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Growing Writers:
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Nurturing Narrative Writing
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A Fifth/Sixth Grade Course of Study
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8/1/2014
Developed and Compiled by
Carol Henderson and Tracy McClure
~0~
Preface
Writing is a journey—a process of delving deep into one’s self to distill the experiences and
emotions of a lifetime and to connect those observations to the larger whole of humanity’s
tapestry. It is a journey with many steps and stops along the way; it is both an art and a craft-- a
process that can be taught and learned, but ultimately, must be practiced and experienced using
one’s own voice. As writers, we convey and connect, entertain and inform, and while we are
telling stories and sharing information, we are learning about ourselves as people. Do we
persevere when the task is challenging? Do we strive to creatively express ourselves by “trying
on” new techniques we have been taught? Do we go back, time and time again, to polish the
rough edges from our piece, much as a sculptor works with stone? If ever there was a
discipline that needed 10,000 hours of work in order to gain mastery, then surely writing is in
the Top Five.
As teachers of upper elementary students, we are in a unique position to lay the groundwork
for all that will follow in secondary education. Our students come to us with a rudimentary
understanding of sentences and paragraphs; the basic structures of narrative, informational,
and critical genres; and a limited palette of vocabulary and literary devices. It is our job, then,
to take their elemental knowledge and to elevate their vision of what is possible. We must
delight our students with a variety of voices, entice them with rich examples of sensory
language, and provide them with multiple strategies that help them connect firstly with their
own emotions and experiences, and then to communicate those essences outward. Once we
have lit the fire with the love of language and the urgency of the message, the real work begins.
Language Arts has typically been quartered into four domains: Listening, Speaking, Reading
and Writing. We have ordered them in this sequence (instead of the usual Speaking and
Listening, and the preeminence of Reading) because we believe that this progression is how we
begin to master language—either our native language or a second language. We begin by
listening to the musicality, intonation, rhythm, and cadence of spoken language. The oral
reading of beautiful poetry or a pithy excerpt from literature can serve as a “language
appetizer” for our students at some point during the school day. Our fifth and sixth grade
students need more than ever to hear the flow of well-crafted sentences, to be puzzled by
original metaphors, and to discover the English language contains many unfamiliar words.
Many of these words more eloquently express nuances of meaning, rather than the “dead
words” that litter the literary landscape of student writers.
A crucial part of the writing process, and one we too often hurry through, is allowing students
the ability to speak their thinking out loud. By verbally articulating thought, students must
start to assemble both vocabulary and syntax to express their meaning. In essence, speaking is
the warm-up exercise before the dance of writing. Since speaking is a vitally effective tool for
writing—prewriting—students must regularly be in the habit of responding orally to questions
that probe their thinking. It is precisely in the practice of knowing something internally, and
then having to convey the kernel of that idea to an audience, that lies at the heart of good
writing. In classrooms where students must orally express their ideas, as well as practice
correct grammatical structures, strong transfer can be made to the writing process. How many
times have we seen students struggle as they try to find the correct words and ways to deliver
the viewpoints that they passionately hold and want to share? It is in that oral commotion that
students build up the necessary muscle and mental flexibility for writing.
~1~
Much attention has been given to reading, and by fifth and sixth grade, despite a student’s
independent reading level, most students have been awash in stories and are very familiar with
many of the patterns of fiction. Much reading instruction is focused on the actual plot
elements—setting, character, problem, resolution, theme. To effectively capitalize on those
years of reading instruction, putting them to good use for writers, we must start to encourage
our upper elementary kids to take a step out of the storyline and begin to analyze the fact that a
writer created the book through many written iterations. It was drafted and worked as a
creative process. The process is messy, contains many mistakes, and needs to allow for revised
thinking and the many attempts to find the necessary precision with which to deliver the
message. In other words, we need to teach students to look for the author’s craft and to
understand that reading and writing are uniquely linked—two sides of the same coin. To
paraphrase Donalyn Miller, the author of The Book Whisperer, “Reading is the inhale and
Writing is the exhale.” We would go further by saying that Listening and Reading are the ways
in which we passively intuit and understand language, and Speaking and Writing are the ways
in which we actively convey meaning. With Listening and Reading, we appreciate the
structures of language that have been built by someone else, and with Speaking and Writing, we
are the architects and constructors of the message.
Through looking at all four domains of Language Arts, we begin to appreciate that these strands
are inextricably linked, and without one, we are not as fluent in another. With this in mind, it
has been our experience through many years of writing instruction that the entry point to good
writing can start with free verse poetry. Why poetry? Poetry contains all of the elements we
look for in good writing, but in a condensed package that doesn’t insist on perfect conventions.
Because of its brevity, we can cut right to the chase of showing excellent examples of character,
word choice, mood, or whatever element we are teaching—even paragraphing as it compares
to stanzas. The succinctness of the text does not overwhelm struggling readers and writers.
The potency of the words both delivers a powerful message and demands to be read aloud so
that we can savor the shape of the language. In short, because of the briefness of the text, we
can construct lessons that give ample time to all four of the Language Arts domains and can
give students a long enough interval for the ebb and flow of appreciation and absorption, as
well as their own vocalization, production, and revision.
What follows is a pathway. It is a progression of steps designed to work from where your
students are and to capitalize on their innate strengths. It is aimed to work from the inside
out—to take them from the safe and comfortable, and to stretch them gradually into the
unknown. In this evolution, we hope to strengthen their characters not only as writers, but also
as people who are ready to deliver their message to the world in as powerful, creative, and
fresh a way as possible. Let this also strengthen our characters as teachers as we take steps
into the unfamiliar and deliver instruction to our students in a relevant and renewed way that
does justice to the spirit of Common Core and the challenges of the twenty-first century.
“You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what is burning inside you.
And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke.”
~ Arthur Polotnik
~2~
Introduction: A Guide to the User
As teachers of writing, you know your students better than anyone and are acutely aware of
what they need to enhance their skills as emerging writers. The series of lessons we have
compiled can be used in the sequence as provided, teaching each lesson, or you can dip in
where you like, choosing the lessons that support your writing program. If there is anything
we’ve learned about how language emerges and expands, it is that language is essentially
organic and non-sequential. One lesson can inspire and nourish another skill.
Our assumption in assembling these lessons is that writing transpires in a workshop setting
three to four times a week. The writing must occur regularly enough to become a habit. Daily
instruction doesn’t leave room for reflection, rumination, and germination: ideas need space to
grow; language needs space to breathe and mature.
In our pursuit of excellent craft lessons and examples, we have drawn from the work of
language giants. Nancie Atwell, Lucy Calkins, and Ralph Fletcher provide the foundation for
much of the work. However, the best and primary teachers of writing are published authors,
and we can capitalize on their works to draw our students’ eyes to how authors craft each piece
and how the nuances of fine details unfold over time. We have included both student and
professional author examples, but every reading experience can also become a lesson in
writing. Further, although not explicitly stated in the lessons, there are many opportunities to
enhance instruction through the use of oral discussions with partners, small groups, and/or
whole class. Visual elements, such as photographs, objects, or art, also assist student writers,
making descriptive writing more concrete.
As the District has moved fifth and sixth grade narrative assessment from personal narrative to
historical fiction, we have included untested lessons on fictional narrative as a bread crumb
trail through the dark forest from memoir to historical fiction. Previously, we have steered
students away from fiction writing because of the inherent complexity, writing maturity, and
life experience necessary to craft effective fiction. Too often, student fiction reads like a bad
video game with little plot development, minimal setting, and paper doll characters. Therefore,
we believe the best course of study begins with students cutting their fiction teeth on what they
know best—themselves—with short craft lessons through poetry, building to personal
narrative/memoir, and finally culminating in focused fiction. Historical fiction overlays another
series of writing opportunities—or challenges. In all of our research, we found no exemplar
lessons on historical fiction for students of any age.
As a result, fictional narrative, and particularly historical fiction lessons, may not be as
complete as needed. Setting lessons proved particularly elusive. Our best thinking around
setting relies on a two-pronged approach: 1) think of setting as another character in the piece
and 2) harken back to all the lessons on description, drawing on literary devices and sensory
details.
If, in the course of your work, you find additional resources or lessons that would enhance this
unit of study, please pass them along to your colleagues. We have provided space for this in the
appendices.
Lastly, go forth into this new writing adventure with the sage writing rules of Ernest J. Gaines
firmly in mind: "The Six Golden Rules of Writing: Read, read, read, and write, write, write."
~3~
Contents
Preface................................................................................................................................................................................ 1
Introduction ..................................................................................................................................................................... 3
Getting Started .............................................................................................................................................................. 6
The Writing Workshop ............................................................................................................................................ 7
Heart Mapping ......................................................................................................................................................... 10
Writing Territories ................................................................................................................................................. 11
What Is Writing? ..................................................................................................................................................... 12
Technique Through Free Verse Poetry ........................................................................................................ 13
Where Poetry Hides ............................................................................................................................................... 14
Good Titles ................................................................................................................................................................ 16
Proofreading for Spelling .................................................................................................................................... 21
The Rule of Write about a Pebble .................................................................................................................... 23
The Power of I .......................................................................................................................................................... 26
Beware the Participle ............................................................................................................................................ 27
Engaging Beginnings/Leads: Begin Inside ................................................................................................... 28
The Rule of So What? ............................................................................................................................................ 30
Conclusions: End Strongly .................................................................................................................................. 31
Breaking Lines and Stanzas and Punctuating .............................................................................................. 36
Cut to the Bone ........................................................................................................................................................ 38
Use Repetition .......................................................................................................................................................... 41
Figurative Language: Two Things at Once .................................................................................................... 44
Some Additional Literary Devices .................................................................................................................... 45
Polishing Poems and Prose ................................................................................................................................. 46
Personal Narrative/Memoir ............................................................................................................................... 48
Personal Narrative Genre .................................................................................................................................... 49
Questions for Personal Narrative Writers .................................................................................................... 50
Effective and Ineffective Personal Narratives ............................................................................................. 52
Drawing and Talking to Find Topics ............................................................................................................... 54
Narrowing the Topic ............................................................................................................................................. 57
Narrative Engaging Beginnings/Leads .......................................................................................................... 59
Manipulate Pacing .................................................................................................................................................. 63
The Rule of Thoughts and Feelings.................................................................................................................. 64
Conclusions: Reflective Close ............................................................................................................................. 66
Student Personal Narrative Samples .............................................................................................................. 67
~4~
Fictional Narrative................................................................................................................................................... 71
Fictional Narrative Genre .................................................................................................................................... 72
What’s Easy about Writing Bad Fiction? ....................................................................................................... 73
What’s Hard about Writing Good Fiction? .................................................................................................... 74
Problems to Explore in Fiction .......................................................................................................................... 76
The Main Character Questionnaire.................................................................................................................. 78
Character Exploration: Stepping into the Picture ...................................................................................... 79
Considerations in Creating a Character ......................................................................................................... 81
How to Write Compelling Fiction ..................................................................................................................... 82
Ways to Develop a Character ............................................................................................................................. 83
Grounding Dialogue in Scenes ........................................................................................................................... 85
Setting: More than Just a Backdrop ................................................................................................................. 88
Setting Exploration: Stepping into the Picture............................................................................................ 92
How to Write Compelling Fiction: A Second Look ..................................................................................... 94
Plotting with Tools, Part 1................................................................................................................................... 95
Plotting with Tools, Part 2................................................................................................................................... 99
Review: Short Fiction Resources and Techniques ...................................................................................108
Student Fictional Narrative Samples ............................................................................................................ 109
Historical Fiction ....................................................................................................................................................141
Traveling Back: Historical Fiction ..................................................................................................................142
Calling on Past Knowledge to Collect Ideas ................................................................................................145
Developing Character Traits that Intersect with the Time Period and Plot ..................................146
Crafting Meaningful Endings ............................................................................................................................147
Writers’ Tips: Two Techniques for Adding Historical Authenticity .................................................148
Annotated Student Historical Fiction Samples .........................................................................................149
Appendices ................................................................................................................................................................158
Appendix A: Job Charts ......................................................................................................................................159
Appendix B: Historical Fiction Checklist ....................................................................................................161
Appendix C: Rubrics ...........................................................................................................................................162
Appendix D: Historical Fiction Mentor Texts ...........................................................................................166
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues .........................................................................................................167
References..................................................................................................................................................................172
~5~
Getting Started: Tilling the Soil
"If people cannot write well, they cannot think well,
and if they cannot think well, others will do their thinking for them."
~ George Orwell
“People on the outside think there's something magical about writing,
that you go up in the attic at midnight and cast the bones
and come down in the morning with a story, but it isn't like that.
You sit in back of the typewriter and you work, and that's all there is to it.”
~ Harlan Ellison
~6~
The Writing Workshop
Expectations for Writing Workshop
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Find topics and purposes for your writing that matter to you, your life, who you are, and
who you might become.
Create and maintain plans of your territories as a writer: the ideas, topics, purposes,
genres, forms, and techniques that you’d like to experience and explore.
Make your own decisions about what’s working and what needs more work in pieces of
your writing. Be your own first responder. Read yourself with a critical, literary eye and
ear.
Listen to, ask questions about, and comment on others’ writing in ways that help them
move their writing forward, toward literature.
Take notes in your writing binder to create a handbook of information presented in
writing mini-lessons, recorded chronologically, with a table of contents.
Produce at least three to five pages of rough draft each week, and bring at least two
pieces of writing to completion every six weeks. Recognize that good writers build
quality upon a foundation of quantity.
Work on your writing for at least an hour outside of school each week.
Maintain a record of the pieces of writing you finish. File finished writing chronologically
in your writing binder, with the most recent piece on top.
Sometime during this academic year, but only when I’ve taught about the particular
genre, produce a finished piece of writing in each of the following genres: twenty poems,
a personal narrative, a response to literature, an essay, a research report, and a short
story.
