free from the mouse's desperate grasp, and he was thrown up into the air.

	The specialist in mouse facial expression would've definitively noted this new expression as a look of dread.  Utter terror spanned from his eyes to his whiskers to his tiny mouth, as he fell backwards, once more into his stainless steel prison.  Legs shot out in all directions, while his tail squirmed.  But there was nothing to grasp but thin air, and the sobering realization that he may not make it back to his hole tonight.

	With a soft thud he landed hard on his back on the cold damp steel.  The once prized Romano bean lay beside him, taunting him.  A sad reward to have forfeited so much for.  After the mouse came the spatula, coming down quickly as the boy swung the blade after his foe.  With a smash and a squelch the end of the spatula came down over the mouse, and the boys paused for a moment.  Curiosity got the best of them and as they both crowded around the sink they peeled back the spatula and peaked underneath.  The boys wrinkled their noses in disgust.  With nothing but contempt they threw the mouse into a plastic bag and then the trash.  With only feelings of disgust and disdain, they laid the mouse to rest.  Upset, because having to clean up the guts of a mouse is too high a price to pay for leaving a few dishes in the sink.

title: Mouse Hunt

question: According to the passage, how did a rat came to be in the kitchen?

answer: The boys left the dishes in the sink.

critique: The answer is not according to the passage.


text:
THOMAS ALLSTON BROWN (January 16, 1836 – April 2, 1918) was an American theater critic, newspaper editor, talent agent and manager, and theater historian, best known for his books, _History of the American Stage_ (Dick & Fitzgerald: New York, 1870) and _A History of the New York Stage from the First Performance in 1732 to 1901_ (Dodd Mead: New York, 1902).

Life and career

Brown was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, to Thomas James Brown (1800–1867) and Lucretia Hamsly Brown _(née_ Lucretia Hamsly Milton; 1810–1872).[1] He began his career as the Philadelphia correspondent and theater critic for the top entertainment journal of the time, the _New York Clipper_. He freelanced for other show-business publications and published his own paper, called _The Tattler_.[2][3]

In 1860, Brown entered show business as the advance man for the Cooper English Opera Company, managed by virtuoso violinist Henry Charles Cooper (1819–1881). He later worked for Gardner & Madigan's Circus (re: the Gardner and Madigan families, including Dan Gardner and John Madigan) as treasurer and manager of the box office.[4] During one circus performance, the assistant to the ropewalker Blondine went missing. Blondine's opening stunt was to walk a tightrope from the stage to the balcony with a person on his back. T. Allston Brown filled in for the missing helper, and the _Baltimore Press_ dubbed him “Colonel” for the deed. Brown adopted the honorary title and used it for the remainder of his career.[5]

In 1863, Brown was named editor of the _New York Clipper_. He kept the post until 1872, when he retired from journalism. He next pursued a career as an agent and manager for entertainers. His clients included the famous female impersonator Ernest Byne (1848–1904), the Hanlon Brothers, and Mlle. Marie Aimée (sv) (1852–1857). On May 7, 1879, Brown became partner with Morris Simmonds (1839–1896) in Simmonds & Brown, Dramatic Agents, and continued to run the company after Simmonds died.[6]

As early as 1858, Brown had begun compiling stories and biographies of theatrical performers in the United States.[7] Much of his material came from players in the field, who supplied biographical sketches.[8] He began to write a book on the subject, and in 1870 he published the exhaustive _History of the American Stage_.[9][10] In 1906, he retired from show business to devote more time to history and writing.[11] Brown died in Philadelphia in 1918. _The New York Times_ wrote in Brown's obituary that _A History of the New York Stage_, published in 1903, “was said to be one of the most complete accounts of the development of the stage in America that has been written”.[12][13]

Notes

[1] Thomas Allston Brown, Massachusetts, Town Records, 1620-1988, Ancestry.com

[2] Cullen 147.

[3] Sentilles 122.

[4]

[5] Cullen 148.

