Summative: Social Issues Story

Summative for scene writing instructions below:

Turn in a digital copy of your final piece

Final draft  - Make a copy of this file and drop it into the RLA folder

You will design a cover page for your piece that hints at meaning or message. e.g. below:

Student Sample - How does yours compare?

Like glass eyes, my vision was locked to the screen. I scooted forward in my seat and leaned closer to the television as Aaron Rodgers, quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, raced across the field, dodging other players while holding a football. He crossed the goal scoring a touchdown! I was the first to stand up and cheer, my arms flailing around as if I had just scored the winning point for my team.

Well, at least that’s what I wished had happened. Instead, I watched as an army of muscular men dressed in chunky armor of bright colors battled furiously, comprehending nothing. Okay, maybe a bit like I knew the leather 3D rhombus is called a football (I think), but that’s pretty much it. You see ‘football’ isn’t my first language, in fact it’s not my second or third or fourth. Instead of trying to learn how to ‘speak’ football, I was focusing on some more important things. You see when you are someone like me, your priorities are just different.

As I was saying, I sat there on our cracked and stained, dark brown leather couch waiting until I could finally go back up to my room. I could feel my legs getting numb from sitting down so long, which is why I switched it up a bit and placed my right leg over my left. Ah, comfortable again.

But I immediately changed this when I saw how my older brother, Bart, was sitting. I studied the positioning of his legs, how he placed his arms and how much his head was tilted. Why am I doing this you may ask, well who else better to copy that Brawny Bart. You see Bart speaks fluent ‘football’ plus fluent baseball, soccer, hockey and pretty much any sport you can possibly imagine. Surprisingly, Bart doesn’t bother me about knowing how to speak effortless ‘kitchen’, but instead is especially supportive, especially during my Easy Bake Oven phase, or maybe this is just because he likes cookies. My parents on the other hand cannot stand it when I’m in the kitchen instead of out in the scorching sun, throwing some ball around. Which is why I am here watching this football game in the first place. After my careful analysis, I then uncrossed my legs and spread them out, placed my feet flat on the floor, draped one of my scrawny arms over my left leg and leaned forward just enough so that my elbow could rest on my right thigh as my chin rested on my knuckles.

How is this natural at all? I thought to myself as I awkwardly stared blankly into the screen.

My thoughts strayed away from the game, and instead drifted to what I was going to wear the next day- Ripped, baggy jeans beneath a dirty, navy shirt like Bart or my floral button-up shirt paired with navy short-shorts. In other words, sporty guy I want to be or me. Why is it so hard, don’t ask me. I hadn’t yet finalized my outfit before my thoughts turned back to the game.

Stop losing focus! The only way you can be more like Bart is to make sure you do what he does, if you aren’t paying attention how is anyone supposed to believe you? I scolded myself. I glanced at the timer at the top right hand corner of the screen. Only a few minutes left, thank jesus. The Green Bay whatever were behind by 5 points (I don’t understand football but I can still do math okay) and according to what Bart was muttering to himself, the only way they could still win is by scoring a touchdown (um what even?). But really, 6 points and less than 3 minutes left? No way.

That is where I was completely and utterly wrong.

I guess christmas miracles, I mean just miracles happen because with barely anytime left I watched as the brown pointed cylinder thing shot across the field like a bullet and landed right into the hands of a man dressed in white and green. Final score: 32-33.

Writing Craft Techniques: Participles - Leads - Figurative Language

Word Level - Addding adjectives like professionsal writers

Paragraph level - Craft moves to create openings

Language - Adding figurative techniques

Writer's Craft TECHNIQUES

Final draft  - Make a copy of this file and drop it into the RLA folder

Which craft moves will you have in your piece?

Adding symbolism to writing

Planning a Scene

TRi Time Toolkit - This is for my HB. There are lots of resources on here for your Tritime.

Lesson Recap

Scene planning - You need to finish your scene plan for class tomorrow. Your graphic organizer MUST be filled in.

Exemplary Paper - How will yours compare?

Title of Story: Draw on Iron Bars

The water splashes my face and wakes me up to a dreary day. It’s identical to the dreary days that came before and the dreary days that will come after. Luckily, the sink is only a few steps away from my bed, as I’m already not able to walk around the white compound by myself. It doesn’t bother me too much, for I’ve never been one to love wandering a boring white hospital amongst worried visitors and identically clad patients. The stench of fear, misery, vomit and generously dispersed disinfectant is enough to drive anyone away. Instead, I spend most of my free time watching the television. I reach for a paper towel and dry my hands.