Attempt professional publication.
Recognize that readers’ eyes and minds need your writing to be conventional in format,
spelling, punctuation, and usage. Work toward conventionality and legibility, and use
everything you know about spelling, punctuation, and usage as you compose.
Continually revise your writing, keeping in mind the 4S method, considering structure,
substance, sequence, and style.
Writing is a process of discovery, and you don’t always produce your best stuff when
you first get started. So revision is a chance for you to look critically at what you have
written to see if it’s really worth saying, if it says what you wanted to say, and if a reader
will understand what you’re saying.
Take care of your writing materials, resources, and equipment.
Each trimester, establish and work toward significant, relevant goals for yourself as a
writer.
In every writing workshop, take a deliberate stance toward writing well: try to make
your writing literature, and use what you’ve been shown in conferences and minilessons and what you’ve learned from published authors to help you get there.
Work hard in writing workshop. Re-create happy times from your life, work through sad
times, discover what you know about a subject and learn more, convey information and
request it, parody, petition, play, explore, argue, apologize, advise, sympathize, imagine,
look and look again, express love, show gratitude, and express frustration.
~7~
Rules for Writing Workshop
1. Save everything: it’s all part of the history of the piece of writing, plus you never know
what you might want to come back to later and use. On the computer, label and print a
copy of each draft to save.
2. Date and label everything you write to help you keep track of what you’ve done (e.g.,
plans, draft #1, brainstorming).
3. Write on one side of the paper only. Always skip lines. Always print double-spaced. Both
will make revision, polishing, and editing easier and more productive. Professional
writers always double-space until the final copy, i.e., publication. You may wish to draft
single-spaced on the computer, so you can see more text at a time, and then shift to
double-space when you print, revise, and edit.
4. Draft your prose writing in sentences and paragraphs. Draft your poems in lines and
stanzas. Don’t go back into a mess of text and try to create order. Format as you go: real
writers do this, too.
5. Get into the habit of punctuating and spelling as conventionally as you can while you’re
composing: this is something else real writers do.
6. When composing on the word processor, compose in 12-point font, and do not change
any fonts until the final publishing stage, and print a double-spaced version at least every
two days. Then read the text with a pen in your hand, away from the computer. Consider
and work with the whole text, rather than one part at a time on the screen.
7. When composing on the word processor, spellcheck only once, at the very end, when you
formally edit.
8. Understand that writing is thinking. Do nothing to distract me or other writers. Don’t put
your words into our brains as we’re struggling to find our own words. Instead, find your
private, internal, writing place, lock the door, and listen to your voice.
9. When you confer with me, use as soft a voice as possible: whisper.
10. Confer with a peer when you have a reason to. Use a conference area and record
pertinent responses, so the writer leaves the conference with a plan. Limit peer
conferences to occasions when you have a specific problem that could benefit from a
specific friend’s response.
11. When you’re stuck or uncertain, use the resources available to you in this room,
including your writing binder with mini-lessons and your writing territories. Tap the
techniques you’ve been shown in conferences and mini-lessons.
12. Revise often as you write.
13. Self-edit as completely as you can in a color different from the print of your text.
14. When a piece of writing is finished, clip or staple everything together, including drafts,
plans, lists, editing checksheet, highlighting guide, rubrics, peer conference notes, and
put it in your permanent writing folder, with the job chart and final copy on top.
15. Write as well and as much as you can: work hard and make literature.
~8~
Writing Workshop Structure
Mini-Lesson (5-20 minutes)
A short lesson focused on a single topic with which students need help or to introduce new
material. You don’t necessarily need to give a mini-lesson each day; three times a week is
usually just fine.
Status of the Class (2-5 minutes)
A quick way of finding out what each student is working on and where each student is in
his/her current writing process.
Writing Time (20-45 minutes or more)
Students write. You can write and/or conference with individual students or small groups. With
more than thirty students per class, the group conference can be particularly effective.
Sharing/Author’s Chair (5-15 minutes).
Writers read what they have written and seek feedback from their audience, including the
teacher. This sharing can occur at any point during the writing period, not just at the end.
Sharing can often enhance student writing when it occurs midway in the writing session.
~9~
Heart Mapping
Purpose
 To discover what things are important to you
 To discover your inner poet’s/writer’s voice
 To sharpen your inner vision
Directions
These questions are guidelines. You do not need to answer all of them or to include all of
the ideas reflected in your heart map. The questions are to help you think about what is
important to you and what you may want to include in your heart map. You are free to
add in anything you want that is important to you, whether it is in the questions below
or not. Your heart map is for you, to help you discover your inner vision and your own
unique voice that derives from your unique experiences and passions.
 What has stayed in your heart?
 What has really affected your heart?
 What people have been important to you? Are they friends, siblings, parents,
grandparents, teachers, and other people?
 What are some experiences or central events that you will never forget?
 What special moments stand out to you?
 What happy or sad memories do you have?
 What secrets have you kept in your heart?
 What small things or objects are important to you – a tree in your backyard, a
trophy, a stuffed animal… ?
 What places, books, fears, scars, journeys, dreams, relationships, animals,
comforts, and learning experiences do you hold in your heart?
 Should some things be outside of the heart and some inside of it?
 Do you want to draw more than one heart – good and bad; happy and sad; secret
and open – and include different things inside each heart?
 Do different colors represent different emotions, events, relationships?
 What’s at the center of your heart?
 What’s outside around the edges?
Once you have considered these questions, begin your own heart map on the
construction paper provided. You may choose to draw a rough draft and then a final
copy after you have made any revisions. Make your heart big. Fill the page, so you can
fill your heart. Spend serious time with this assignment, possibly taking some breaks to
give your long-term memory time to do its work. Confer with family members if that
will help. Do not worry too much about the illustrations, but do take care with the
contents of your heart, filling your heart map with as much personal meaning as you
can.
~10~
Writing Territories
The range of things you do as a writer are your writing territories. These territories include
genres you know or want to try, subjects you've written about or would like to, and the
audiences for your writing. A territories list gives you a glimpse of who you are as a writer,
student, son/daughter, brother/sister, young adult, and friend. Your territories list is a bank of
ideas: a place to go when trying to determine a topic/subject about which to write. Keeping a
territories list can help you be a more organized, productive, and focused writer. It helps you
keep your eyes on the prize by constantly reminding you of who you are and what you know
and what your passions are.
As you listen to and see the writing territories list of a teacher and students, if anything catches
your ear as something that is part of your repertoire as a writer or something you think you'd
like to try someday, record it on your own writing territories list in your writing binder. Any
tiny seedling of an idea should be captured so that it may become the root of a written piece
later or spark an idea for a totally different topic.
In Collecting Your Writing Territories, Consider . . .
memories: early, earlier, and recent
places: school, camp, trips,
obsessions
times away with friends and relatives
idiosyncrasies
problems
hobbies
dreams
sports
itches
games
understandings
music
confusions
passions
books
sorrows
poems
risks
accomplishments
songs
fears
movies
worries
writers and artists
fantasies
food
family, close and distant
friends, now and then
pet peeves
fads
beloved things—objects and
favorites, now and then
possessions—now and then
pets, now and then
all the loves of your life
teachers, now and then
~11~
What Is Writing?
“We have discovered that writing allows even a stupid person to seem
halfway intelligent, if only that person will write the same thought over and
over again, improving it just a little bit each time. It is a lot like inflating
a blimp with a bicycle pump. Anybody can do it. All it takes is time.”
~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
Although writing is taught well at Old Adobe Elementary School, each sixth grade
class reflects a wide range of writing experience. In order to begin to unify the
students before beginning this year’s writing journey, we work together to define
the writing process, focusing on the behaviors of proficient writers. This begins
with the reality that writing is a rich, complex, messy process that allows for
many entry points.
Writing is a process, not a single activity. It involves lots of actions, steps,
behaviors, thoughts, and changes. These include the following:
thinking on paper
thinking of a topic
deciding on a genre
copy-editing
planning
note-taking
making webs or spider legs
making priorities
considering audience
organizing
handwriting
punctuating
paragraphing
proofreading
reading what you’ve already written
drafting words and ideas
brainstorming ideas
revising
polishing
researching
cutting and pasting
listing
manipulating the pacing
engaging the reader with a strategy
typing
spelling
capitalizing
line breaking and stanza breaking
final drafting
observing the world around you
~12~
Technique Through Free Verse Poetry: Planting the Seeding
“Don't tell me the moon is shining;
show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
~Anton Chekhov
“Put down everything that comes into your head and then you're a writer.
But an author is one who can judge his own stuff's worth,
without pity, and destroy most of it.”
~ Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
~13~
Where Poetry Hides
"Say it, no ideas but in things."
~ William Carlos Williams
"Discovering where poems come from is an essential part of the poet's process," Poet Georgia
Heard states, adding that she has "never heard a poet describe the origin of a poem by saying it
came from an assignment about pretending to be a grass blade blowing in the wind or from a
poetry contest about health safety." She knows the truth about being inspired to poetry:
"finding where poems hide from us is part of the process of being a poet and of living our lives
as poets" (Awakening the Heart: Teaching Poetry in Elementary and Middle School, 1998, p.47).
This mini-lesson is designed to help you go deeper as writers by rooting your work in concrete
objects, whereby ideas and feelings are expressed in connection to experience. Often students
hold the mistaken belief that written pieces or poetry must define some enormous idea or
emotion, such as the nature of love or humanity. Most often attempts to describe such
overarching topics fall far short of the mark, deteriorating into pat clichés of little depth.
Rooting large emotions and ideas in small moments from your own personal experiences will
always result in richer, more powerful written pieces.
So search the classroom and your home, family, and life for the places poetry hides. Record as
many specific things, places, occasions, and people as you observe or can recall that might hold
the seeds of the poems of your life.
It may help you to see another student's list of where she found poems hiding. Her list is below,
and it is followed by another student’s free verse poem about where he found poetry hiding.
One student's list of where poetry hides:
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in pages of unused journals, too pretty to write in
in the trinket box of treasures
in the collage of photographs on the refrigerator door
in our family conversations
tucked in dust jackets of old picture books
in my ring collection
in the one-on-one basketball played with my dad
in that first dive into a swimming pool
in the tangle of shoes under my desk
in the old collar of my dog who died
in the moments of comfortable silence when people read
in the morning silence when I first wake
squeezed between the books lining my overfull bookshelves
in popping popcorn
in the vase of flowers on the kitchen table
in the dusty feather boa that frames my mirror
under the lid of the wicker laundry basket, always askew
~14~
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in my collection of boxes, each housing a story
in the way my mom cooks dinner
in my old running shoes
in the post-Halloween candy wrappers strewn across the floor
in my blankie, which I once took everywhere
in the pink lamp that sends rose-colored light into the hallway
in the loving, playful eyes of my Golden Retriever
Where Poetry Hides
Where poetry hides…
Crumpled, old, wasted paper pushed together
So tightly, a permanent form
Ancient candy wrappers, chocolate, SweeTarts, mints
Old, finished homework,
Filled with words that soon become a poem
Cracked CDs
Some old socks and CapriSun juice boxes
A few colored pencils, too short to use
Sharp, rusty insides of pencil sharpeners
Dried out, dead red and orange, blue markers
All burst out of my garbage and form like a puzzle
A poem is born!
~15~
Good Titles
There is an old adage that states you only have one chance to make a first impression. A title
may seem to be the smallest conceivable part of a piece of writing, and readers often ignore the
title or forget about it, especially if it is not effective, but it is a reader's first impression of a
written piece. A good title is memorable. It prepares the reader for the journey ahead, enticing
the reader and opening a door into the world of the piece. Choosing a title for a piece should
never be an afterthought, but rather should be a deliberate creative choice that enhances the
overall piece. The best titles are not labels or descriptions, but rather attract a reader's
attention and even create an air of intrigue.
Some characteristics of a good title are as follows:










fits the whole piece of writing
isn't a label or a description (e.g., "My Trip to Disneyland")
attracts a reader’s attention, even creates a bit of mystery
is grounded in the piece; so while intriguing, isn't too obscure
gives a hint or taste of the topic or theme to come
is memorable
generally doesn't come first: the author looks back on finished writing for a sense of the
focus and So what? that emerged during drafting and revising
is a strong or beautiful combination of words and sounds
can replace a working title that the writer uses while the piece is in process
is often the result of brainstorming: of moving to a fresh piece of paper, removing the
mental censors, and writing down as many possibilities as the writer's brain can devise
Many writers choose to give a piece a working title— a title that is used during the initial
drafting process, but is then revised once the piece is finished. This allows for careful
consideration of the piece’s emphasis and the selection of a title that best suits or enhances the
overall piece.
Read the poems below, and then look at the titles sixth graders brainstormed. Would one of the
brainstormed titles make a better title for each of the poems? What do you see in the text of the
poem that makes you say that?
The Little Boy
Once a little boy went to school.
He was quite a little boy.
And it was quite a big school.
But when the little boy
Found that he could go to his room
By walking right in from the door outside,
He was happy.
And the school did not seem
Quite so big any more.
One morning,
When the little boy had been in school a while,
~16~
The teacher said:
“Today we are going to make a picture.”
“Good!” thought the little boy.
He liked to make pictures.
He could make all kinds:
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.
But the teacher said:
“Wait! It is not time to begin!”
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
“Now,” said the teacher,
“We are going to make flowers.”
“Good!” thought the little boy,
He liked to make flowers,
And he began to make beautiful ones
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said,
“Wait! And I will show you how.”
And she drew a flower on the blackboard.
It was red, with a green stem.
“There,” said the teacher.
“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower.
Then he looked at his own flower,
He liked his flower better than the teacher’s.
