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Sample Band 6 Discursive Response: “On Burnout” (With Annotations)

Discursive writing is all about movement – wandering through ideas, shifting perspectives, and reflecting on contradictions without needing to “prove” or “argue” anything.

Below is a full sample response exploring the idea of burnout. After the piece, you’ll find annotations explaining how the structure, voice, and crafting choices work together to create a coherent, high-quality discursive, followed by a short checklist to help you reflect on your own writing.

Use this response as a model for rhythm, fluidity, voice, and conceptual movement in discursive writing. It was written to demonstrate the level of control and crafting expected of a Band 6 discursive response.

Full Sample Response


[1] We’ve all felt this: days that begin like an extinguished cigarette. The embers throb with flashes of heat and light, but in mere moments they crumble into ash. The day is over before it’s begun. Burnout. For some of us, burnout feels like a default setting, even though the importance of rest is regularly touted – not only by professionals but even by that obscure uncle you’ve met only once before. 

[2] Maybe that’s why I find myself thinking about Sisyphus, trapped on that hill. His eyes are determined, muscles trembling beneath the weight of the boulder. He heaves it upward, feet scraping against gravel, only to watch it tumble back down again. There’s a kind of tragic rhythm to it – effort, collapse, repeat – that feels unsettlingly familiar. 

And yet, I can’t deny the strange camaraderie I feel with Sisyphus. There is something awe-inspiring in the resilience it takes to push a metaphorical boulder up a hill every day, even while risking permanent depletion. Some describe his predicament as compulsion – he cannot stop pushing the boulder, even if he wanted to. Others frame it as a well-deserved punishment for his sins. 

[3] But then there’s another kind of burnout – the kind that crystallises the greatest humanity can offer. We awe at the photo of two surgeons collapsed on the floor after a complex thirty-two-hour surgery in which they performed six life-saving procedures to remove two brain tumours. One surgeon raises a shaky V sign – victory – but moments later, both arms lie limp against the cold tile floor. 

The patient lived. And the surgeons, like firefighters battling hellfire for eighteen or more hours, or the single parent who works two jobs but still finds time to bake cupcakes for the school fete, all experience a burnout that feels noble, moral, urgent. Their exhaustion tests our understanding of what is possible. It redefines our sense of human limitation. The fatigue hardly matters when weighed against the gains. 

[4] But most burnout doesn’t look so dramatic in real life. Most of the time, it’s me staring at a maths problem until the numbers blur together, willing myself to pick up the pencil while my body refuses the command. It looks embarrassingly ordinary: not an epic struggle on a mountain, but a quiet one at a desk. It’s me squaring up with a poster of an adorable kitten, doing a chin up on a rope – Hang in there! the sign reads. I close my book and my eyes for a second. Just a second, I promise myself.

Before I know it, the screaming deadlines, my mother’s grimace as I doom scroll, my dreams of becoming a world class doctor – they all fade away into obscurity and I am engulfed in warm, delicious sleep. Plutarch whispers “Rest is the sweet sauce of labour.” In my half-sleep, I agree.

[5] If there’s one thing these seventeen years have taught me, it’s this: when the inner light begins to dim, when the embers glow softly and the crackle of sparks fade, we don’t need to panic. Burnout feels final but in reality, the fire just needs oxygen. What was once a tiny flame can return as a full-bodied light, rippling with power and warmth. 

Nothing stays extinguished forever. 

We can give ourselves room to breathe.

Annotations & Breakdown

Below is a guide to the key crafting decisions and movements within the response. These aren’t the only ways to write discursively, but they highlight techniques that are especially effective in the HSC.


[1] Hook

What’s happening

  • Topic is visualised through a poetic analogy and a relatable scenario
  • Personal voice is established

Why it works

  • Personal voice is sustained through humour, imagery and inclusive language allows the reader to recognise the universality of burnout
  • The motif of fire is established and revisited in the end to create a satisfying sense of closure

[2] Movement 1: Mythic Burnout

What’s happening

  • This movement zooms in to a mythical example and zooms out to present personal and social insights on burnout
  • Vivid description used to bring the example to life

Why it works

  • The mythical example creates ethos appeal and balances abstract statements with concrete imagery
  • It also serves as an analogy for modern life, gives the writer space to make personal connections, social commentary while making room to examine the contradictions inherent in burnout; avoids judgment
  • Reflective tone and hypothetical language notable in ‘maybe that’s why’ – contributes to the introspective mood

[3] Movement 2: Noble Burnout

What’s happening

  • Grounded by a recognisable historical photograph, this movement zooms in to an example of heroic burnout.
  • Shift to a new perspective – a movement from the mythical, then personal and now this new heroic context creates a layered discussion, a ‘wandering’ effect, focusing on dramatic real world scenarios.

Why it works

  • Imagery is strong and purposeful
  • Tonal shift and shift in perspective offers a contrast with the previous movement, acknowledging the value of heroic burnout where the previous movement was conflicted
  • Real world examples provide a pleasing contrast to the mythical focus of the previous movement

[4] Movement 3: Ordinary Burnout

What’s happening

  • This movement contrasts between the intensity of the previous movement and the quietness of ordinary experience.
  • The writer zooms into a familiar and relatable scenario, underlying burnout as a feature of existence – then it zooms out to present personal insights into the nature of burnout

Why it works

  • A pleasing tonal shift towards a quieter voice. The emotional intensity lowers here, creating contrast with earlier movements. High-quality discursive writing often varies emotional pressure rather than sustaining one mood throughout.
  • Self deprecating tone, anecdotal information and humour contributes to personal voice, adds levity
  • Seamless pivot achieved through the conditional signal word ‘but’ to indicate an exception – this deepens the ‘wandering’ effect, creating an open non judgmental tone

[5] Landing the response

What’s happening

  • The metaphor of embers returns → structural cohesion.
  • The writer offers a personal realisation, not a lecture.
  • It ends with softness, not certainty.

Why it works

  • Discursive writing doesn’t “prove” something; it arrives somewhere.
  • Returning to the opening metaphor gives the piece symmetry. Cohesion is achieved through a sustained motif (fire/embers), which evolves in meaning across the response rather than remaining static.
  • The closing reassurance (“Nothing stays extinguished forever”) is reflective, not prescriptive.

The annotations above explain why this response works. The checklist below helps you ask the same questions of your own discursive writing.

Discursive Writing Self-Check

Use this checklist to reflect on your own discursive writing. You don’t need to answer “yes” to everything — the goal is awareness, not perfection.

  • Does my writing explore an idea rather than argue a single, fixed position?
  • Does it sound conversational and reflective, rather than like a TEEL/PEEL essay or textbook explanation?
  • Do I avoid lecturing, moralising, or telling the reader what to think?
  • Have I moved between more than one perspective, example, or way of thinking about the idea?
  • Do I balance personal commentary and insight with broader social, cultural, or universal reflections, where relevant?
  • Do my ideas flow naturally into one another, rather than feeling forced or formulaic?
  • Do I balance abstract reflection with concrete moments, images, or examples?
  • Have I relied on ideas, voice, and imagery rather than heavy statistics or evidence?
  • Does my opening invite the reader in and set a tone, rather than explain the task?
  • Does my ending offer a thought, image, or quiet insight rather than a summary or conclusion?
  • Does the piece feel like me thinking on the page, rather than performing an essay?
  • Would someone actually want to keep reading this?

Next Steps: Explore the Discursive Writing Series

This guide is part of a seven-part series on discursive writing.

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