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13] “Col. T. Allston Brown”, _The New York Times_, 1918-04-04, p. 13.

title: T. Allston Brown

question: Describe Hamsley Brown's career trajectory from critic to historian and author.

answer: Brown began his career as a Philadelphia correspondent and theater critic for the New York Clipper. He later freelanced for other show-business publications. He published his own paper, called The Tattler. In 1860, Brown entered show business as the advance man for the Cooper English Opera Company. He then worked for Gardner & Madigan's Circus as treasurer and manager of the box office. In 1863, Brown was named editor of the New York Clipper. He kept the post until 1872, when he retired from journalism. He then pursued a career as an agent and manager for entertainers. In 1906, he retired from show business to devote more time to history and writing.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

critique: "He then worked for Gardner & Madigan's Circus as treasurer and manager of the box office." - this is inaccurate. Brown was never the treasurer or manager of the box office. He was the advance man.

critique: The answer omits that he published his first book, History of the American Stage, in 1870.

critique: The response misses to mention that Brown began compiling stories and biographies of theatrical performers in the United States as early as 1858.

critique: It is omitted that he published a book on the subject, and in 1870 he published the exhaustive History of the American Stage.


text:
	**I was a god once…** or so this was my selfishness and ignorance that will lead to my untimely death.

	The hubris of men may come to a point of confusion, unable to distinguish reality from fantasy. This is my reality. I am not a god in the traditional sense, but a mortal man that assumed the role of a god. For a man to think that he is a god and that the follies of his kind no longer apply to himself are what caused me to be cast from the heavens. This is how my story begins.

	No common man has feasted in the presence of the gods, nor has any common man ever lain with a goddess. Such are the dreams of men. How I was able to meet the goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite herself, is still a mystery to me. In the fleeting spring of years gone by, this goddess shone her light upon me, and after our first embrace we quickly became infatuated with each other. Her, the goddess of love, and I, a common, mortal man. For reasons I will never know, she would whisk me away to experience what I never could have imagined. Soon I would lose grasp of the reality of who I really was.

	Days turned into months, and those into years, as I would grow ever more proud and take more of my blessings for granted. Soon I would mistake myself for somebody other than a selfish, arrogant fool. I would come to expect the love of the goddess that took me in, rather than earn it with acts of equal merit and thoughtfulness. Instead, I would stand at the top of Olympus and stare through the clouds with a celestial clarity, pitying those at the base of the mountain, not realizing that I was one of them. I came to believe that I was on the same level as the gods, and that I deserved to be in the heavens. I forgot that I was only in the heavens because of the grace of my love, Aphrodite. The gods themselves could no longer tolerate this pride and arrogance, this self deceit, and had quickly cast me from the heavens… deservingly so.

	As I fell from the sky, I knew that I was as mortal as Icarus, and that my own ignorance was the cause of my plummet into the sea. Unlike Icarus who fell to his death, I had drifted away, only to be swept through the waves into the stormiest of seas, the darkest of days, and the loneliest of nights. When I finally arrived at the shore, I collected myself and made my way towards town, with a mind full of thoughts that ached with every step. As the days passed, and seemed to grow ever longer, my anger quickly turned into regret and self-pity. I began to walk through the streets, snickering at the commoners that I peered down upon, only in an attempt to disguise my own shame and emptiness. How could I have mistreated the most divine woman in all of creation? She was the embodiment of love itself, and I used to be able to call her mine.

	I never deserved to taste the ambrosia or feel the warm embrace of a goddess, yet a goddess never deserved a thankless mortal to receive without giving, to receive without singing her praises throughout the heavens, to receive without knowing the luck that had befallen him to merely be in her presence. Somebody as loving and selfless as Aphrodite needs an outstanding man… no! An outstanding GOD to care for her as she once cared for me. The euphoria she bestowed on me will never know an equal. She gave to me what many men will never know, what most could never dream.

	I had it all. I was truly a god, no matter how short my time may have seemed. I have enjoyed emotions and experiences that I never could have imagined without the love of a goddess. My own hubris and ignorance are what led me to where I am today, and I have no one to blame but myself. I cannot say that I am a mortal man and that I must be accepted for who I am. After experiencing the feasts of the gods and the love of a goddess, I shall forever search for something that will never satisfy what I had been accustomed to. Every morning that I wake to find that I am not next to my love, leaves me pondering what I am to do with this mortal existence.

     If my goddess, my one true love, cannot see the tears in my eyes, feel the sorrow on my breath, or know the remorse in my soul, she would surely never know the depth of my misery without her. If I am left to wander in search of earthly meals and an earthly woman, I will starve, beyond any doubt. I will starve, both physically and emotionally, before I found anything palatable enough to stomach my way through. Is this the fate I must endure? Is this my punishment for the way I mistreated the woman refined from the purest elements in all of the heavens? Will the impossibilities of finding anything comparable to the goddess I fell in love with, and the nectar and ambrosia she fed to me, be the cause of my untimely death?