But he did not say this,
He just turned his paper over
And made a flower like the teacher’s.
It was red, with a green stem.
On another day,
When the little boy had opened
The door from the outside all by himself,
The teacher said,
“Today we are going to make something with clay.”
“Good!” thought the boy.
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
~17~
Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.
But the teacher said,
“Wait! And I will show you how.”
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
“There,” said the teacher.
“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his dishes better than the teacher’s
But he did not say this,
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again,
And made a dish like the teacher’s.
It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon
The little boy learned to wait
And to watch,
And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved to another house,
In another city,
And the little boy
Had to go to another school.
This school was even bigger
Than the other one,
And there was no door from the outside
Into his room.
He had to go up some big steps,
And walk down a long hall
To get to his room.
And the very first day
He was there, the teacher said,
“Today we are going to make a picture.”
“Good!” thought the little boy,
And he waited for the teacher
To tell him what to do
~18~
But the teacher didn’t say anything.
She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy,
She said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”
“Yes,” said the little boy.
“What are we going to make?”
“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.
“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.
“Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.
“And any color?” asked the little boy.
“Any color,” said the teacher,
“If everyone made the same picture,
And used the same colors,
How would I know who made what,
“And which was which?”
“I don’t know,” said the little boy.
And he began to draw a flower.
It was red, with a green stem.
~ Helen E. Buckley
Brainstormed Titles: Red with a Green Stem; The Rose; Little Boy, Big School; Death of
Creativity; Learning to Wait; Teacher Two; Adaptation; The Door
Poem
When the world gets too loud,
you are a grassy field
where the only sound is the wind
that whispers through trees.
When life is boring,
you are a circus,
you are a bull fight,
you are an airplane.
And I am the pilot.
When I am sad,
you are all the roses
any gardener could ever dream.
your sweet, pungent smell
fills even the largest room.
But you are also the dank, dark streets
of some forlorn city.
And you are the bristly man
who wanders them,
~19~
hands rough with years
of too little love.
When I am lonely,
you are my friend
and I think
I can experience the whole world
right here, in my bedroom,
with you,
poem.
~ Julia Barnes
Brainstormed Titles: My Good Friend; My Love, a Poem; How to Survive; The Power of
Words; The Color of Words; Many Worlds
Choose one of your free verse poems. Brainstorm a list of possible titles. Select the one you
think proves best, referring to the list of characteristics of a good title.
~20~
Proofreading for Spelling
Learning to spell is a time-consuming process even for naturally strong spellers. This year's
spelling program will consist of a combination of words and spelling patterns every sixth
grader should know, the sixth grade no-excuse spelling words, your personal spelling survival
list, and any words you misspell in the context of your writing. The goal is for you to move away
from memorizing a set of words for a Friday spelling test simply to forget the correct spellings
of these words by the following Monday and instead to internalize the correct spellings of
words important to you so that they may be spelled correctly in the context of writing.
However, nobody can spell every word, and every writer makes spelling errors. Nevertheless,
correct spelling matters. It makes writing easier to read and understand. Furthermore, correct
spelling matters because written language represents an unspoken agreement between the
writer and the reader. A reader expects to be able to decode and comprehend the written piece,
and it is the responsibility of the writer to hold up that end of the bargain, being certain that a
reader's eye and mind will find what they need and understand the written work. The only
thing that separates a writer who creates texts that contain misspellings from those who create
accurate, readable writing is the process of proofreading.
Proofreading for spelling is a tedious, time-consuming, challenging task, but it is also a
necessary one. It requires a writer's ability and willingness to slow down, focus on single words
at a time, and ask of each word, "Am I absolutely certain that this is the correct spelling?"
This is one part of the copy-editing process and should be completed as a distinct stage, either
before focusing on conventions or after. Proofreading for spelling is a visual process that
requires you to tap into your visual memory. If your eyes and memory are not certain that a
word is spelled correctly, then that is a word that must be looked up to obtain the standard
spelling, and if the word was misspelled, it will become a word for your personal spelling list.
Below are the techniques you will use this year to proofread for correct spelling in all of your
written work.
Techniques for Proofreading Spelling




Circle each and every word you’re not absolutely, 100 percent certain of. Once you’ve
proofed the whole piece, then go back and look up the spellings of the circled words. In
other words, maintain your focus as a proofreader until you’ve finished the actual
proofreading; the dictionary or spellchecker should only come into play once you’ve
identified every potential misspelling.
Scan each line of text backward, from right to left. Don’t allow your eyes to chunk text
and attend to meaning. Instead, focus on one word and its spelling at a time.
Slow down on common homonyms (your and you’re; to, too, and two; its and it’s; their,
there, and they’re) and other homonym-type confusions (college and collage, effect and
affect, chose and choose, lead and led, than and then, etc.). Check the word in question
against what you know, or use a source.
Slow down on demons, your own and the usual suspects. You know which words you’ve
confused in the past or continue to struggle with. Give them particular attention:
~21~
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
necessary, recommend, separate, a lot, all right, definitely, judgment, truly, restaurant,
eighth, twelfth, etc.
Slow down on words with tricky prefixes and suffixes:
 words in which the doubling of letters becomes an issue, like unnecessary, disappoint,
disappear, granddaughter, occurred, writing, written, traveled, beginning, and finally
 words in which the dropping of letters becomes an issue, like absolutely, ninety, forty,
lonely, and believable
Slow down on plural nouns. Ask yourself: Is that word with an s at the end of it a
possessive noun, requiring an apostrophe-s (for example, “I borrowed my brother’s
CD”)?
Use the available sources to help you check for correct spellings. These include a college
dictionary, a Spellex speller, a good speller in the class, a master list of frequently
misspelled words, the computer spellchecker, your personal spelling list, and, later on,
your writing handbook, especially the lessons “Homonyms,” “The Truth about I before
E,” “A Rule That Mostly Works: Prefixes,” and “Suffix Rules That Mostly Work.”
After you’ve finished proofreading and editing for spelling, ask a good speller to recheck
your text for misspellings if it’s handwritten, or use the computer spellchecker if the
piece is word-processed.
~22~
The Rule of Write about a Pebble
This mini-lesson grew out of a writing conference writing guru, Nancie Atwell, had with a
student who had a brilliant concept that was not coming to fruition in his writing. His idea was
that small things we take for granted are rich and interesting. His intention was inventive, but
his writing missed the mark by focusing on pebbles (his chosen small thing) in general rather
than on one specific, identifiable pebble.
Thus was born "The Rule of Write about a pebble. This rule is about writing concrete details
and writing from observed experiences so that each piece you write is evocative and provides
the reader with a "being there" experience. Poet William Carlos Williams instructed thus: "Say
it, no ideas but in things." More specifically, keep the following things in mind to follow "The
Rule of Write about a Pebble" as you conceive topics and begin drafting:
Don’t write about a general idea or topic; write about a specific, observable person, place,
occasion, time, object, animal, or experience. Its essence will lie in the sensory images the
writer evokes: observed details of sight, sound, smell, touch, taste; and strong verbs that bring
the details to life.
Don’t write about ____________ . Write about a ____________ .
Don’t write about pebbles. Write about a pebble.
Don’t write about fall. Write about this fall day. Go to the window; go outside.
Don’t write about sunsets. Write about the amazing sunset you saw last night.
Don’t write about dogs or kittens. Observe and write about your dog, your kitten.
Don’t write about friendship. Write about your friend, about what he or she does to be a good
friend to you.
Don’t write about love. Write specifically about someone or something you love: these are the
greatest love poems.
Don’t write about sailing. Remember and write about a time you went sailing.
Don’t write about babies. Write about your baby sister, your baby cousin.
Don’t write about reading. Write about your experience reading one book.
Don’t write about pumpkins. Write about the pumpkin you carved last night, the pumpkin you
grew from seeds, your family’s jack-o’-lantern that the cruel high school boys smashed on the road.
Below is the first draft of Ms. Atwell’s student’s poem:
~23~
Pebbles
A mineral
a rock
a quiet innocent little thing
that comes in all shapes and sizes.
That you find on the beach
outdoors or on your floor
but you think it’s just another ordinary thing
but if you think hard, it’s something that’s
special.
Where would all the beaches, sand, and
gravel driveways be if it weren’t
for that one tiny quiet innocent
ordinary pebble.
After reading this poem, Ms. Atwell conferenced with the student to determine his intention as
a writer. He shared that he believed that pebbles and blades of grass and other small things we
don’t think much about are taken for granted, but they are also important. Ms. Atwell
responded by saying, “That’s an interesting theme. Here’s the problem: as a reader, I’m not
convinced by this draft. I can’t see or hear or feel these pebbles. I can’t think about them as
important, as mattering, the way you want me to. Do me a favor. Go outside, find a pebble you
like in the driveway gravel, and write about your pebble.”
Here is the revised poem:
Pebble
Now I’m not talking
about any
pebble–
this one I mean–
that’s polygon-shaped
and has
a rough
yet gentle
surface,
that I
can roll
around in
my
palm,
that I
can
~24~
throw
up
in midair
and
catch
in my hand,
the one
that dropped
on the
table
makes a
click,
rattle,
click
that’s
so light
I can
balance it
on my
thumb.
Now,
I hope
I’m
not
asking
too
much
but
can
you
look
closely,
like I did
at this
pebble,
then
find
your
own
special
thing
in
the
world?
~25~
The Power of I
"The capacity to revise determines the true writer. Suspect the finished poem.
Your evil twin wants your poem to be finished."
~ Wesley McNair
"If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry."
~ Emily Dickinson
Crafting a good piece of writing is hard work. The same is true of good poetry. The work of the
writer, you, is to determine the feeling or experience, find your truth, choose and arrange, make
myriad adjustments, ponder, polish, and finally usher the piece into the world. There is a
common myth about exceptional writing, that it is some magical experience whereby the piece
arrives, fully crafted, in the writer's head, simply waiting to burst forth onto the page. The truth
is often much more prosaic. A study by British scientists revealed that it takes a person 10,000
hours of practice to become an expert in a discipline. Good writers and good poets are skilled
because they work at it. They know good writing because they read widely and frequently.
They understand the critical role of revision and revise toward their sense of what a good piece
does and can do.
Although you've been writing free verse poetry, we're going to formally define it.
One Definition of Free Verse Poetry:
Free verse is poetry that doesn't have a regular rhythm, line length, or rhyme scheme. It relies
on the natural rhythms of speech. Today it is the form of poetry that most American poets
prefer. Free-verse poetry invents and follows its own forms, patterns, and rules.
Although free verse poets follow their own rules, there are some conventions, or approaches,
that make their writing stronger. One important convention is The Power of I. Novice writers
are often tempted to hide, keeping themselves and their own voice outside of the writing.
However, you are the only one who can share your feelings, observations, ideas, and stories.
Embrace them. One way to do this is by implementing The Power of I.
Remember the Power of I
First person experiences need a first person. Make sure your I is present and is thinking,
feeling, seeing, acting. Give your readers someone to be with. Find your voice as a poet. Wave
your I flag in your poetry.
A word about point of view. In literature, point of view, is the vantage point from which a
story is told. In the first-person point of view, the person telling the story is also a character
in the story, and uses words such as I, me, and my to tell what he or she observes and
experiences.
Revise a piece of writing to include a stronger Power of I.
~26~
Beware the Participle
A participle is a verb in disguise. It’s actually a nonfinite verb that functions as an adjective.
Participles make action indirect, even vague. Used badly, they can make the actors in a poem—
the people, the I—disappear. You can usually spot participles by their endings, -ing or -ed, and
where they come in a line: at the beginning and often as a substitute for a noun or pronoun,
especially I.
Beginning writers often use participles as a means of avoiding nouns and pronouns, in essence,
effectively keeping themselves out of the writing. Instead of writing the line, "I danced in the
rain and felt each drop as a tender caress," a beginning writer using participles might word the
sentence as a phrase, "Dancing in the rain and feeling each drop as a tender caress," with no I in
sight. The problem with participles is that without an actor, a character, there's no one for the
reader to see or become in the piece. The virtual lack of a human presence weakens the piece
and makes it nearly impossible for the reader to become immersed in the piece.
As a writer, it is your job to make your lines active wherever you can, peopled with nouns and
pronouns, especially I.
Revise a piece of writing to eliminate participles and to add more active construction.
~27~
Engaging Beginnings/Leads: Begin Inside
In the words of Horace, one of the greatest lyric poets of all time (65 B.C. – 8 B.C.), begin poems
"in the midst of things." Start your poems inside an experience, feeling, observation, or memory.
Do the same thing with prose.
One of the differences between writing poetry and writing prose is that with poetry, there is not
the same need to establish a detailed context (all of the who, what, why, when, where of prose).
Poetry thrives on the compactness of the form and the nuance and ambiguity that allow the
reader to build resonant interpretations. Poems also thrive on their immediacy, so to engage
the reader, begin your poem by diving right into the heart of the moment. Beginning inside is a
great technique to know for first drafts, but it is also an important consideration in revision.
Once you've put your ideas and feelings down on the page, read through your poem again,
paying careful attention to the first line or two, or perhaps even the first stanza. Ask yourself,
have I begun in the midst of things?
Read the following poems. Reflect on the beginnings and how these poems could be considered
to “begin inside.” Share your thinking with a partner or a small group.
Journey
On the way home
it rained.
It rained as it can only
in summer—
a shower that brings mosquitoes
and heat,
a downpour when the sky
doesn’t darken.
It rained like needles
falling from a pine tree
deep in the forest—
that silently—
like a dream only
one person has
and only once.
On the way home
it rained like
someone
somewhere
needed a rainbow,
and maybe they were
going to get one.
And I reached home.
And maybe the someone
was me.
