Omniscient-NARRATIVE...

Read MG's excellent narrative. What are her best lines?

The smell of herbs and old boxes wafted through the musty air of The Old Wells General Store. The cobbled stone streets were alive with afternoon activity, the summer sun warming the faces of pedestrians. Unusual warm weather on the fall day drew children out to play among the multi colored leaves. A tinkling of bells echoed outside as a bay horse pulled up in front of a shiny wooden carriage, disposing a rosy cheeked child and her drawn-up mother. With the rustling of skirts and lavender perfume, mother and daughter tottered into the General Store. Mrs. Smith gaily picked out parchment and letter stationary for her child’s party, swatting down grubby hands with her gloved one. As she hurried to the counter, she wondered if her apple pie was burning on the coal stove. But all thoughts of apple pie left her mind when she was reminded by the clerk of the extra fee. Her face aghast, her green eyes wide as a gloved hand shook, a vein seemed to pop out of her powdered face. Placing a dainty hand upon its pair, she gave him an icy nod. “I see.” Was all she could muster. Her mouth clamped together like a clam, she dropped the materials and hurried her protesting child out, her mind turning like the worn wheels on the cobbled road.


With another sigh, James Andrews was forced out another wooden door, another bag of coins in his chapped hands. Pulling up his collar, a beautiful red leave flew into his face. Sputtering, he took in the strange warm weather. Maybe it’s a good sign… or not, he thought to himself as his deer hide boots quickened when the mob of shouting Patriot protesters came into view. Swallowing as beads of sweat appeared on his brow, the hated tax collector sprinted for his brick home. The lock clicked as a sigh of relief escaped him, the creases on his pale forehead disappearing. Thoughts of resigning filled his troubled mind as the cry of “No taxation without representation!” paraded in front of his sturdy house. A trembling hand parted the curtain as James looked out. The English flag his heart beat for so dearly wavered above his head. Thoughts of England filled his head, thoughts of the Boston before all this trouble started… “They won a war for them!” he told his tabby. “Why is it suc.h a big deal to pay a mite of pocket money for our King George III, may he reign forever.” His face a drawn out scowl, he lifted his chin and closed the curtain

For many of you, I told you that you didn't effectively describe a scene. Read Caroline's M. first  paragraph that perfectly sets the scene. She used the picture to help her. - Hint! Use pictures to  help you in future.

A blanket of snow lies over the cobblestone streets of Boston. Inside the chocolate brown house sits Mercy Otis Watson and Abigail Adams. The milky tablecloth covered the wooden table topped with crumpets and tea. Hanging on the wall are paintings of British scenery. Mercy dressed in a lovely pale blue ruffled sat chatting about the taxes with Abigail. In a light pink and white, Abigail Adams fanned herself with her ivory fan listening to Mercy chatter on about the king.