*I would rather leap from the highest peak in all of Athens…*

title: [FN][RO] I Was a God Once - a short story i wrote for my girlfriend years ago, criticism welcomed!

question: What is the narrator's sentiment in the story?

answer: He expresses a feeling that he is a god, but he is not and by extension he himself is a fool.

critique: The narrator doesn't express that he is a god, but that he was a god.

critique: The narrator is not a god, but he thinks he is.

critique: The narrator is expressing more than feeling.

critique: The narrator's feeling is that he is a fool, not that he is a god.

text: The narrator is feeling remorse and regret for how he mistreated his lover.


text:
On the last day she lived here we went to the sea. It was a dark grey summer morning and it was beautiful, like dusty broken glass, and the waves broke over the shore that was stained dark by the clouds overhead. Humidity hung low and heavy in the air, as palpable as the sand between our toes, but her smile filled the grey air around us and made the late summer chill a little bit warmer. She shivered in a one-piece; I danced circles around her in a summer dress and changed into a bikini behind the tallest rocks on the beach.

What’s the worst that could have happened that day? She had already died once, her heart sputtered and skipped like a car battery after a jump and restarted and she woke up in a hospital bed with cold hands, broken ribs, a totaled car, and family, nerve-wracked and hands wringing, in the waiting room. She told me that she saw the stars for a few seconds, dark and cold and farther away than they should have been, and the first thing that came back was sound, and she heard everything, but there was nothing she could do.

It could have been hours or minutes. We swam far out past the rocks, farther than I’d ever gone, and then she swam back and I sunk like a stone. It was dark underwater, and the sky dropped out from above me and the sand dropped out from below and all there was left was dark green brown mud, and it was the end of me, I was certain, and I knew I would be entombed in the sea. There were snakes there, coiling around my ankles, slimy and soft, and I kicked them away and kept kicking but the undertow pulled me further and further under and there were more, and more, until she grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me out from the ocean and pulled me onto the seashore.

When I woke up with the grey air all around me she was gone, and the sand between my toes was cold and wet and it was high tide and the sun peeked through jagged holes in the clouds above. When I hauled myself to my feet I ran to the tallest rocks on the beach, clambered up them, and dug my toes into the algae to try and hold on, and I looked out across the parking lots and fields and train tracks strewn all around me helter-skelter like the toys we used to share for as long as I could remember, and she was gone, she was gone and I was alone with the sea on a dark grey summer afternoon, with the seaweed and the rip tide that almost dragged me under and kept me there, and I pretended the tears on my cheeks were saltwater left over from when the ocean washed over me.

I walked the three miles home along the side of a highway without shoes on, and I didn’t see one car. I passed her house on the way back to mine and all that was left on the sidewalk was ripped-out floral wallpaper and her mother’s sweet jar, broken, and the vans were gone and the car was gone and the lights were off and the gate was locked and the lock was changed and the key I’d had to that lock since before I could talk had already sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

I tried to write her letters but they all came back returned to sender, and she never did send me her new phone number. I tried to look her up in her new city’s phonebook that I had to mail order specially, but all I could find was a hair removal specialist and a hair replacement specialist, so I gave up.

There were so many things I wanted to ask her, like if she remembered the time we danced to Björk in our underwear, or if she remembered all the cookies we stole out of that broken sweet jar, or if she had kept even a little scrap of the wallpaper that had covered her room that we covered in stickers and doodles and hearts. I wanted to know if she still listened to my mixtapes, shouting along to Hooked on a Feeling in her shitty old econobox Camry. I needed to know, so I tried and tried to find her, and I tried and tried and tried, but she was gone. Every day, she was as gone as when I first woke up on that grey sand beach, salt water rising in my throat and pouring out my eyes. So I gave up.

Even after all that, I did see her just once after our day at the beach. It was years past, and we were out of college then. We were at a train station in the city, and I saw her across the platform, immaculately clothed with hair pulled neat into a bun by countless bobby pins, and she saw me, comfortable but ragged in a summer dress I’d been wearing for years and drooping socks with frayed edges, and we sat together, and the silence settled around us and hung heavy on our shoulders. I asked her if she remembered the day by the seashore, and she asked me if I remembered the day I kissed her for the first time, and her voice was as ragged as her sweater—which is to say, not at all—and I didn’t answer, and I couldn’t answer, and if I had waited for us to be okay I could have been waiting for a hundred lifetimes.