~ Anne Atwell-McLeod
~28~
Boy’s Life
somewhere out there
is a boy
who can bench one-fifty without effort
but as far as I’m concerned
it will never be me
showing no emotion
he’s the captain
of the football team
who won’t leave the field
until he’s blinded by his own blood
cheering mindlessly
he’s the number one fan
of TV wrestlers
who love to hear
the loudest crunch
one day
he’ll encounter the real world
and realize what it means
for a man to be
strong
~ Nat Herz
~29~
The Rule of So What?
"No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader."
~ Robert Frost
Writing is a multi-faceted, complex process. It is not enough simply to begin writing to
experience the process. Your writing must matter to you. The best writing helps you learn more
about yourself, allowing you to mine the depths of your own life. That level of honesty and
authenticity engages both the writer and the reader.
As you write, you must not only relate events and conversations, but also what the experience
means to you, its importance in your life, the SO WHAT? at the center of the story. SO WHAT? is
a shorthand phrase that helps you easily remember and employ the literary techniques of
theme, purpose, motif, guiding principle, central idea, and motivation. The Rule of So What? is a
great technique to know for first drafts, but it is also an important consideration in revision.
Once your thoughts and ideas are down on paper, ask yourself, "Okay, so this and this and this
occurred: SO WHAT? What's the point?" If you don't know, revise until you do, or save the piece
for another day. Be diligent in employing The Rule of So What? in your writing.
The Rule of So What?
 Good writing in every genre answers the question SO WHAT? Good writing has a
purpose, a point, a reason it was written.
 The good writer looks for and finds the meanings, the significances, the implications in
the subject he or she has chosen.
 Sometimes the SO WHAT? is subtle and implicit. Sometimes it's explicitly stated. But
always a good reader finds something to think about because a good writer found
something to think about.
 Robert Frost wrote, "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader." If you don't find the
deep meanings in your life or your characters' lives, your readers won't find meanings in
their own.
 A good writer often discovers the SO WHAT? through the thinking of the writing
process. But even with hard thinking, some topics may not have a SO WHAT? These
pieces can be abandoned or put on hold.
~30~
Conclusions: End Strongly
There are two places in a free verse poem, or perhaps in any written piece, where the reader
finds the strongest meaning. One place is the turning point, a point in a poem where the poet
moves in a surprising, new direction. The second place is a poem's conclusion. Many poets find
that conclusions - last lines - are the places in their poems they revise the most. Strong
conclusions leave the reader thinking so that the written words live on in the reader’s mind
even after the reading has finished.
Once you have your ideas and thoughts on the page, work to revise your poem's ending. Follow
the guidelines below to ensure that your poem ends strongly.
Conclude Strongly
 The conclusion often conveys a poem’s deepest meaning. It needs to be strong—to
resonate after the reader has finished the poem. The conclusion should leave a reader
with a feeling, idea, image, or question.
 Experiment: try different endings until you find the one that best conveys your meaning.
Maybe try an echo structure: repeat significant lines from the lead, or elsewhere, in your
conclusion.
 Above all, give your poem the time it needs for the right conclusion.
Review the student drafts below. Reflect on how the conclusion in the final draft differs from
the initial conclusion. Does the final draft’s conclusion provide a stronger ending? Why or why
not? Discuss your thoughts with a partner or small group.
Answer, Draft 1
The way you were brought into the harbor,
the load was light.
Not breaking one board,
you were ship shape.
The way you were beached.
The way you outlasted the storm
that the night brought.
Your contents were not so lucky.
The way you were forgotten for years.
The way you were taken for useless.
The way your rotten planks creaked and moaned
for someone to remember you,
for water to float in.
Until the day your hopes came true.
The way the two boys found you
lying beneath the dock.
The way they climbed over your low, rotten beams,
covered with moss and fungus.
The way their feet splashed in your murky belly
as the tide came in.
The way they tried to find the answer to your question:
what are you really doing here?
~31~
Answer, Draft 2
The way you were brought into the harbor,
the load was light.
Not breaking one board,
you were ship shape.
The way you were beached.
The way you outlasted the storm
that the night brought.
Your contents were not so lucky.
The way you were forgotten for years.
The way you were taken for useless.
The way your rotten planks creaked and moaned
for someone to remember you,
for water to float in.
Until the day your hopes came true.
The way the two boys found you
lying beneath the dock.
The way they climbed over your low, rotten beams,
covered with moss and fungus.
The way their feet splashed in your murky belly
as the tide came in.
The way they tried to find the answer to your question:
how did you find your way home?
~ Kyle Hirsch
Time Will Pass, Draft 1
It is a typical summer day.
Our cottage awakens.
Sun pours through the open window
and into my pale blue room.
Light hits my eyes and for a moment
I am blinded by its everyday brilliance.
Now the sun that woke me this morning
reflects off the sea that surrounds Peaks Island.
I push my paddle deep into the dense water
and glide along its silky surface.
I trail along behind my dad,
thinking about yesterday,
when we went out kayaking but with other people
so it wasn’t as special.
This uncommon time together is precious.
It will last only an hour
and then, just as Cinderella lost everything at midnight,
our time together will end.
I glance at my watch,
~32~
inspect the second hand,
watch time fly.
It does.
Too soon, Dad turns
and I turn too,
continuing our swift pace, back to the kayak rental.
We drag our kayaks out of the water
and onto the hot grainy sand.
I hear a sharp blast of the ferry horn
arriving at Peaks.
We run to catch it,
run to catch the boat that will take us
far away from paradise island.
Perfection (Time Will Pass, Draft 2)
It is a typical summer day.
Our cottage awakens.
Sun pours through the open window
and into my pale blue room.
Light hits my eyes and for a moment
I am blinded by its everyday brilliance.
Now the sun that woke me this morning
reflects off the sea that surrounds Peaks Island.
I push my paddle deep into the dense water
and glide along its silky surface.
I trail along behind my dad,
thinking about yesterday,
when we went out kayaking but with other people
so it wasn’t as special.
This uncommon time together is precious.
It will last only an hour
and then, just as Cinderella lost everything at midnight,
our time together will end.
I glance at my watch,
inspect the second hand,
watch time fly.
It does.
Too soon, Dad turns
and I turn too,
continuing our swift pace, back to the kayak rental.
We drag our kayaks out of the water
and onto the hot grainy sand.
“That was fun,” Dad says.
“That was perfect,” I reply.
~ Colleen Connell
~33~
Echo Structure
One way to experiment with strong endings is to echo a piece’s engaging beginning/lead in its
conclusion. Another possibility is to use the echo structure as a jumping-off point: the
conclusion doesn’t exactly reproduce the opening lines, but it borrows its most poignant image.
Here are two examples of poems that use an echo structure to end strongly.
Fantasy World
There is a place
where time doesn’t pass
and I control fate.
Where stone cathedrals
pierce darkened skies,
and fiction and reality
intertwine.
Where an unequaled Garden of Eden
is borne from the darkest stone
and nothing is
what it seems.
The glowing screen envelops me,
warm light cascades across my face,
and the electric hum immerses me
in an endless tide.
In this world
I am worshiped—
a guardian angel,
a savior, a protector.
There is a place
where time doesn’t pass
and I control fate.
~ Jed Chambers
Sarah
The sorrow
deep in dark eyes
outlined in white
rings saddens me
The limp
in her tender step
weakens each time
she sets down a gentle paw
Her fur once golden brown
now white
is still soft and smooth
to my touch
~34~
I hold her
I never want
to let go
but know I must
as we carry her to the car
Know that when my dad returns
she will not be
lying in the back
wagging her bushy tail
when I come running out
to greet her
Now all I can do
is remember
Remember the gentle
touch of her paw
or the rough lick
of her tongue
against my
soft cheek
and the sorrow
deep in dark eyes
outlined in
white rings
~ Jonathan Tindal
Now choose one of your pieces to revise to make it end strongly. Brainstorm multiple possible
endings. Choose the one that provides the strongest conclusion to your piece.
~35~
Breaking Lines and Stanzas and Punctuating
“I cannot say too many times how powerful the techniques of line
length and line breaks are. You cannot swing the lines around, or fling
strong-sounding words, or scatter soft ones, to no purpose.”
~ Mary Oliver (on lines in poetry)
“The main thing is to make rooms that are big enough to be useful,
shapely enough to be attractive, and not so empty as to be disappointing.”
~ Ron Padgett (on stanzas)
One of the most visually noticeable things about poems is that they look different from prose
(or non-poems). Poems have shorter lines than paragraphs, and they are surrounded by white
space. The place where a poet chooses to end one line and begin another is called a line
break. Thus, the ends of lines are called line breaks.
Another of a poem’s divisions is the stanza, which is a grouping of two or more lines within a
poem. The space between stanzas is known as a stanza break. Poetry is the only genre in
which form matters as much as content.
Beginning writers of free verse poetry are often confounded by line breaks and how to handle
them. More rule-bound poetry offers writers greater certainty about where each line should
end: lines end after a certain number of syllables or with words that rhyme.
Free verse is more free form, and therefore, offers no such formulaic answers. Yet, line breaks
and stanza breaks are of critical importance to a poem.
Line breaks set the rhythm of a poem and create the white space and shape of the poem. These
line breaks and white space help the reader know how to read a poem out loud or silently. Free
verse poems generally have line breaks that emphasize the pauses a reader’s voice might make:
line breaks signal the briefest of rests, breaths, or silences. This infinitesimal pause indicated
by a line break honors the rhythm and emphasis placed there by the poet.
Furthermore, most poets end their lines on strong words: nouns, verbs, adjectives, or adverbs.
Slicing a line at a weak word (an article, conjunction, or preposition) forces the reader to pause
at an insignificant moment in the poem, rather than at a point of meaning.
Line and stanza breaks are ultimately up to the poet, so how do you choose which words belong
together on a line? How do your mind, eyes, ears, and lungs help you choose?
First, remember that poetry is meant to be spoken. Then think of the emphasis you want to
give your words. Explore breaking the line at different places, whisper reading to yourself, to
see which line break gives your poem the rhythm and meaning you most desire.
Try to draft your free verse poems in lines. You will revise later by shortening, lengthening, and
moving lines, but it is wonderful to visualize your draft as a poem, rather than as prose, from
the very start. If that is too challenging for now, it is fine to write your poem first as prose, and
~36~
then go back into the draft and divide it into lines, and then revise and polish based on those
breaks.
As you work on line breaks, stanzas, and punctuation, consider the following:

Do pay close attention to line breaks and white space. Notice how a poet makes
decisions. Do the repeating lines all look alike? Does one word or one line stand all by
itself? Do lines go down the page in a certain way? Why do you think the poet did this?

Poetry is written to be spoken. Break lines to emphasize breaths, pauses, or silences.
Break on nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs.
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Try to draft in lines. When you revise, insert // between words to create a new line
break, and ============= between lines to indicate a new stanza break. Experiment
with the size, shape, and length of lines and stanzas.
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In general, punctuate and capitalize poems as if they’re prose, but don’t be afraid to
experiment with/without caps and punctuation, either.
~37~
Cut to the Bone
“Poetry is especially an art of compression.”
~ Robert Wallace
“I know a poem is finished when I can’t find another word to cut.”
~ Bobbi Katz
“Poetry is elegant shorthand.”
~ William Coles
The verb compress means to force something into less space. Some of a poem's power comes
from the poet's ability to say or suggest a lot in a short space. To do this, a poet must make sure
that every word is loaded with meaning and is necessary to the poem. Often, when a poet
writes a first draft, it will say more than it needs to because the poet's priority in the first draft
is to focus on recording the pertinent feelings and sensory details of the experience. A first draft
often includes anything that might be essential. Once the first draft is completed, it is time to
start to tighten the piece, eliminating obvious redundancies and portions not relevant to the
poem's central message or feeling tone. Through multiple revisions, you, the poet, will make
additions and substitutions, as well as continuing to delete. Finally, when you are certain the
poem is finished, revise one more time, being sure to cut to the bone.
When the poet can’t find another word to cut, a poem is done. Weigh every line and every
word: Does it do anything for your poem? Does a smart reader need it? And, is this poem
elegant shorthand yet?
Below are samples of student writing, both before and after being cut to the bone.
A Little Friendship (Uncut)
Of all the places,
we met on a transcontinental airplane,
a 747 at that.
She was from Germany
and was going to visit
her American grandmother in the States.
I had just finished my vacation
in Germany and was going back home
to Maine with my parents.
We both spoke English and German
and we couldn’t decide which of the two to speak.
At first we just visited each other.
We would listen to music
and would watch Bugs Bunny on the television.
Then we would crawl under the seats,
poking other people’s feet
and then scurrying away,
trying to suppress our giggling.
~38~
Near the back of the airplane, two brothers
were playing with their Batman toys.
The two of us absolutely despised Batman,
and we would chant an anti-Batman song
to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
Toward the end of the flight
we wrote down our addresses
on little slips of paper,
and we exchanged them.
We said our good-byes as we collected our luggage.
But we never saw each other again.
I lost my little slip of paper,
and I think she lost hers too.
We never wrote to each other.
So I would consider her a brief friend,
one who helped pass the time
on a long, six-hour flight
and helped me to make a memory.
A Little Friendship (Cut)
We met on an airplane.
She was from Germany,
on her way to visit
her grandmother in the States.
We had finished our vacation
in Germany and were headed home to Maine.
First we exchanged visits in our airplane neighborhoods.
We listened to music
and watched Bugs Bunny videos.
Then we crawled under seats,
poked people’s feet,
and scurried away,
trying to suppress our giggles.
Near the back of the plane, two brothers
played with Batman toys.
We despised Batman
and chanted an anti-Batman song
to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
We wrote our addresses
on slips of paper
and exchanged them.
We said good-bye as we collected our baggage.
But I never saw her again.
~39~
I lost my slip of paper.
