For an English assignment we were to turn this paragraph with 72 sentences into a much better paragraph. We could add and take away words, but we had to keep all 72 points. Afterwards, we were to count every sentence’s word count and tell what writing style we used for every sentence. The italicized paragraph was the original paragraph and the one after that is my version of it.
“Dad,” I started with an embarrassed tone in my voice as I approached him in the living room. The TV was sputtering out current events of missing people and politics in the background, my dad intently watching.
“What’s up?” he asked, slightly turning his head.
“It’s a full moon tomorrow…” I started, always embarassed to remind him.
“Oh…yeah…” He paused for a bit. “What are you going to do this time?”
“I think I’m going to go far out again. Out into the farmland, you know, where no one is.”
“Oh, okay…” He replied with a sigh, always upset that I had to leave the house because of my “problem,” but he understood. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, escpecially not my family. The best thing for me to do was to leave and become isolated until the moon had passed.
People like to take pictures of me for some reason.
Perhaps it’s because I lay so still and quiet.
I can look majestic in a way and some find me beautiful.
I lie everywhere, although I look different in each new place.
Although I am called the same everywhere, my title can change.
With varying heights and varying lengths, I can have a unique look everywhere.
With famous structures, I am easily recognized.
I am usually gazed upon from a distance.
What am I?
Highlight or double-click for the answer.
Answer: [ Cityscape ]
Write a story that involves the famous military base, Area 51.
The catch is to not include any aliens, extra-terrestrials, space creatures, etc.
Basically, don’t include anything from outer space.
I swirl and I swirl, never seeming to stop.
Loops and loops on top of each other.
I can be large, but I can also be small.
I can vary in a few different ways.
Sometimes my loops are broken and do not connect.
Every preschool student should know what I am.
What am I?
Highlight for the answer.
Answer: [ Number 8 ]
With my shiny surface, I look almost brand new.
My coat matches that of rich blood.
You can follow my curves around and around.
There is but one interruption in my skin, dipping down.
I come from a larger object and can create even more.
My insides are lush, yet very vulnerable.
I bruise easily so watch where you put me.
What am I?
Highlight or double-click for the answer.
Answer: [ Apple ]
| What Am I? #2 ->
Okay, so Mr. Gifford had us do a writing activity at our latest meeting in which we were to choose a character to display an emotion to another character…You probably don’t know these characters or the story that happened here, but maybe you can catch on from reading this. I wrote as Rohashi speaking to his friend SilverrFangg.
Rohashi’s Webpage SilverrFangg’s Webpage Tikalliah’s Webpage
What should I do now? With this treacherous act behind me, how can I live on? The blood still lingers upon my claws and haunts my dreams. I can’t bring this to SilverrFangg, can I? Can I tell him what I have done? Can I tell him that I am a traitor?
Write about somebody who is completely invisible at all times. This would be physical, meaning nobody can physically see the person.
Elizabeth Hamm’s Invisible
Write about how a pinky finger saves someone’s life.
Should I go? The question drifted within my mind, invading all of my other thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about it each moment of my day, and it had been keeping me awake at night. I yawned and stretched out my arms, leaning my back over the worn cushioning of the backrest of my quaint computer chair. I had already been tired, yet homework insisted that it take more from me.
“Finally, I’m almost home…” I thought to myself as I glanced out the window to my left on the school bus, brushing my long brown hair out of my face. I saw the base’s surrounding chain link fence passing by bit by bit as the bus continued down the highway slowing to turn left onto the air base. Squeezed against the window in the seat with the wheel, my knees were raised with my backpack resting in my lap taking over my face. The person next to me was turned into the alley of the bus, paying no attention to me, as usual. It was another usual and boring day. I gave a heavy sigh before returning my glance to the window next to my face on my right and crossing my arms over the top of my backpack to rest my head on the warm black fabric of my hoodie’s sleeves with a frown and a yawn. With the bus turning off the highway, I was given a clear view to the highway stretching on, the same question entering my mind. I’d never been past this turn…what was out there?
The words would just not come…My hands rested over the flat keyboard of my laptop before me, the fingers slightly curled over the home row key. A single lamp sat upon my spacious black desk beside me and shed a faint yellow glow across my features along with the bright gleam of the monitor screen. I slid the mouse down to pull up the time and found 11:42 PM staring back at me. Unfocused and frustrated, I turned in my chair to glance out the large window behind me although I was unable to see anything through the thick veil of darkness. I brought both of my hands to my tired face and held my head there for a moment. “I need to write…” I whispered to myself with a heavy sigh, my voice amplified in my cupped hands. “I need to write…” With a frown, I returned my hands to their designated letters, turning back in my seat and forcing my eyes to once again stare at the flashing line on the blank screen.
There in the darkness of night in my lone room before my computer screen, I sat and waited. I waited for the ideas to come, the words to flow, the letters to start appearing on the screen. I waited for the cursor to stop flashing.
I shuffled my fingers a bit to hear the clack of keys without actually pressing them, telling myself that it was a weak attempt to revive some inspiration, although I knew that it was really just to pass the time. I was bored, and the words just weren’t coming; yet I was too ashamed to admit it. My mind was empty; I was finished…
Swishing a strand of my blonde hair over my shoulder, I gave my head a slight shake and glanced to the books resting on my desk in front of the lamp. “From Bestselling Author Karen Hall,” The Fall of Castle Tironia, The Firedance of the Dragon, Mysteries of the Fawn’s Glen. Why weren’t the ideas coming? Why wasn’t I able to write? Deep inside I knew that I didn’t really want to write. I had no desire to at the moment, but I knew that I had to and found myself sitting there. There, wrapped in my crimson robe, I slouched over my used keys and waited…
Finally giving up like so many nights before, I pushed myself from the desk and picked myself up from the chair, immediately sliding one hand up to cover my face and stretching my back of the other hand pressed against my hip. Tiredness was bearing down on me and caused me to give a great yawn and rub my strained eyes.
After a moment of standing there, recollecting my thoughts, I took my first step away from my unfinished work, the cold wooden floor meeting with the bottom of my bare foot. I continued on, leaving the room and entering the great hall. I turned and entered my open living room, feeling a release of stress as the ceiling raised above me, opening up to the floor above. Coming close to the lit stone fireplace that rested between two large, cream sofas in the open room, I rested myself upon one, tucking my feet under myself and covering my bare legs with my robe.
I let the warm heat of the fire sweep over me, stinging my eyes and cheeks, but not caring about the slight pain. I didn’t care about anything at the moment and was deep in thought. I could not write. I needed to write. I didn’t want to write. With the crackling tucked into the back of my mind, I closed my eyes and tried to let the tension within my mind go, however it would not. Yawning once more, I reached up to my stretched mouth with my hand and gave my eyes another rub reddening the blue of my eyes even more. Sleep would not come and I knew it. I had spent many shameful and sleepless nights, knowing what I must do, but not being able to do it.
I was pulled from my thoughts when I felt the cushioning beside me press down. “Hey, Misty,” I said plainly, rubbing my hand down the gray cat’s back without any enthusiasm. The feline walked across my lap and quickly became comfortable, curling into a small, furry ball on my robe, allowing me to stroke her short fur as she rested. It soothed me to feel her light breathing raising and falling beneath my hand. “What am I going to do?” I asked to myself and to my cat. “What am I going to do?”
In my mind, all I saw was a blank screen with a single flashing cursor.