> so, that's it. i would appreciate some feedback. i'm arranging a portfolio for applying to colleges and i'm not ashamed to admit i'm pretty proud of this piece, but it definitely needs critiquing. my concerns pretty much reside in the second-to-last paragraph, which was added after everything else was written because i thought of the line "I wondered if she remembered that time we danced to Björk in our underwear" and wanted to be able to work it into the piece.

title: [RF] Nonperfusion -- feedback please?

question: Summarize how the narrator almost died and was saved.

answer: The narrator and their friend went to the beach. They swam far out past the rocks, farther than the narrator had ever gone. The narrator sunk like a stone, and the undertow pulled them further and further under. The narrator was certain they would be entombed in the sea. The narrator kicked away the snakes, but the undertow kept pulling them under. The narrator's friend grabbed a fistful of the narrator's hair and hauled them out of the ocean.

critique: "They swam far out past the rocks, farther than the narrator had ever gone. The narrator sunk like a stone, and the undertow pulled them further and further under. The narrator was certain they would be entombed in the sea. The narrator kicked away the snakes, but the undertow kept pulling them under. The narrator's friend grabbed a fistful of the narrator's hair and hauled them out of the ocean." - this is incorrect. The narrator was the one who swam out past the rocks and the other person was her friend.

question: Summarize what happened when the narrator came to.

answer: The narrator came to on the beach and saw the girl had gone. She ran to the tallest rocks on the beach and looked out across the parking lots and fields and train tracks. She was alone with the sea on a dark grey summer afternoon. She pretended the tears on her cheeks were saltwater left over from when the ocean washed over her. She walked the three miles home along the side of a highway without shoes on. She passed her house on the way back to hers and saw the vans were gone and the car was gone and the lights were off and the gate was locked and the lock was changed. She tried to write the girl letters but they all came back returned to sender. She tried to look her up in her new city's phonebook but all she could find was a hair removal specialist and a hair replacement specialist. She gave up.

critique: The answer is a summary of the narrator's actions after she woke up, not what happened when she came to.

critique: The sentences in the answer should be rearranged for clarity.

question: Describe the relationship between the narrator and their friend.

answer: They are very close friends.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator is in love with her friend.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator and her friend are very close friends.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator is upset that her friend left without saying goodbye.

question: Summarize how the two became friends.

answer: No answer

critique: The answer is incorrect. It should be "That information can't be found."


text:
He didn't remember much about his life, and nothing from before he was six. They told him it was normal in children to forget things from such a young age, but he didn't believe them. After all, the things he *did* remember were in such bright, sharp detail, when he delved into his mind to them, it was almost like living the events over again exactly as they happened.

The day the Men came and took him to the facility was a particularly bright memory. He had dreams of it, dreams that were so detailed it was as if he had stepped back in time. Over and over, he would relive the terrible moment.

*He was sleeping, and having the most wonderful dream. In the dream he had a mother, and a sister, and a father who went to work during the days and came home at night to tell his family about his day, and the boy would listen intently, and his sister would look at him and start to ask a question, but the boy would not hear the question, for at that moment he was woken by the sound of splintering wood and the startled shrieks of the other boys in the orphanage, the sounds of heavy feet on the wood floors, and dark silhouettes in the darkness, and then rough hands gripping his arms and pulling him off his bed, still in his pajamas and no shoes, not even socks, and the boy too afraid and confused to even make a sound and then men carried him out the door and into the street to a car parked at the curb, and the door slides open and the boy is thrown inside impersonally, and his entire world is pitted into darkness as the door slides shut again, and he feels the car start to drive, and it drives and drives...*

He always woke up then, when the car started to drive. he didn't know why, but it was the way it was, and he couldn't do anything about it.

The car had taken him to a large white building in the middle of a desert. He had been carried inside and put in a room with a bed and a dresser and white walls and no windows, and had been told to stay there. As soon as the goons had left the boy had tried the door, of course, but to no avail.

Later that first day a fat lady in a white smock had entered his room carrying a tray of food, and the boy had tried to run for it, out the open door, but the lady was fast for being fat, and she grabbed him as he tried to dodge past. She had fat, oily fingers that made the boys skin crawl, and he knew he never wanted her to touch him again. The food was flavorless and stale, and the boy hardly touched it after the first bite.