I think she lost hers too.
We never wrote to each other.
So I consider her a brief friend,
one who helped pass the time on a six-hour flight
and made a memory
~ Lucas Mayer
Music (Uncut)
Music—it has the power
against myself to control my emotions
and that creates a need
for me to own it
and control myself.
Each new genre of music
releases an explosion inside myself
of adrenaline which I am eager
to run off and use.
Every music store is
an Amazon of new bands
fighting to release their
own personal effect on everybody.
But I am also fighting
to try the new bands first
and accept and enjoy the effect
that music throws at me.
Musical Emotions (Cut)
Music: the only power
I have over myself
to change my emotions
whenever and however I please:
from frustrating anger
to soothing calm
to enthusiastic happiness—
each new genre of music
added to my collection
equals another emotion
for me to explore.
~ Jacob Miller
~40~
Use Repetition
This mini-lesson about using repetition probably seems to directly contradict the cut to the
bone mini-lesson where you were urged to eliminate all redundancies. However, in poetry and
prose, there is a literary technique of creating cadence; rhythm, movement, and feeling; by
using effective repetition.
To understand effective repetition, it is often easiest to first consider ineffective repetition:
when the effect of repetition is wordiness that is not pleasing to the ear or helpful to the piece.
Ineffective repetition often involves words repeated too close together and to no effect save
ear-grating cacophony.
Purposeless overuse of a word is another form of ineffective repetition. If you find that you
have inadvertently overused a word or used the same word in too close proximity, this is the
perfect time to hone your thesaurus use to find another word or to brainstorm alternate words
or phrases to convey your meaning.
On the other hand, effective repetition can be a powerful and useful tool. Effective repetition is
when a writer chooses a word or phrase significant to the meaning of a piece, and then uses it
to deepen the meaning and move the piece.
Explore effective repetition in poetry and prose, using the following guidelines:
Beware of ineffective repetition: a word repeated in too close proximity to no purpose or effect
and that sounds awkward. Use effective repetition to stress an important word, phrase, idea, or
theme; to move a piece; to build a piece’s momentum; to create cadence. When you revise, read
your piece with your ears and listen for its rhythms.
Here are a few poems written by students exploring the use of repetition:
Art
Everything you see
Everything in life
Is art
Every pencil is a paintbrush
It paints the colors of
Poetry across a notebook
Every paintbrush is a bird
Gliding across the canvas
With a rainbow of colors
Every imagination
Is a crayon
Its childish ways
Dragging color onto
Any situation
~41~
Every child is
An artist
The little fingers
Forming art
On everything they touch
Everything you see
Everything in life
Is art
~ Ava Isola
Tree Heartbeat
The tree was there. It was always there,
gently tap tap tapping at my window
for me to come and play.
A warm breeze lingered in its branches,
a leftover of summer,
as it dropped pointy red treasures in my hair.
I leaned against the rough autumn bark.
Remembered when my dad said the tree was alive.
Listened for a heartbeat. Tree heartbeat.
Dressed in silver, she twirled her branches,
dumping snow when least expected.
I climbed up up up
where, nestled among branches, I stayed all afternoon.
I leaned against the snowy bark.
Listened for a heartbeat. Tree heartbeat.
Red blossoms burst from limbs,
fireworks in April.
I caught them in my shirt
only to throw them back up to the tree’s embrace.
I leaned my head against the soft, wet bark.
Listened for a heartbeat. Tree heartbeat.
The only shady place on the lawn
but with room enough for everyone.
A hole on the left for water balloons,
when brothers were around.
I leaned my face against the cool bark.
Listened for a heartbeat. Tree heartbeat.
Now, a lighted match against pale blue sky,
it waits for my father, knowing its life is at an end.
A life of snow, balloons, blossoms, and buds.
I lean once more against the bark.
I remember how my dad told me it was alive.
Listened for a heartbeat. Tree heartbeat.
~ Siobhan Anderson
~42~
Protected
I
Feel protected
No
One sees me
I’m
Comfortable
I’m
Protected
I
Just Feel
It
Say
Smooth rocks
Big trees
I’m
Camouflaged
I’m
Protected
I’m
Protected
I
Say
I’m
Camouflaged
No
One sees me
I
Blend
With the dark
Shade
And branches
I’m
The
Only one
Around here
Little sparks
Of
Sun
Shining light
And
Bright on
My scaly
Skin
Shining light
And
Bright
I
Say
~ Jeremy Bukolsky
I’m
Comfortable
I’m
Protected
No
One sees me
I’m
Hidden
I’m
Hidden
I
~43~
Figurative Language, or Two Things at Once
“The new metaphor is a miracle, like the creation of life.”
~ Donald Hall
Mastering figurative language can be challenging, but figurative language allows a writer to add
depth and richness to a piece. Figurative language can bring an abstract concept to life and give
it substance, by allowing the reader to create a concrete visual image or associate something in
the real world with abstract information. Figurative language leaves an impression. It adds
interest, emotion, and color to a written piece. It clarifies in imagery what words might never
truly express.
To begin to understand more about figurative language, a writer must know the difference
between figurative and literal language, as well as some of the types of figurative language.
Literal language is true to fact. It uses words in accordance with their actual (literal) meanings.
Example: My dog is a carnivore.
Figurative language makes comparisons between unrelated things or ideas, in order to show
something about a subject.
Example: In the kitchen, when I cook, my dog is a tap dancer.
Three Kinds of Figurative Language
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Metaphor (Greek): means, literally, transference. The writer transfers qualities of one
thing to another thing. A metaphor has two parts: A = B: something is something else.
The B part, the something else, shows how the poet feels about or perceives the A part.
Example:
Thumb
The odd, friendless boy raised by four aunts.
~ Philip Dacey
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Simile (from the Latin similes: similar): a kind of metaphor that uses like or as to
compare two things: A is like B.
Example:
Thunder threatens
Like a sound that rolls around and around
In a mean dog’s throat.
~ Martha Sherwood

Personification (from the Greek prósopa, meaning “face” or “mask”): a metaphor that
gives human or physical qualities to an object, animal, or idea.
Example: “The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes” ~ T. S. Eliot
Some things to watch out for when employing figurative language:
Beware of clichés! Clichés are often forms of figurative language. They are trite phrases or
opinions that are overused and betray a lack of original thought. “Cool your jets” is an example
of a cliché. Ask yourself, is a reader who has heard the phrase a thousand times going to take
the time to make a comparison between the issue and the cliché?
~44~
Some Additional Literary Devices
Hyperbole: This is a type of figurative language. A hyperbole is a bold, deliberate
overstatement not intended to be taken literally; it is used as a means of emphasizing the truth
of a statement.
Example: "I nearly died laughing," "I was hopping mad," and "I tried a thousand times." Such
statements are not literally true, but people make them to sound impressive or to emphasize
something, such as a feeling, effort, or reaction.
Onomatopoeia: Onomatopoeia is the imitation of natural sounds in word form. These words
help us form mental pictures about the things, people, or places that are described. Sometimes
the word names a thing or action by copying the sound.
Examples: Buzz! Hiss! Clang!
Alliteration: Alliteration occurs when the initial sounds of a word, beginning either with a
consonant or a vowel, are repeated in close succession.
Example: The wild and woolly walrus waits and wonders when we'll walk wistfully past.
Assonance: Assonance occurs when the vowel sound within a word matches the same sound in
a nearby word, but the surrounding consonant sounds are different. "Tune" and "June" are
rhymes; "tune" and "food" are assonant.
Example: "Hear the mellow wedding bells." ~ Edgar Allen Poe
Irony: Irony involves making a statement that means the opposite of what it states literally.
Example: Suppose you happen to be experiencing a streak of bad luck: your house has been
robbed, your cat just died, your best friend is mad at you, and this morning you backed your car
into a tree. You cry in exasperation: "Well that's just great!" Clearly you don't mean that you're
happy about this sequence of events: you have just made an ironic statement. You may also
encounter irony in pieces of literature or anecdotes. One of the most famous examples of
literary irony is Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet: it is ironic that the lovers die as a result of the
plan that was meant to ensure their spending the rest of their lives together.
Symbolism: Symbolism, another type of figurative language, is the use of a word, a phrase, or a
description, which represents a deeper meaning than the words themselves. This kind of
extension of meaning can transform the written word into a very powerful instrument. A
symbol works two ways: It is something itself, and it also suggests something deeper
Example: The Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling could be seen as containing a lot of
symbolism, although there are as many interpretations as there are creatures in the books! One
clear example is a commonly used one: the use of a snake to represent evil. It is no coincidence
that the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent. Other examples of symbolism could be spring
representing rebirth or a storm representing conflict.
Allegory: Allegory takes symbolism a step further. An allegory is a narrative that serves as an
extended metaphor, a comparison that carries through an entire passage.
Example: This excerpt from the monologue in Shakespeare's As You Like It compares the world
to a stage and life to a play in which people are merely actors:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
they have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...
~45~
Polishing Poems and Prose
After revising repeatedly, but before copy-editing, the writer must embark on a crucial task:
polishing. Polishing is the act of taking the deliberate stance toward making your final product
flow and satisfy as literature does.
Drafting and revising are the writing steps where the writer puts ideas and thoughts on paper
to clarify them, and then works to make the writing complete, logical, convincing, and
interesting, using effective literary devices and the writer’s own creative process and voice.
Polishing is a critical step that follows drafting and revising. The writer approaches the piece as
a reader of literature and asks, “Is it smooth? Does it flow? Is it beautiful? Is it clear and
strong? Does it sound like language from a good book?” Polishing enables a gem of writing to
have increased brilliance, luster, and fire.
Below are two lists: polishing poems and polishing prose. Add your own polishing techniques
to these lists and remember to refer back to the lists when it is time to polish your written
pieces.
Polishing Poems
Either picture a reader or pretend you are the reader, read your writing, and ask the following:
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Does everything in the poem fit and belong here?
Does the title fit the whole poem? Does it invite the reader?
Have you begun the poem inside the subject or experience?
Does the conclusion resonate and satisfy? Is it deliberate?
Is there a human, an I or he or you?
Is there a So what?
Can a smart, anonymous reader understand your poem?
Are the shape of the poem and the use of white space satisfying or stimulating to the
eye?
Do the lines break at points that support the sound and meaning of the poem: ideas,
breaths, phrases, sentences, meaning chunks? Are significant words or combinations of
words emphasized by putting white space around them? Does each line end with a
strong word (e.g., a verb, noun, adjective, or adverb vs. an article, preposition, or
conjunction)?
Are the stanza breaks effective, deliberate, and helpful to the reader and your meaning?
If you invented a free verse form, did you use it consistently?
Is the language sensory? Can a reader feel it, taste it, see it, hear it?
Is the language cut to the bone? Are unnecessary words deleted?
Is each word the right one?
Are there participles that can be converted to active constructions?
Does the verb tense stay consistent, past or present?
Have you avoided the overuse of commas at line breaks?
Is there too much or too little coded language?
Have you used any literary techniques (e.g., alliteration, assonance, personification,
metaphor, simile, effective repetition)?
~46~
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Have you listened for ineffective repetitions?
Is there figurative language? Do the metaphors match the tone or feeling of the poem?
Have you read the poem over and over again (silently and aloud) and listened to it?
Polishing Prose
Either picture a reader or pretend you are the reader, read your writing, and ask the following:
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Does the writing flow and make sense, like published text.
Does the title fit the whole piece? Does it invite the reader?
Is the engaging beginning inviting and purposeful? Does it set the tone for the rest of the
piece?
Does the conclusion resonate and satisfy? Is it deliberate?
Is there any information left out that the reader needs to know?
Is there any information that should be cut because it isn’t pertinent or it doesn’t move
the piece along?
Does the writing convey a So What? To the reader?
Are there enough thoughts and feelings to take the reader into you own or your main
character’s heart and mind? To keep the reader there by providing a “being there”
experience?
Is the writing visual? Can the reader see the story happening?
Does the dialogue sound the way the people would talk? Does it show what they’re like?
Is there a balance of dialogue and narrative? Does the dialogue overwhelm the
narrative?
Have you said something more than once?
Are there places where dashes, colons, or semicolons might give the writing more voice?
Have you listened for ineffective repetitions?
Is the pace of the action effective – not to slow or too fast?
Is the verb tense consistent, past or present?
Are there participles that can be converted to active constructions?
Are the verbs and nouns strong? Can the reader see, hear, feel, taste the writing?
Have you cut the “bad” overused words: really, very, kind of, sort of, just?
Have you listened for too many ands and thens?
Do the paragraphs break where they need to? Are any too long and tiring? Too short
and choppy?
Have you read the writing over and over again to yourself and listened to it with a critic’s
ear?
~47~
Personal Narrative/Memoir: Watering and Weeding
"The good writer seems to be writing about himself,
but has his eye always on that thread of the Universe
which runs through himself and all things."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Description begins in the writer’s imagination,
but should finish in the reader’s.”
~ Stephen King
~48~
Personal Narrative Genre
Personal narratives are a form of writing in which the writer relates one event, incident, or
experience from his/her life. Personal narratives allow you, the writer, to share your life with
others, vicariously experiencing the things you describe. Your job as a writer is to put the
readers in the midst of the action, letting them live through an event, incident, or experience.
Personal narratives also incorporate vivid descriptive details, as well as the thoughts, feelings,
and reactions of the writer.
A good personal narrative, like a good story, creates a dramatic effect, makes us laugh, gives us
pleasurable fright, and/or gets us on the edge of our seats. Although personal narratives
capture true events, sometimes writers embellish or use hyperbole to illustrate a point or for
dramatic effect. A personal narrative has done its job effectively if the readers can say, “Yes, that
captures what living with my mother feels like,” or “Yes, that’s what it felt like to lose the
championship game."