My parents swear they try to visit. Whenever they repeatedly apologize over the phone, I want to hate them for their absence. That’s always followed by guilt. After all, it is my body’s fault for the fresh lines on their face and the extra holes in their shirts. They can pretend the holes doesn’t exist. We all know they do.

That hurts. To know that the thrifty fashionista my mom used to be, gives up the sales and night markets to doll up a ticking time bomb. That my father calls everyday on his way to work, as if hugging and protecting the cold orb will stop its foreboding ticking. Anyone in their right mind, would throw a bomb as far away as possible. I know this, while I watch them in their painfully happy facade. But I’m not stupid. Fifteen days turned to twenty-eight. Twenty-eight to thirty-five, and the money is still draining down a bottomless pit.

I glance at myself one last time in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. A dull, empty look. Pale complexion. Rashes. A bald head. I used to wear a wig, an expensive, glossy and elegant wig, back when I cared. Back when I believed my appearance mattered more than the itchy, sweaty feeling. But, what’s the point of decorating a prison cell? I turn away from the sink with a surprisingly smooth motion. Today was a good day. My mind wasn’t as blurry and hazy, and my train of thought was surprisingly fluid. Ish. Maybe I’d actually finish a few episodes of the Big Bang Theory without forgetting halfway the plot halfway through. I really have my priorities straight.

I rush back to my bed with my turtle pace and slight nausea. I know the steps by heart, and I keep my eyes straight ahead at the rows and rows of identical white beds, matching the white walls, white doors and white labcoats. For the past few days, I haven’t really thought about too much. Maybe it’s hard to think with so many tubes and annoying machines around you, or maybe it’s hard to think when you’re locked in your own jail of a body with the execution date labeled on your forehead. I sluggishly lay back in my pillow-lined coffin and watch as a nurse hurriedly buzzes towards me, hooking me back up to some leukemia-related machine.

Closing my weary eyes, I try to drift away. Suddenly, something pokes me in the arm. I groan with an incredible amount of annoyance for a girl who knew very well she wouldn’t have fallen asleep. The eight year old boy who usually occupies the bed to my left is standing over my body. He’s only just been admitted into the hospital, and I usually just ignore him and his restlessness.

“Hi. Um, I know I don’t really know you, the nurse said that your mommy said that you can draw really well.” I stared at him in confusion, I hadn’t drawn in years. As he shifted from side to side, I didn’t even attempt to save him. “Yeah, so, my mommy wants me to make friends, and I really like drawing,” He glances sheepishly at the floor, before procuring an object from behind his back.

“This is for you.” I glanced dumbfounded at the new notebook in his hand. Optimus Prime was staring valiantly back up at me from the front page. Feeling a little awkward and confused, I smiled and accepted the Transformers book. I don’t know what he’d say if I told him right now that I’d never watched the Transformer movies.

“Thank you so much,” I say instead. My tone sounds forced even through my own ears.

“I have an idea,” he pulls out his own Bumblebee notebook, “I think we should draw pictures to put up on the walls and you know, make this place happier. We can draw cars or robots or ponies,” he pulled a face and I tried not to giggle, “We can fill up this entire wall with collages,” his eyes brightened, “Oooh, and maybe, we can draw portraits of other people for money.” His wild gesturing stopped and he cautiously flipped to a page in his own barely used book. “I already drew one of you, you don’t have to pay me or anything, I know it’s bad, but maybe you could also teach me?”

I was staring back at a mirror image, well sort of, of me. A bald stickman with googly eyes and a wide, wide smile. Instead of faded blue uniforms, I was clothed in an outfit I wouldn’t exactly choose myself. A flowery skirt and a baggy yellow shirt. I covered my mouth, but this time, the laugh rang loud and clear. My gaze shifted to the boy next to me. The boy with bright eyes and a wide, wide smile.

A dam broke inside of me. Nearly toppling out of my bed and ignoring the sharp pain in my side, I reached out and tightly hugged the confused boy. We may be in a jail cell, but we can always draw on the iron bars and paint over the emptiness. Nothing’s to stop us, from singing, laughing and drawing.

“I’d love to teach you!”

Who's got the power?

Recap - Ways authors show power in stories!

What will your outline be like?

Be prepared to share your outline in class on the Monday we return from Spring Break

Make sure you finish your next book (the book you are reading for inspiration for your RF -social issues story) over Spring Break