And so it was for the next four years of the boys life. He never saw another soul, except for the fat lady. She never spoke to the boy, and didn't have a name tag, but that was okay with the boy, for even if she had told him her name, he would still have called her the fat lady.

Every night he dreamed the same dream. The day of his abduction to this horrible place, and every night he woke up as the car began to drive. Everyday he had the same horrible food, and spent the days scratching pictures into the white wall paper of his room.

Then one night, something changed. The boy had always remember everything about his dreams, and he always felt as though he was a camera inside the eye of his past self, with no control, only the ability to observe through his own eyes the horror that ensued. But this night something was different.

*He was woken from his wonderful dream by the crashing noise, and the boys shouting, and he sat up, ready for what was to come. But he could feel his hands, his feet, he could blink when he wanted to, and he raised his hand to look at it, and it obeyed. He was so stunned he didn't even flinch when the men grabbed him. They took him and threw him in the car, and it began to drive...*

He woke with a start and looked around the room. It must have been daytime, because they only turned the light on when the sun came up, and they turned it off when the sun went down.

He stared up at the ceiling, questions filling his mind like a swarm of ants pouring out of a disturbed ant hill. What had happened? What was going on now? Was it just another part of the dream? A part he had forgotten? How could it be? How could he do it? What did it *mean*?

With the many questions, however, came fewer answers, and the boy groaned in frustration. Just then the Fat Lady came in with his tray of food, and he sat up and watched her until she left, then he grabbed up his tray and slowly munched on his food, thoughts of the dream change running wild in his mind.

That night he couldn't wait for the lights to go out. And when finally they did, it took him a long time to fall asleep. A funny thing happens, the more you think of sleep. Not sure why, but if you are trying to go to sleep, the absolutely worst thing you can do is think about going to sleep. Unfortunately, the boy did not know this, and spent much of the night with is eyes scrunched shut, willing himself to sleep. For hours he did this, but to no avail. Finally, he gave up and went to staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would be like to have windows, wondering what season it was, if it was raining, snowing, what?

*He was awoken by the sound of the crash, and the other boys, and he immediately sat up and looked around and realized; HE HAD DONE IT! He was in the dream, and he felt the same surge of power rush through his body, and he had control. He heard the thumping feet on the wood floor and quickly jumped off the bed and sprinted for the other side of the room. There was a window there, and he pushed it open and had just gotten one leg over the sill when a beefy hand grabbed him around the neck and pulled. The boy fell back into the room, choking and spluttering, and then the two men had him on either arm, and they carried him past all the silent, gaping boys, out the front door and to the car, and the darkness closed in, and the car began to drive...*

He woke with a start, and immediately noticed the change; he was in a dark room, and the floor was cold on his bare feet. The mattress he had been on the night before was gone, replaced by a small cot with a small wool blanket that he could barely see in the gloom. Where the white walls and door had once been was now cold gray stone and a steel door with a small slat at the bottom of it.

What was this place? What had happened? He tried to think to remember, and suddenly a blur of images came to him; an angry thin, gray woman, yelling at him, a smaller gray room with shackles that attached to his bare, sore ankles, the Fat Lady smiling cruelly at him. But those images weren't *his*, were they? They couldn't be. Could they? Why was he in the gray room now? When had they brought him there?

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He was not stupid, and his imagination had always been his most important tool in that plain white room. And now, slowly, a thought began to form. A thought so impossible, so amazing, so *dangerous*. And the boy smiled. He could fix it. He could fix it all.

    TO BE CONTINUED

title: The Boy Who Dreamed

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator never knew much about his life before he was six years old, only having dreams about it. He was taken to the facility by a group of men who he describes as being in black suits and sunglasses. The narrator, who was also in his pajamas when he was kidnapped, would have vivid memories of being carried off and placed in a facility with no one to interact with. He would wake up and think of his life at the facility, and how he wished that he could be back with his family.

critique: The narrator is not in his pajamas when he is kidnapped.

critique: The narrator's memories are not vivid, and he was not in his pajamas when he was kidnapped.

critique: The narrator is not in his pajamas when he was kidnapped.

critique: The narrator is not kidnapped by a group of men, but by a group of men.

critique: The narrator's memories of his family are not relevant to the question.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator has unique powers to dream that he didn't have before.

critique: The story is called "The Boy Who Dreamed" so he should be called "The boy"

question: What does the story say about childhood slavery?

answer: No answer


text:
WILLIAM QUINTIN HAYES (born May 2, 1985) is a former American football defensive end. He was drafted by the Tennessee Titans in the fourth round of the 2008 NFL Draft. He played college football at Winston-Salem State.