Note: A memoir is a specific type of personal narrative, one that examines the meaning of the
writer’s life during a specific moment in time.
~49~
Questions for Personal Narrative Writers
“Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.”
~ Willa Cather
Personal narrative is a wonderful genre for writers, especially for you as adolescent writers,
because you can consider and shape your experience and recast it as literature. Personal
narrative writing can help you figure out who you are, through glimpsing and reflecting on who
you were.
Of course, personal narratives can suffer from a host of problems, most of which stem from the
writer’s lack of passion for the piece’s chosen topic. If the writer’s heart isn’t in the piece, if the
personal experience isn’t intriguing to the writer, if there is not a strong desire to figure out
how and what a memory signifies in a writer’s life, then the writing is usually flat and empty.
Then the piece isn’t truly a personal narrative; it is a string of events laid end-to-end in
narrative form. Personal narratives that are mainly descriptions of “and then we did this and
then we did that and it was so awesome” are often written by beginning writers of personal
narrative, perhaps because the topic is safe, being mainly superficial. However, for a personal
narrative to shine, the writer must be strongly personally invested and reflective.
Use the questions below to help you determine what stories of your life might be told through
personal narrative. Consider each question thoughtfully. Not every question will resonate with
you, and that is fine. You are looking for ideas that trigger your memory in intriguing ways.
Capture the topics that emerge and add them to your writing territories under the subheading
Personal Narrative-Worthy Experiences. The themes of your life are developing now. Begin to
name and follow these threads of your life themes, not just to become a better writer, but also
to be more self-aware.
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What are my earliest memories? How far back can I remember?
What are the most important things that have happened to me in my life so far?
What have I seen that I can't forget?
What's an incident that shows what my family and I are like?
What's an incident that shows what my friends and I are like?
What's an incident that shows what my pet(s) and I are like?
What's something that happened to me at school that I'll always remember?
What's something that happened to me at home that I'll always remember?
What's a time when I had a feeling that surprised me?
What's an incident that changed how I think or feel about something?
What's an incident that changed my life?
What's a time or place that I was perfectly happy?
What's a time or place that I laughed a lot?
What's a time or place when it felt as if my heart were breaking?
What's a time with a parent that I'll never forget?
What's a time with a grandparent that I'll never forget?
What's a time with a brother or sister that I'll never forget?
~50~
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What's a time with a cousin or another relative that I'll never forget?
Can I remember a time I learned to do something, or did something for the first time?
What memories emerge when I make a time line of my life so far and note the most
important things that happened to me each year?
~51~
Effective and Ineffective Personal Narratives
Why personal narrative?
“It means the world becomes yours. If you don’t do it, it drifts away and takes
a whole piece of yourself with it, like an amputation. To attack it and attack
it and get it under control—it’s like taking possession of your life, isn’t it?”
~ Ted Hughes
“The story of your life is not your life. It is your story.”
~ John Barth
Ineffective personal narratives generally suffer from one or more of these difficulties:
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Problems with purpose: there’s no sense of why the writer chose this memory – of its
significance to his or her life – or invitation to the reader to care about or become
involved in the meaning of the memory.
Problems with focus: the piece is a bed-to-bed narrative that covers all the events of a day,
trip, or visit, with the incident-of-interest buried in a mass of narrative.
Problems with pace: events unfold way too fast, with little revealing detail, so it’s
impossible for a reader to make a movie in his or her mind, or events unfold way too
slowly, with the key events buried among a host of unimportant trivialities.
Problems with reflection: the writer doesn’t tell his or her thoughts and feelings, so
there’s no one with whom the reader can connect and empathize.
Problems with engaging beginnings: the piece begins with a paragraph or more of whowhat-when-where-why background information that keeps the reader distanced from
the piece.
Problems with conclusions: the piece either stops cold or runs on, with no reflection by
the writer and no satisfaction for the reader.
Problems with dialogue: either people talk so much that the piece reads like a script for a
podcast play and readers cannot visualize the action or empathize with the writer, or
people don’t talk at all and their true natures aren’t revealed.
Problems with setting and character identification: the reader can’t tell where or when
something is happening or who all these people are that the writer keeps referring to by
their first names.
Problems with titles: the titles are labels or descriptions of topics, not invitations to the
reader.
As writers, we will address each of these personal narrative problems in discrete mini-lessons
so that you will know how to write effective personal narratives that have these qualities:
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The title invites and fits: it came last; it was chosen from among possibilities
brainstormed by the writer.
The engaging beginning brings the reader right into the action of the story.
Background information that the reader needs is woven in – the who-what-when-wherewhy context is embedded in the narrative.
There’s lots of I: lots of thoughts, feelings, and observations of the writer.
~52~
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The pace fits the Goldilocks rule of being just right: the reader can make a movie in his or
her head and isn’t bogged down by unimportant events.
A reader can see, hear, and feel the experience because the writer provides concrete,
sensory details and descriptions of people in action.
The small details show what matters to the people in the personal narrative.
There is dialogue; the writer uses it to illustrate what people are like and how they are
feeling.
The language is interesting: included are vivid verbs like sputter, knead, spy, curl, polish,
pinch, and grip that a reader can see, feel, and hear.
The ending is purposeful: it leaves the reader thinking.
There’s a So what?: a meaning or significance that was discovered by the writer during
the act of writing the piece.
There’s a setting: a time and places.
The action flashes back and forward in time and creates questions in the reader’s mind
about what will happen next.
Literary devices are used to enhance the depth and quality of the piece.
The writer may have embellished details that fit with the spirit, intention, and truth of
the story.
~53~
Drawing and Talking to Find Topics
“An idea is nothing more nor less than a new combination of old elements.”
~James Webb Young
"The best antidote to writer's block is ... to write."
~Henriette Anne Klauser
As a writer, having ideas is a critical element of the writing craft. Often, however, student
writers find choosing a topic amongst the most challenging parts of the whole process.
Drawing and talking to find topics is a technique designed to help you, the writer, unearth
memories connected with objects or events from a special place or time and to bring those
memories to light.
With your writing partner or group, read Patricia MacLachlan’s story, All the Places to Love or
When I Was Young in the Mountains. After you have finished reading, discuss the places
celebrated in the story. Talk about what places are special to you and what makes them that
way.
Patricia MacLachlan told about her good memories of her places to love, using place to ground
her writing ideas. As a writer, you, too can use a familiar setting to help evoke memories that
can provide the basis for a writing topic.
Begin by creating a list of favorite or familiar places such as your backyard, the playground, a
shady spot under a tree, a vacation spot, etc. Share your list with a partner or small group,
adding to and revising your list. Once your list is complete, star one place to sketch and write
about.
You will be making a sketch on a piece of drawing paper, but first, fold back one-third of the
strip of drawing paper. Your sketch will be created on the two-thirds portion of the paper.
To focus your sketching, close your eyes and think about the place and the experiences you have
had there. Think about the objects in this place. Sketch this place on the long part of your
strip. Remember that this is only a sketch so do not spend too long on your drawing.
Now that you have your sketch, turn to your partner or small group and talk about the different
things in your sketch. Tell the stories you remember when you think about or talk about each
part of your sketch.
Now choose one object that evokes a special memory or story. Sketch this again on the small
folded part of the paper strip, this time elaborating and adding as many details as you can. You
can list words or short phrases that come to mind as you sketch.
Using the memory from your sketch, write a first draft or a short entry about it in your writing
binder. This entry could be a topic to be developed further at another time or it could become
the seed for your personal narrative, memoir, or fictional narrative.
~54~
All the Places to Love by Patricia MacLachlan
On the day I was born my grandmother wrapped me in a blanket made from the wool of her
sheep. She held me up in the open window so that what I heard first was the wind. What I saw
first were all the places to love: the valley, the river falling down over rocks, the hilltop where
the blueberries grew.
My grandfather was painting the barn, and when he saw me he cried. He carved my name—
ELI—on a rafter beside his name, and Grandmother’s name, and the names of my papa and
mama.
Mama carried me o her shoulders before I could walk, through the meadows and hay fields. The
cows watched us and the sheep scattered; the dogs ran ahead, looking back with sly smiles.
When the grass was high only their tails showed.
When I was older, Papa and I plowed the fields. Where else is soil so sweet?, he said. Once Papa
and I lay down in the field, holding hands, and the birds surrounded us: Raucous black grackles,
redwings, crows in the dirt that swaggered like pirates. When we left, Papa put a handful of dirt
in his pocket. I did too.
My grandmother loved the river best of all the places to love. That sound, like a whisper, she
said; gathering in pools where trout flashed like jewels in the sunlight. Grandmother sailed
little bark boats down river to me with messages. I Love You Eli, one said. We jumped from rock
to rock to rock, across the river to where the woods began, where bunchberry grew under the
pine-needle path and trillium bloomed. Under the beech tree was a soft, rounded bed where a
deer had slept. The bed was warm when I touched it.
When spring rains came and the meadow turned to marsh, Cattails stood like guards, and
killdeers called. Ducks nested by marsh marigolds, and the old turt1e—his shell all worn—no
matter how slow, still surprised me.
Sometimes we climbed to the place Mama loved best, with our blueberry buckets and a chair for
my grandmother: to the blueberry barren where no trees grew—the sky an arm's length away;
where marsh hawks skimmed over the land, and bears came to eat fruit, and wild turkeys left
footprints for us to find, like messages. Where else, said my mama, can I see the sun rise on one
side and the sun set on the other?
My grandfather’s barn is sweet-smelling and dark and cool: leather harnesses hang like pain
tings against old wood; and hay dust floats like told in the air. Grandfather once lived in the city,
and once he lived by the sea; but the barn is the place he loves most. Where else, he says, can the
soft sound of cows chewing make all the difference in the world?
Today we wait, him sitting on a wooden-slat chair and me on the hay, until, much later, my
grand-mother holds up a small bundle in the open window, wrapped in a blanket made from
the wool of her sheep, and my grandfather cries.
Together we carve the name SYLVIE in the rafter beside the names of Grandfather and
Grandmother, and my mama and papa, and me.
My sister was born. Someday I might live in the city. Someday I might live by the sea. But soon I
will carry Sylvie on my shoulder through the fields; I will send her message down river in small
boats; and I will watch her at the top of the hill, trying to touch the sky. I will show her my
~55~
favorite place, the marsh, where ducklings follow their mother like tiny tumbles of leaves. All
the places to love are here, I'll tell her, no matter where you may live. Where else, I will say, does
an old turtle acrossing the path make all the difference in the world?
When I Was Young in the Mountains by Cynthia Rylant
Grandfather came home in the evening covered with the black dust of a coal mine. Only his lips
were clean, and he used them to kiss the top of my head.
When I was young in the mountains, Grandmother spread the table with hot corn bread, pinto
beans and fried okra.
Later, in the middle of the night, she walked through the grass with me to the Johnny-house and
held my hand in the dark. I promised never to eat more than one serving of okra again.
When I was young in the mountains, we walked across the cow pasture and through the woods,
carrying our towels. The swimming hole was dark and muddy, and we sometimes saw snakes,
but we jumped in anyway.
On our way home, we stopped at Mr. Crawford’s for a mound of white butter. Mr. Crawford and
Mrs. Crawford looked alike and always smelled of sweet milk.
When I was young in the mountains, we pumped pails of water from the well at the bottom of
the hill, and heated the water to fill round tin tubs for our baths.
Afterward we stood in front of the old black stove, shivering and giggling, while Grandmother
heated cocoa on top.
When I was young in the mountains, we went to church in the schoolhouse on Sundays, and
sometimes walked with the congregation through the cow pasture to the dark swimming hole,
for baptisms.
My cousin Peter was laid back into the water, and his white shirt stuck to him, and my
Grandmother cried.
When I was young in the mountains, we listened to frogs sing at dusk and awoke to cowbells
outside our windows. Sometimes a black snake came in the yard, and my Grandmother would
threaten it with a hoe.
If it did not leave, she used the hoe to kill it. Four of us once draped a very long snake, dead of
course, across our necks for a photograph.
When I was young in the mountains, we sat on the porch swing in the evenings, and
Grandfather sharpened my pencils with his pocketknife.
Grandmother sometimes shelled beans and sometimes braided my hair. The dogs lay around
us, and the stars sparkled in the sky. A bobwhite whistled in the forest.
Bob-bob-bobwhite!
When I was young in the mountains, I never wanted to go to the ocean, and I never wanted to go
to the desert.
I never wanted to go anywhere else in the world, for I was in the mountains. And that was
always enough.
~56~
Narrowing the Topic
The inverted triangle is a prewriting technique to help a writer find a very specific writing topic
that is not too broad. Here’s how it works:
When you are trying to find a topic to write about, sometimes it is easier to start with a big idea
and work to make it smaller and smaller until suddenly, there it is – the “Inside story,” the one
only YOU know and can write. It’s like starting with a slab of marble or a block of wood and
chipping away until your sculpture is revealed to your audience. Starting with a writing
territory, you can find your specific topic by using an inverted triangle.
Look at your list of writing territories, and think about the seeds of ideas you might be able to
use to grow stories around a specific topic that holds a special meaning for you. Add to your
writing territories if a new memory emerges.
Then draw an inverted triangle, which can a useful graphic organizer to help you refocus your
camera lens from wide angle and zoom in on a specific subject. Choose one of your writing
territories and narrow it so that the territory captures the heart of the memory. Make sure that
you have not stopped at the “general” topic, but have moved to a specific statement to flesh out
the “inside” story. The statement should help you focus on both topic and point (the point is
why the author wrote the piece or what is most important or memorable about this topic).
Here are a few examples:
Lies
Lying to my mother
My first childhood lie
I discovered that one lie often builds and leads to
another and that lying gave me a terrible
feeling. I also learned about my
mother’s compassion: she wanted me
to respect her authority and to live
by her rules, but she didn’t
want me to fear me; she
wanted to show me by
example to be
honest, kind,
polite, and
safe.
