英文成績已是中等偏上的學生，如何能更上一層樓？

前陣子一個學生給了我這個題目：“Pretend you live in a castle. Where is it, what does it look like, and who lives there?” 我知道大部分學生都會寫castle如何宏偉皇室生活如何愜意之類的文章。的確，我把題目給ChatGPT，它也採取同樣的approach。下面是是ChatGPT和我的文章的對比，如果你是考官，哪個版本更能讓你眼前一亮？

Pretend you live in a castle. Where is it, what does it look like, and who lives there?

ChatGPT’s version

Nestled in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, Silverwind Keep stands majestically on a mist-shrouded peak. Its towering spires reach towards the sky, while ancient stone walls, draped in ivy, whisper tales of bygone eras. Banners with a silver dragon entwined around a sapphire star flutter in the wind.

Inside, the Great Hall is the castle’s heart, with a vaulted ceiling, glimmering chandeliers, and long wooden tables set for feasts. Tapestries depicting heroic battles line the walls, and a roaring fireplace provides warmth and light.

The House of Silverwind has resided here for generations. My father, Lord Eamon, with his silver hair and piercing blue eyes, rules with wisdom and strength. My mother, Lady Isolde, known for her healing skills, brings peace to troubled souls. I, Seraphina, the eldest daughter and heir, patrol the grounds and study ancient texts. My younger brother, Caelan, a gifted musician, fills the halls with joy through his melodies.

Loyal retainers, including Sir Gareth, the captain of the guard, and Mistress Elowen, the head of the household, ensure the castle runs smoothly. The grounds are enchanting, with rare plants and an ancient oak offering a tranquil escape.

Silverwind Keep is more than a fortress; it is a home filled with love, duty, and the spirit of our ancestors. As the sun sets behind the mountains, casting a golden glow, I know there is no place I would rather be.

My version

The oubliette—French for "to forget"—is a word that could make even the bravest knight tremble.

Those who were sentenced to the oubliette invariably wished they had never been born. They would be locked up in a lightless cell so small that there wasn't even room in which to sit up. Once inside, there was nothing to do but wait for death to come, either by thirst or hunger, or both. The enclosure always stank, its walls stained with the blood, pus, and sweat of long-gone previous occupants. I had even seen fingernails embedded in the crevices of the inner wall—perhaps scratching relieved the condemned of some of the torment of being entombed alive.

As a prison guard at Warwick Castle, I was forced to hear the sobs, sniffles, and shuffles the inmates made as they slowly expired. The worst part was when they were near the end—as the death rattle descended upon them, they heaved loudly and painfully.

Occasionally, some would beg me to run a sword through the grilles to finish them off in one blow, but most knew better than to ask. They were aware that if I had helped hasten their demise, my master would have been mad at me and I, too, would have met their fate.

When my shift was over and I slept in the guards' quarters in the castle, I could still hear the sobs, sniffles, and shuffles in my head. The oubliette may have meant "to forget," but it was anything but forgettable.