Early years

A native of High Point, North Carolina, Hayes is a 2003 graduate of T. Wingate Andrews High School where he was a member of the Raiders' Mid State 2A Conference Championship football team in 2003.

College career

2003 season

He redshirted in his first season at Winston-Salem State. Before he attended Winston-Salem State, he was also redshirted at Barber-Scotia College before the school lost accreditation.

2004 season

In 2004, he appeared in five games for the Rams, starting in two, making eight total tackles. He tallied three solo tackles and five assisted tackles. He recorded one tackle for a loss of one yard and broke up one pass.

2005 season

In 2005, he appeared in three games for the Rams, starting two making seven total tackles with four tackles for a loss of five total yards.

2006 season

In 2006, he became one of the team's top defensive players last season, playing in all 11 games with nine starts after he appeared in all 11 games last season and made 57 tackles with (25 solo) and led the team in sacks with 6.5 yards and total tackles for a loss with 13 for a loss and he even added an interception and also added four pass breakups and even had two quarterback hurries and two fumble recoveries.

2007 season

In 2007, he appeared in 11 games for the Rams with 11 starts and recorded 78 tackles, tallied 46 solo tackles and 32 assisted tackles with 19 tackles for loss, and a team-high 8.5 sacks. He also forced a team-high seven fumbles and recovered four fumbles, one of which he returned six yards for a touchdown versus Delaware State University, one of his two touchdowns on the season he recovered another fumble in the Rams' last game of the season and returned it 16 yards for a go-ahead touchdown. He hurried opposing quarterbacks 12 times and broke up three passes on the season.

Professional career

Pre-draft

Hayes helped his draft stock considerably when he was clocked at 4.59 in the 40-yard dash at his pro day at Wake Forest University in March 2008.

Tennessee Titans

Hayes was drafted by the Titans in the fourth round of the 2008 NFL Draft. He signed a minimum salary contract over the next four years and a $500,000 signing bonus totaling $1.8 million. In his rookie season he made 13 tackles and one sack as a reserve defensive end for the Titans. Once Jeff Fisher benched veteran starter Jevon Kearse in Week 10, Hayes became the starter.

St. Louis/Los Angeles Rams

Hayes signed a one-year, $900,000 with the St. Louis Rams on April 6, 2012.[1] Hayes played backup defensive end and also played defensive tackle in Rams nickel defense in 2012 and was third on team with 7 sacks.

On March 12, 2013, he signed a three-year, $10.5 million contract extension that includes $5.75 million in guarantees.[2] On March 9, 2016, Hayes re-signed with the Rams to a three-year $21 million contract.

Miami Dolphins

On March 9, 2017, Hayes was traded to the Miami Dolphins along with a seventh round draft pick in the 2017 NFL Draft for Miami's sixth round selection in the draft.[3] He was placed on injured reserve on November 28, 2017 with a back injury.[4]

On March 14, 2018, Hayes signed a one-year contract extension with the Dolphins.[5]

In Week 3 of the 2018 season, Hayes suffered a torn ACL while sacking Raiders' quarterback Derek Carr, and was ruled out for the season.[6][7]

Mermaids and dinosaurs

In December 2015, Hayes received media attention for his disbelief in dinosaurs. He claimed, “No, I don't believe dinosaurs existed. Not even a little bit.” He continued, stating “I believe there is more of a chance you will find a mermaid than you will a dinosaur because we find different species in the water all the time.”[8] According to his former teammate and friend Chris Long, “He thinks archaeologists place bones underground like a parent would place Easter eggs. They just planted them. It's some large conspiracy. He does not believe that dinosaurs ever existed and he thinks that mermaids are real. I love dinosaurs, so we have a big point of contention.”[9]

In a 2016 segment on HBO's _Hard Knocks_, it was revealed that Hayes is a firm believer in mermaids. According to head coach Jeff Fisher, “I remember him getting really excited about the potential for moving out here [from St. Louis to Los Angeles] because he knew he would be closer to mermaids here on the West Coast.”[10]

On an episode of _Jimmy Kimmel Live!_ in November 2016, Hayes toured the Dinosaur Hall at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County with Kimmel and a paleontologist, Daniel Caballero. He claimed that all of the skeletons and fossils were fake and had been planted by people in order to allow for the supposed discovery of the fossils by paleontologists. This visit further solidified his denial of the existence of dinosaurs. However, the visit reinforced his belief in the existence of mermaids after a short discussion about the potential for the future discovery of the species. He also briefly discussed his belief of unicorns in the episode.