~57~
Weather
Bad Storms
Rainstorm 1996
I had to abandon my car in a flash
flood; it was the most
frightening experience
of my life, but I
learned that I
am stronger
than I
think.
~58~
Narrative Engaging Beginnings/Leads
Good writers sweat their engaging beginnings. Leads give shape to the piece and to the
experience of writing it. A strong engaging beginning sets the tone for the piece, determines the
content and direction of the piece, and establishes the voice. Of equal importance, the engaging
beginning captures the reader’s interest, inviting the reader to dive headfirst into the text.
When you read, pay attention to how the writer engages you at the beginning of a story. When
you write, experiment with multiple engaging beginnings. Deliberately craft different leads.
During revision, choose the lead that you believe works best.
Below are examples of many different strategies for engaging the reader.
Typical
It was a day at the end of June. My mom, dad, brother, and I were at our camp on Rangeley Lake.
We arrived the night before at 10:00, so it was dark when we got there and unpacked. We went
straight to bed. The next morning, when I was eating breakfast, my dad started yelling for me
from down at the dock at the top of his lungs. He said there was a car in the lake.
Some more effective strategies for engaging the reader:
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Action: A Main Character Doing Something
I gulped my milk, pushed away from the table, and bolted out of the kitchen, slamming
the broken screen door behind me. I ran down to our dock as fast as my legs could carry
me. My feet pounded on the old wood, hurrying me toward my dad’s voice. “Scott!” he
bellowed again.
“Coming, Dad!” I gasped. I couldn’t see him yet—just the sails of the boats that had
already put out into the lake for the day.

Dialogue: A Character or Characters Speaking
“Scott! Get down here on the double!” Dad bellowed. His voice sounded far away.
“Dad?” I hollered. “Where are you?” I squinted through the screen door but couldn’t see
him.
“I’m down on the dock. MOVE IT. You’re not going to believe this,” he replied.

Reaction: A Character Thinking
I couldn’t imagine why my father was hollering for me at 7:00 in the morning. I thought
fast about what I might have done to get him so riled. Had he found out about the way I
talked to my mother the night before, when we got to camp and she asked me to help
unpack the car? Did he discover the fishing reel I broke last week? Before I could
consider a third possibility, Dad’s voice shattered my thoughts.
“Scott! Move it! You’re not going to believe this!”
~59~
Even more effective strategies for engaging the reader:
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Onomatopoeia: A Sound Associated with an Action
Squish thunk, squish thunk, went out boots as we trudged down the back road of the
ranch. There had been a storm the night before and as my brother, sister, and I went for
a walk, we were enjoying the crisp spring air and the sunshine putting its warming
hands on our backs. As we approached the corral, we noticed a mud puddle, a
particularly marvelous mud puddle where the rain had mixed with water, mud, and cow
dung that had been there before the storm. Little did I know that I was about to be
involved in the mud fight of a lifetime.

Shocking Statement: Something Surprising or Out of the Ordinary
They say Maniac Magee was born in a dump. They say his stomach was a cereal box and
his heart a sofa spring.
They say he kept an eight-inch cockroach on a leash and that rats stood guard over him
while he slept.
They say if you knew he was coming and you sprinkled salt on the ground and he ran
over it, within two or three blocks, he would be as slow as everybody else.
They say…
(from Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli)

List: Complex Listing of Just about Anything
Peggy was a kind woman, a quiet woman, a librarian who lived on Oak Street with her
loyal dog, Ginger. They ate together. They walked together. They read books together.
They watched television together. Their life was perfect.
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Lively Description: Specific Details Paint a Vivid Picture
Scarcely a breath of wind disturbed the stillness of the day, and the long rows of
cabbages were bright green in the sunlight. Large white clouds drifted slowly across the
deep blue sky. Now and then they obscured the sun and caused a chill on the backs of the
prisoners who had to work all day long in the cabbage field.
(from “The Prisoner Who Wore Glasses” by Bessie Head)

Question: Something to Start Readers Thinking
What’s in a name? Nothing – and everything. It is after all, just a name, one tiny piece of
the puzzle that makes up a person. However, when someone has a nickname like
“Dumbo,” a name can be the major force in shaping one’s sense of self. That’s how it was
for me.

Scenario: An Imaginary Situation
You’ve been drifting at sea for days with no food and no water. You have two
companions. Suddenly, a half-empty bottle of water floats by. You fight over the bottle,
ready to kill the others if you must in order to obtain that water. What has happened?
~60~
What are you—human or animal? It is a question that H.G. Wells raises over and over in
The Island of Dr. Moreau. His answer? Like it or not, we’re both.

Quotation: Quote Someone Whose Words Encapsulate Your Theme
There are several choices for using a quote to engage the reader. One way is to begin
with the quote and then tie the quote into the opening:
“The greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor” ~ Aristotle
Aristotle and countless other masterful communicators have harnessed the power of
metaphor to effectively persuade and inform. Metaphors allow you to make the complex
simple and the controversial palatable. Conversely, metaphors allow you to create
extraordinary meaning out of the seemingly mundane.
Another way is to embed the quote into your introduction:
Many of my high school friends are frustrated, and I understand that. I look around and
see all kinds of problems in the world, and it doesn’t seem like anything will ever change.
When I feel like that, I think about Nelson Mandela’s struggles, and I remember his claim
that “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” For
me, the next few years will be my chance to get an education, because I am going to
change the world.

Anecdote: A Short, Interesting Story Related to Topic
I'd been getting into a lot of trouble—failing classes, taking things that didn't belong to
me. So the guidance counselor at school suggested that my parents take me to a
psychiatrist. "You mean a shrink?" my mother replied, horrified. My father and I had the
same reaction. After all, what good would it do to lie on a couch while some "doctor"
asked questions and took notes? So I went to my first session angry and skeptical. But
after a few weeks, I realized that we had it all wrong. Those shrinks really know what
they're doing. And mine helped me turn my life around.
When beginning a story, craft several engaging beginnings. Experiment. An engaging beginning
you love will fuel you as a writer. Choose the way in that makes you happiest; it will make your
readers happy, too.
Student Activity: Choose Your Favorite Engaging Beginning and Identify the Strategy:
E.B. White’s Lead Experiments for Charlotte’s Web
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“He was what farmers call a spring pig – which simply means that he was born in
springtime. He was small, had a good physique, and was generally white and he lived in
the cellar.”
“The warmest and pleasantest part of Zuckerman’s barn was the part where the cows
were on the south side. It was warm because the sun shone in through the door, and it
was warm because of the manure pile.”
~61~
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“A barn can have a horse in it, and a barn can have a cow in it, and a barn can have hens
scratching in the chaff and swallows flying in and out through the door – but if a barn
hasn’t got a pig in it, it is hardly worth talking about.”
“‘Where’s Papa going with that ax?’ Said Fern to her mother as they were setting the
table for breakfast.
‘Out to the hoghouse,’ replied Mrs. Arable. ‘Some pigs were born last night.’”
“At midnight, John Arable pulled his boots on, lit a lantern, and walked out through the
woods to the hoghouse. The sow lay on her side; her eyes were closed. Huddled in a
corner stood the newborn pigs, ten of them…
‘Ten of them,’ he murmured. ‘Nine full size and one runty pig. Little Wilbur.’”
“Charlotte was a big grey spider who lived in a doorway. But there is no use talking
about Charlotte until we have talked about her close friend – a pig named Wilbur.”
~62~
Manipulate Pacing
Pacing is critical to good writing because pacing is used to control the speed of the plot. Pacing
is manipulating time. The writer sometimes slows the pace by putting more detail in, but
sometimes also hurries over details, leaving out the uninteresting parts that aren’t central to the
piece’s So what? Pacing deals with the flow of the story itself and how its various events are set
up: it is the rhythm of your piece, its internal heartbeat.
There is no set formula for pacing. To a certain extent, pacing is a matter of personal preference
for the writer and the reader. The more you read and the more you write, the more intuitive
pacing will become and the more you will find your own narrative rhythm.
Below are some basic guidelines to use to check your piece’s pacing to identify potential
problems:
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Check the left margin of your text. Are your paragraphs varied in length, giving a sense of
breathing space? Or are they all roughly the same length? If they all seem to be about the
same size, try breaking up one or two of them.
Ask yourself, are your sentences varied? Breaking away from repetitive parallel
structure in sentences can really bring a scene alive.
Minimize the window you're writing in, and tell yourself the story out loud. Are you
struggling to get all the points in within a reasonable amount of time? Or are you finished
telling it too quickly for the amount of time your story takes to read? Don't summarize,
really tell it to yourself. How does it feel to you, now that it's complete?
Ask yourself if you’ve followed an “arrive late and leave early” technique. Have you
started inside the action or with an element of suspense? Have you avoided the dull
details that don’t move the plot or contribute to the piece’s overall message or tone?
Remember that your narrative is a series of scenes and transitions. Have you
transitioned smoothly and quickly? Have you highlighted the critical part of each scene,
allowing the reader to bring some of his/her own imagination to the piece?
Manipulate pacing as you draft and revise to help you clarify the point of your piece for yourself
and for the reader. Experiment with pacing until you have the right rhythm for your narrative:
a pacing that focuses the reader’s attention on the So what? of your piece without forcing the
reader to slog through mucky mires of detail that are not central to your main message.
~63~
The Rule of Thoughts and Feelings
In a narrative, the reader needs someone to be with. If the narrative is a short story, the someone
is the main character. If it’s a memoir, the someone is you, the writer.
Knowing your—or your main character’s—thoughts and feelings is crucial if a reader is going to
be able to participate in your story. Personal reflections—thoughts and feelings—help make a
story engaging: interesting to read and vicariously experience. And personal reflections in
narratives are often the source of the best so what’s?—the themes and significances of your
experiences or those of your main characters.
From now on, try to include thoughts and feelings as you draft. However, if you discover that
you needed your first draft to get the details of the narrative right, then revise for thoughts and
feelings by going back inside the story and discovering and capturing your or your main
character’s responses to unfolding events.
When you revise for thoughts and feelings, you can insert asterisks at the points where readers
might wonder, use a numbered list for creating notes of thoughts and feelings on a separate
sheet of paper, or attach spider legs: strips of paper on which you’ve written thoughts and
feelings to be included in the text in the next draft of the story.
Some Ways to Include Thoughts and Feelings
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He/She/I thought about ________________________ .
________________________ , he/she/I thought .
He/She/I wondered if ________________________ .
He/She/I hated it when ________________________ .
He/She/I loved it when ________________________ .
He/She/I noticed ________________________ .
He/She/I realized ________________________ .
He/She/I couldn’t understand ________________________ .
He/She/I couldn’t believe ________________________ .
He/She/I was surprised by ________________________ .
He/She/I considered whether ________________________ .
He/She/I was upset when ________________________ .
He/She/I didn’t see why ________________________ .
He/She/I imagined ________________________ .
He/She/I wished ________________________ .
He/She/I wanted ________________________ .
He/She/I didn’t want ________________________ .
He/She/I despised ________________________ .
He/She/I remembered ________________________ .
He/She/I began to feel________________________ .
He/She/I worried about ________________________ .
He/She/I didn’t care about ________________________ .
He/She/I decided ________________________ .
He/She/I hoped ________________________ .
He/She/I was afraid of ________________________ .
He/She/I was reassured by ________________________ .
~64~
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
He/She/I was ________________________ (angry, embarrassed, delighted, sorry, excited, etc.)
because ________________________ .
Who/What/When/Where/Why ________________________ ?
To see the impact of including thoughts and feelings, review a student’s drafts of his memoir.
Note how the piece evolves, paying particular attention to how the addition of thoughts and
feelings allows readers to be with the writer. The memoir is deeper—more personal to the
writer and more interesting to readers. All the writer did was find the points where readers
needed to be able to think his thoughts and feel his feelings, starting with the title.
Thoughts and feelings is a technique for both drafting and revising stories. From now on, try to
include your thoughts and feelings as you go. Later, when you re-read what you’ve written, use
asterisks at points where you need to go inside yourself and tell what’s going on there.
~65~
Conclusions: Reflective Close
From an earlier mini-lesson, you know the importance of a piece’s ending and have
experimented with conclusions that end strongly. A reflective close is a specific technique for
concluding strongly.
The definition of reflection is looking back on an experience and determining the importance of
that experience, what you learned; insightful, considered thoughts about a subject.
A reflective close demands reflection from the writer. This conclusion requires the writer to be
insightful and to reflect deeply and honestly about the main experience, event, or message of
the piece. This conclusion looks back over the story and draws a conclusion about the
experience, sometimes sharing a lesson learned with the reader, other times simply offering
some thoughts about the experience and how it has changed the writer’s life.
~66~
Student Personal Narrative Samples
These personal narrative samples were written by fifth or sixth grade students. These pieces
are strong examples of personal narratives, but as with all writing, even the most famous
masterpieces, there is room for revision. Each piece does many things well, and any one piece
may serve as a model or ignite ideas for your own personal narrative.
Kayak Tip-Over
Cold waves lap at my back. The wind roars. The capsized kayak bobs crazily like a runner’s
short ponytail. My arms and legs tingle with the thought of an underwater creature dragging
me down into the watery depths.
“This is just like T.V.,” I think as I anticipate a shark jumping out from the water and eating us. I
shiver involuntarily.
“Help!” I cry, small-voiced.
Earlier, that day had started out like any old vacation. The weather was warm, and there was a
pleasant breeze licking at the waves in the lagoon. My mom’s book club invited my brother,
sister, mom, and me, along with two other families, to a beach house. The house was on a
tranquil lagoon with rippling water. No one else was in the water that day. The house had
kayaks, body boards, and a paddle boat! Perfect for us kids! All was going well until the two
boys got bored.
