Copy/Paste your poetry for comment

I just wanted to share with you Austin F's. brilliant way of integrating poetry into her narrative writing. She also ended her piece with the line.

Falling for the Nutcracker
As I collapse, my face hits the hard wooden floor in the dark, silent backstage hallway and my tutu is crushed. A river of pain leaps into my ankle, and the pride in my heart becomes a sense of clumsiness. The fall makes the black walls spin like an optical illusion. I can't even move my foot to get up, or a sting shoots through my leg like a bullet grazing through a deer's heart. It feels like my leg was just smashed by a boulder.


"Remember," I thought about Maya Angelou's poem, "Shadows on the wall, noises down the hall, life doesn't frighten me at all." Lying there, I am as helpless as a newborn baby even though I am eight years old. "How have I even ended up in this mess?" I ask myself.

Anne Frank + Southeast Region Narrative

Check out the link below to recap the video from today's session on Anne Frank

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=um3umnwgK3k
Will your narrative poem capture the emotion of  your event?


Enjoy Nick's Southeast region narrative below

From the marble-cutting mill, to the canal-navigation plane, and my most prized accomplishment, the “Clermont,” I have certainly come a far way in life. At the age of thirty-five in 1800, I thought that accomplishing everything in life was already complete. That was true until “Clermont,” my first successful steamboat, was created. By the way, my name is my name is Robert Fulton, the inventor. In 1793, I concentrated on steam navigation. Writing books on canal navigation was my occupation in 1796. Seven years later, the idea of inventing what eventually became the steamboat came into my mind. My first attempt at launching a steamboat with the support of Chancellor Livingston was on the Seine, a very large river between two parts of France, was not entirely successful. The boat immediately collapsed and plummeted to the bottom of the river like sand through an hourglass. Red in the face, I watched the horror of the boat tumble to the floor of the river. The odor of the oil burning in the air with the rest of the ship was a sure indication of the devastating moment, and from Livingston’s panicky expression, it was obvious he felt like me at the time. Despite this horrible failure, I had to persevere.



In 1807, I decided it would be the right choice to design a new steamboat. Newer wooden planks, a better engine, and a new supply of oil were essential to the ship’s success. My speedy hands began to assemble the components of the unfinished steamboat. After a while, my hands were still, the steamboat was unfinished, and my mind was nothing but a swirl of uncomfortable confusion. There was no Chancellor Livingston to assist me this time. Ten months later, my masterpiece was finished. Looking back at the steamboat reminded me of the sweat trickling down my back as I diligently finished the ship. I thought to myself, what name would suit my steamboat the best? My sister’s name is Clara, and my dog’s name is Monty, so what if those names blended together? That was it. The name would be “Clermont.”


Two tan transferors on a barge, Jim and Charles, transferred “Clermont” all the way from Pennsylvania to the Hudson elegantly like a feather scraping the top of the water. My goal was to chug “Clermont” all the way from the Hudson to Albany, New York. It was going to take approximately thirty hours. By the time I reached the Hudson, my feet climbed onto the wooden boards of the “Clermont.” Nervously, my sweaty hands grabbed the wheel of the boat.


The “Clermont” pushed off of the dock. The paddle of the bolt jolted forward as the “Clermont” came to life in only a quick moment of time. The engine roared as the steam whistled. Proud as a peacock, my head stuck out of the window to take in the crisp, New York air and the smell of steam and oil from the “Clermont.” The crowd was encouraging me to go on right before the steamboat left the colossal river of New York.


No longer in the Hudson, “Clermont” chugged its way towards Albany. The steamboat finally reached its destination. The crowd roared with excitement, and history knew that every bit of this moment would be savored into educational textbooks for the rest of time.

Visiting Author: Day 1

Link to our visiting author's website.
http://www.ediehemingway.com/

Feel free to copy paste your drafts for comment.

Remember: You must bring BOTH a hard copy and a digital copy (on USB key or google docs) to work on tomorrow.

Homework Week 5

Click on the above link to see your H/W for the week after Thanksgiving.

Remember -

• Come with an idea for your personal narrative
• Be thinking about a world event that you would like to research e.g. The buidling of the Hoover Dam (you may ask your parents for advice on an appropriate world event)

Congratulations to Showing not Telling Champions 2010
Eliza and Mary Selwyn
Gracie and Mary Elliot

Congratulations to Breck for your excellent speech to the whole school today!

Congratulations to Have Lunch with an author winners:
Monday

India Persson; Eliza Cotchett
Savannah Kasay; Austin Fitzgerald
Thomas Aucamp; Mimi Ughetta
Ansley Blom; Bekah Summa

Tuesday
Rich Pope; Thomas Layton
Ashely Foley; Cady Hammer
Livy Smith; Breck Stenson
Julia Tayloe Gracie Matthews

Congratulations to the rest of your for your wonderful historical narratives.

Have a truly relaxing and enjoyable Thanksgiving. Rest, relax, and have plenty of fun. Don't forget your little 'Thanksgiving' toast at the dinner table. This would truly put a smile on your family members' faces. Take care!

Showing not Telling - Day 5

GENEROSITY

By Austin F. and Will H.

Slowly walking past Charlotte Latin School, CLS, I see big bins spilling over with cans. Wit ha concrete bed, trees standing like soldiers on command, and a vast blue sky, I (wish) I had a house on this street. A thought ran through my head, "how could they have collected so much, and where was it going?" Suddenly, a truck pulls up to pick up the canned goods. "No you can't take them away; I'm starving and need some food." To look at a kid in tattered, beaten clothes probably startled the dirvers, but they gestured me to come over and handed me over a can of Dole golden pineapples.  The can was like a precious diamond from the earth. "Thank you, sirs."I exclaimed.  They just turned around and with an ear to ear smile, headed back to the Loaves and Fishes truck. Seeing the sign on the truck, I hesitated. I ran toward them and gave  back the can of pineapples.  (Last line added for dramatic effect)

By Mary Elliot and Gracie

The smell of yeast and cinnamon wafted through the bakery's open red door. Every now and again, some lucky person  would stride out of the bakery carrying a diligently wrapped package. Everytime someone came out, I always wished I ws the one carrying the package. Day after day, month  after month, I sat right on the sidewalk next to the bakery.  One  sunny afternoon, a young woman stepped out of the bakery carrying her package. The lady promptly handed me the package.  Confused, I got up and began to take it to her car, but she stopped me, " you have it child. You need this cinnamon bun more than I do.


Only H/W tonight is to finish your narratives for tomorrow.

I am expecting GREAT narratives from all of you tomorrow. Make them the best piece of writing you have ever done... please!

WILF

• Showing not Telling Language
• Some precise facts about your person
• Sentence Fluency
• Some figurative and sensory language
• Variety of sentence openings.