[1] Rams agree to one-year deal with Hayes

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

title: William Hayes (American football)

question: What does the text say about William Quintin Hayes?

answer: William Quintin Hayes is a former American football defensive end. He was drafted by the Tennessee Titans in the fourth round of the 2008 NFL Draft. He played college football at Winston-Salem State.

critique: The answer should mention Hayes' belief in mermaids and dinosaurs.

critique: The answer should mention his childhood.

critique: The answer should mention his early years.

critique: "Hayes is a former American football defensive end." - this was never really mentioned in the article. This can be deleted.

critique: It is omitted that he was born on May 2, 1985.

question: What does the text say about Hayes' early years?

answer: William Quintin Hayes was born May 2, 1985. He is a former American football defensive end who was drafted by the Tennessee Titans in the fourth round of the 2008 NFL Draft and played college football at Winston-Salem State. Hayes is a 2003 graduate of T. Wingate Andrews High School in High Point, North Carolina. He is also a 2003 graduate of Barber-Scotia College before the school lost accreditation.

critique: The answer is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The answer should mention that he was a member of the Raiders' Mid State 2A Conference Championship football team in 2003.

critique: The author of the text is omitted: "WILLIAM QUINTIN HAYES (born May 2, 1985) is a former American football defensive end."

text: The answer contains extraneous information not useful for the task.

category: coherence

question: What does the text say about Hayes' college career?

answer: Hayes redshirted in his first season at Winston-Salem State. He was redshirted at Barber-Scotia College before the school lost accreditation. In 2004, he appeared in five games for the Rams, starting in two, making eight total tackles. In 2005, he appeared in three games for the Rams, starting two making seven total tackles with four tackles for a loss of five total yards. In 2006, he became one of the team's top defensive players last season, playing in all 11 games with nine starts after he appeared in all 11 games last season and made 57 tackles with (25 solo) and led the team in sacks with 6.5 yards and total tackles for a loss with 13 for a loss and he even added an interception and also added four pass breakups and even had two quarterback hurries and two fumble recoveries. In 2007, he appeared in 11 games for the Rams with 11 starts and recorded 78 tackles, tallied 46 solo tackles and 32 assisted tackles with 19 tackles for loss, and a team-high 8.5 sacks. He also forced a team-high seven fumbles and recovered four fumbles, one of which he returned six yards for a touchdown versus Delaware State University, one of his two touchdowns on the season he recovered another fumble in the Rams' last game of the season and returned it 16 yards for a go-ahead touchdown. He hurried opposing quarterbacks 12 times and broke up three passes on the season.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

question: What does the text say about Hayes' professional career?

answer: Hayes was drafted by the Tennessee Titans in the fourth round of the 2008 NFL Draft. He signed a minimum salary contract over the next four years and a $500,000 signing bonus totaling $1.8 million. In his rookie season he made 13 tackles and one sack as a reserve defensive end for the Titans. Once Jeff Fisher benched veteran starter Jevon Kearse in Week 10, Hayes became the starter.

critique: The answer should mention his time with the St. Louis Rams.

text: The answer should include mentioning Hayes' professional career with the Miami Dolphins.


text:
CHAD JONATHON JONES (born 15 June 1984) is an Australian rules footballer currently listed with the Claremont Football Club in the West Australian Football League (WAFL), having previously played for the and the West Coast Eagles in the Australian Football League (AFL). From Perth, Western Australia, Jones made his debut for Claremont in 2003, and was recruited to the Kangaroos in the 2003 National Draft. Over three seasons at the club, he played six games, kicking a single goal, before being traded to West Coast prior to the 2007 season. At West Coast, Jones played seven games over two seasons before being delisted. Remaining with Claremont where he played as a key forward, Jones led the club's goalkicking in 2009 and 2010, also winning the Bernie Naylor Medal as the competition's leading goalkicker in both seasons. He went on to play in Claremont's 2011 and 2012 premiership sides, having also represented Western Australia in two interstate matches.

Career

The younger brother of former West Coast Eagles player Brett Jones, Jones originally played for the Wembley Downs Junior Football Club.[1] Educated at Hale School,[2] he played Alcock Cup matches before being recruited to Claremont in the WAFL. He made his senior debut for Claremont in round 1, 2003, against , playing eight games and kicking 11 goals.[3] He was recruited to the with pick number 24 in the 2003 National Draft. Jones made his AFL debut in round six of the 2004 season against the , recording five disposals before being dropped for the next game.[4] He returned to play two more games late in the season, but mainly played with the club's , Port Melbourne. He did not play a game in 2005, spending the entire season in the VFL. After being reassigned to the Tasmanian Devils in the VFL for 2006, Jones managed three consecutive games for the Kangaroos in rounds 11–13, but these were his last games for the club as he was de-listed at the end of the season.[5]

Jones was recruited by the West Coast Eagles with pick 45 in the 2007 Rookie Draft, joining his brother at the club.[6] After kicking 42 goals from 11 games for Claremont at WAFL level, including a run of 26 goals in four games,[7] Jones made his debut for West Coast in round 13 of the 2007 season, against , kicking three goals playing at centre half-forward.[8] He kicked four behinds from 13 possession in his next game, against the , but was dropped two games after, returning for one game in round 22. His form for Claremont was consistent however, and he finished with 63.41 for the season, second only to Anthony Jones (68 goals) as Claremont's leading goalkicker. He played in the club's Grand Final loss to , and also represented the WAFL in interstate football against the Victorian Football League (VFL), kicking two goals. After spending the first three rounds of the season in the WAFL, kicking 15 goals for Claremont, Jones played three more games for West Coast from rounds 5–7, kicking five goals, but severely sprained his ankle at training, missing a month of football.[9] He returned to football at WAFL level in round 14 against Peel Thunder,[10] but was unable to break back into the Eagles' line-up due to the form of Quinten Lynch, Ben McKinley and Ashley Hansen. He was de-listed by West Coast at the end of the season.[11]

Remaining with Claremont, Jones emerged as a full-forward in 2009, kicking 77 goals to be the club's leading goalkicker, also winning the Bernie Naylor Medal as the competition's leading goalkicker. He continued this form in the 2010 season, kicking 85 goals, including two eight-goal hauls and one haul ten-goal 27-possession game against Peel Thunder, to again win the Bernie Naylor Medal. He was also selected to represent the WAFL against the VFL in the 2010 state game, kicking four goals.[12] He missed the first games of the 2011 WAFL season with a hamstring injury,[13] but returned to the side for the latter half of the season, kicking 41 goals in 13 games, which included the 2011 Grand Final win over Subiaco.[14] The following season, Jones kicked 45 goals from 20 games, and again played in Claremont's premiership side.[15]

[1] Chad Jones – westcoasteagles.com.au. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[2] Sport – Old Haleians' Association. Retrieved 5 December 2012.

[3] Chad Jones (Claremont) – WAFLOnline. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[4] Chad Jones – AFLTables. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[5]

[6] Jones, McNamara, Spaanderman join Eagles nest – kangaroos.com.au. Written by Anna Carew-Reid. Published 18 December 2006. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[7]

[8] Adelaide v West Coast, 1 July 2007, at AAMI Stadium – AFLTables. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[9] Eagles injury woes continue with Chad Jones out – adelaidenow.com.au. Published 8 May 2008. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[10]

[11] Eagles axe three – afl.com.au. Published 4 September 2008. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[12]

[13] Player interviews: Chad Jones – claremontfc.com.au. Retrieved 28 September 2011.

[14]

[15] Claremont wins WAFL premiership – _Sydney Morning Herald_ online. Published 23 September 2012. Retrieved 26 September 2012.

title: Chad Jones

question: Why did Chad Jones play so little from 2003 to 2006?

answer: Jones was drafted to the Kangaroos and Claremont in the 2003 National Draft, but he didn't play a game in 2005 and only played a few games in 2006. It may be implied that he was injured and was in the VFL.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: He was also considered not good enough to play.

critique: The information about the Kangaroos is irrelevant to the question, and should be omitted.