The boys were evidently going to go crazy if they didn’t do something soon. They had been
lying in the sun for too long, and they were swiftly accumulating girly tans. Suddenly, Josh had a
marvelous idea! Why didn’t they let one floaty go drifting downstream and then go chasing it in
the paddle boat?! The idea was perfect. There was only one catch: the pleasant breeze that had
been blowing gently was now a gushing whirlwind of energy, and the floaty was rapidly
growing smaller and smaller, with the boys close in tow.
“Tino! Joshua!” Madison, Ana, and I screamed and yelled, but it was to no avail.
“JOSHUA BURCH! COME BACK HERE!” Madison hollered. Our mothers came up behind us.
“Looks like they’re going to need a rescue team,” Madison’s mom said. We looked at her for a
second, and then jumped into action. Ana manned the one-person kayak while Madison and I
took the two-seater. We pushed off, soldiers on a mission!
Ana reached Tino and Josh before Madison and I did. The situation was worse than we had
thought. Tino and Josh were flailing about in the water. In trying to reach the floaty, they had
fallen out of the paddle boat. Ana had tied the kayak and paddle boat together, hoping to give it
a tow because the current was too strong to paddle the boat back. The boys were still in the
water, unable to get in the boat. Ana, realizing her plan wasn’t working, untied the
kayak. Finally, Josh managed to get in the paddle boat, leaving Tino to fend for himself.
~67~
Meanwhile, Madison and I struggled with our kayak. We had moved away from the others and
into the middle of the lagoon. Seeing Tino swimming towards us, we made room for him on
board. He reached us and heaved himself on. I threw my weight on the opposite end so we
wouldn’t capsize. Madison and Tino sat with their legs dangling, resting. I knew they shouldn’t
do that, but before I could warn them, we tipped over, and we all went spilling into the lagoon!
The cold water hit me like a wall. I surfaced, sputtering water. I prayed to God, thanking Him
that we had life jackets. My first concern was that we had to right the kayak. Unfortunately, this
was easier said than done. After our fifth try, the kayak reluctantly flipped over with a loud
squelching sound. I felt as if we should get a gold medal for that! All I wanted to do was get out
of there, but the lagoon wasn’t finished with us. Our paddles had floated away! Luckily, Ana,
the hero of the day, brought the paddles to us. Thank you, Ana!
During that time, Ophie, Josh and Madison’s mom, arrived to help. She joined Josh on the paddle
boat, relieved Tino from us, and took him to shore. Madison and I managed to arrive at the
shore safely without any more tip-overs. Hip, hip, hooray! I watched Ana battle her way home
and thought it would have gone much differently if she hadn’t been there. I looked back at my
friends, then at the water, and I knew this wouldn’t keep us out of the water. No way!
The whole experience helped me learn that you have to be calm in scary situations even if you
aren’t calm at heart. Things look much worse when you’re scared, so sometimes you just need
to pause, take a deep breath, and I promise things will look much brighter! My advice to kids
like me would be to listen to your parents when they insist upon wearing life jackets. Those
jackets really do live up to their name. They can save lives. They helped save mine!
My Extreme and Deathly Fright
It was a horribly hot day, and the sun was melting me. I had pounds of butterflies in my
stomach. Every time I drew closer to my absolute doom, I thought more about whether or not I
really wanted to do this. Finally, it was time.
My sister and I climbed onto the ripped-up, red seat and pulled down the hot, sweaty handle
that would soon be protecting us in the car that would carry us through the scorching,
sickening, insane, storming roller coaster ride called Roar, which you should eternally never
ride.
I was like a little innocent bug about to be face-to-face with one giant and one big, black
bear. As soon as the ride started, we had enormous, nervous smiles on our faces and shaking
Chihuahua bodies. The ride started out leisurely, but when we made the first turn, all I could
see was a blurred Six Flags, my sister, and my babysitter. I heard screaming teenagers and
clapping hands at animal shows. I saw all the grand roller coasters, splashing water, and
believe it or not, I saw the drop we were about to take and all the twists and turns that would
make us feel sick. I smelled the smelly smell of something smelly that I think was gross corn
dogs, ridiculously stinky fish, and perspiring people. I felt my sister’s sweaty hand and the
ripped-up red seat that scratched my legs. I also tasted my sandwich from earlier in the day and
wondered how this could become any worse.
~68~
I soon found out how because the roller coaster was going up, up, up the roller coaster hill, so I
grabbed hands with my sister and then, “AAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Get me off of here!” we both
screamed in unison.
“It’s okay. Relax,” counseled my babysitter, Alisa. However, it was far from okay. It was the end
of my life. I just knew there wasn’t going to be any tomorrow for me. I was going to be dead.
Then all of a sudden, I heard the most deathly sound anybody could ever hear in her whole,
entire life: the sound of roller coaster tracks. We went up, down, around, and almost upside
down! At this point, I felt sick. I had a horrible stomachache, and my head was spinning at what
was what, and I felt weak, weak as if I had no bones in my body at all. I call that bum
bones. Although I didn’t know what to do, there was one alternative left to me since I had a
brain—to think. So I thought while I was breathing heavily, twisting and turning and
screaming, and I just decided to put my head down and try to let the rocking created by the
giant and the big, black bear soothe me, but that was the impossibility of the century because to
think and to try to relax on a roller coaster…let me tell you now, it’s impossible!
As soon as we passed through another couple of twists and turns, it was like the ride would
never end, and I would have to be on this torturous roller coaster the rest of my life. I would
have to sleep on the roller coaster, eat on the roller coaster, and even do my business on a roller
coaster. However, what scared me the most was that I would never see my family again, but
then I remembered my thought from earlier. I was going to be dead, as dead as anyone could
ever be.
“Please, have only one more rumble, rumble,” I begged silently. “Please have only one more ‘big,
fantastic turn.’ Please have only one more anything,” I thought because nobody wants to be as
dead as anybody could ever be. Luckily, there was only one more rumble, rumble. Luckily,
there was only one more “big, fantastic turn,” but there was not only one more of anything
because we did a final roller coaster hill drop and then, “AAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Get me off of
here!” we both screamed again.
“It’s okay. Relax,” said my babysitter, and luckily, this time it was okay. We were right back
where we had started, the place where we first had our big, nervous smiles on our faces. We
were where I learned that I can overcome my fears and I have the guts to do anything. I learned
that anybody can do anything, and that when people tell you that you can do something, they
are right. You can.
Connected
Our extensive day at the Wells Fargo Center for the Arts is finally over. Everyone in our group is
tired. Our legs hurt, and we want to go home. Mom and I head to the bus on which we traveled
here. We find seats in the back, dreading the long, bumpy ride home. Seconds before our
anticipated departure, a young man, maybe twenty, climbs onto the bus. He’s wearing baggy
worn jeans and a ripped shirt.
“Is this the bus to Petaluma?” he asks. When someone nods, he makes his way to the back, sits
down in the seat across from mine, and smiles. Returning his toothless grin, I smile back. He
takes off his coat and uses it as a pillow against the cold window. For a moment he stares
~69~
blankly into space; then he seizes his backpack. Grabbing a book, The Hunger Games, he
rearranges his pillow.
Somehow this strikes me as peculiar. I’d never expect him to be reading a book, especially this
one, and I don’t know what to think. I picture someone like him sitting at home in a trailer,
watching television, a high school dropout. So as the bus moves through the night, I create a
new life for him. I think of all the possibilities, and when I am done I glance over at him; I’m
surprised to find that he is looking at me. We fly over a bump, and everyone lurches forward.
Then I, too, take out my book and start to read. My hands shake from the movement of the bus. I
glance over at the man again; this time he is not looking at me. He is concentrating on his book.
His eyes don’t move off the pages of the ancient paperback.
I watch him for a long time, and then I realize that he has destroyed a stereotype. He has shown
me that you don’t have to be comfortably middle class to be literate. You don’t have to live in a
nice house or aspire to college and the white-collar world. Anyone can read. Everyone can be
sucked into a story and feel and taste the beautiful words and deep ideas that an author has
sent out into the world.
The bus pulls into the elementary school parking lot, where we will be dropped off. Before I
climb into our old SUV, I watch the man get into a car with someone; I watch him disappear.
Mom and I go home, but I don’t forget the man. When I get back to my large, suburban house, I
can still picture him, his clothes wrapped around his small body, his hands wrapped around his
book.
I search the shelves, longing to find what I am looking for: Collins’ The Hunger Games. I see it
and reach for it, then clutch it to my chest. I curl up in the cozy chair in our living room. I picture
him curled up in the bus, his knees pulled to his chin, his battered paperback shaking in his
hands. And I know that we are connected by the power of reading.
~70~
Fictional Narrative: Branching Out
"The most improbable tales can be made believable, if your reader,
through his sense, feels certain that he stands at the middle of events."
~ Ray Bradbury
“Writing is both mask and unveiling.”
~ E.B. White
~71~
Fictional Narrative Genre
Fictional narratives are a form of writing in which the writer, using the power of imagination,
invents a re-creation of life, usually written in prose. All fictional narratives are simultaneously
filled with falsehoods and great truths. Falsehoods are inherent because fiction relays events
that have never occurred to characters that have never existed, at least not as they appear in the
story. However, fiction also contains great truths because it reveals meaningful insights into the
human condition, allowing readers to learn about themselves, others, and the world while being
entertained by a story.
Fictional narratives allow you, the writer, to discover stories stemming from small moments of
everyday life, to imagine stories you wish existed in the world, to pretend other lives into print,
and to explore universal and personal issues all while telling an engaging tale that allows your
readers to vicariously experience the things you describe. Your job as a writer is to put the
readers in the midst of the action, letting them live through an event, incident, or experience.
Fictional narratives also incorporate vivid descriptive details, as well as the thoughts, feelings,
and reactions of the characters.
A good fictional narrative creates a dramatic effect, makes us laugh, gives us pleasurable fright,
and/or gets us on the edge of our seats. Further, such a story stays with us long after we have
finished the last word because it invites us to ponder important questions about what it means
to be human.
~72~
What’s Easy about Writing Bad Fiction?
“Fiction writers aim at creating legitimate untruths since they aim to
demonstrate meaningful insights into the human condition. Therefore,
fiction is untrue in the absolute sense, but true in the universal sense.”
~ Dr. Cynthia Hallet
Fictional narrative is a wonderful genre for writers because you can consider and shape issues
and experiences, imagine new worlds, explore ideas, and recast them as literature. Fictional
narrative writing can help you discover more about yourself, others, and what it means to be
human through the creation of imaginary worlds.
Of course, fictional narratives can suffer from a host of problems, most of which stem from the
writer’s lack of understanding of the complexities and demands of the genre. Fictional
narratives demand so much more than daydreaming on paper or tediously recounting a favorite
video game or movie.
Fiction is the most difficult genre to write well. To begin our study of the fictional narrative
genre, we will think about what can be learned from our failed attempts at fiction writing. This
will help us gain some perspective and avoid the common pitfalls inherent in bad fiction. Below
is a list of some of the pitfalls that are encountered when a writer doesn’t fully grasp the work of
a fiction writer.
What’s Easy about Writing Bad Fiction?
 The events or the characters’ experiences don’t have to be grounded in anything: it’s a
daydream on paper.
 The characters are like cardboard cut-outs or paper dolls you’re moving around: the
characters don’t have a character.
 You don’t have to include dialogue; if you do, it can be pointless.
 You don’t have to bother with a climax or high point of the action.
 You don’t need a So what? or theme.
 You can spin as much plot or action as you want.
 You don’t have to provide background and details.
 It can be just a string of events.
 You don’t have to tell characters’ thoughts and feelings.
 The lead/engaging beginning doesn’t have to grab the reader.
 You don’t have to craft a resonating conclusion: it can just end, or it can conclude with
“to be continued…” or “and ___________ woke up; it was all just a dream.”
 The story doesn’t have to make sense.
 You don’t have to convince a reader that this is a real world.
 Changes can be made at your discretion.
 You can write it off the top of your head.
 When you don’t finish it, no one will be surprised or blame you.
~73~
What’s Hard about Writing Good Fiction?
“Fiction is truth’s older sister.”
~ Rudyard Kipling
This quote by Rudyard Kipling, a novelist and poet you might know best as the author of The
Jungle Book, speaks to the nuance of fiction and the truths it gradually unveils to readers.
You’ve been writing truth in your memoirs/personal narratives and in some of your poetry. As
you move into fiction, you’ll need to stretch as a writer, standing on tiptoe so you can hold your
own with truth’s older sister. Fiction can be such a challenge to write because it’s an act of
invention rather than simply an act of thoughtful, thorough description. Nevertheless, the
satisfaction derived from crafting a strong fictional narrative more than makes up for the
challenges.
Since we’ve already reviewed some of the major pitfalls that make it easy to write bad fiction,
let’s consider what’s hard about writing good fiction. What do writers crafting good fiction
need to think about, create, include, and leave out?
What’s Hard about Writing Good Fiction?
The writer of good fiction has to…
 Develop a main character who:
o has convincing thoughts and feelings
o talks and acts like a real person
o has a definite personality
o is believable and consistent
o has a problem/is facing a conflict
o a reader can be with and wants to be with
 Create a problem or conflict for the main character.
 Create a working plan or storyboard, so the story is intentionally crafted, not just a
daydream on paper.
 Create a lead/engaging beginning that draws in the reader.
 Create a conclusion that wraps up the plot and resonates for the reader, pointing to the
So what? or theme.
 Keep a steady pace: action that’s not too fast or too slow.
 Create a climax/high point: the event of greatest intensity in the story.
 Create a specific time and place—a setting.
 Create a new world, with sufficient background information to make it convincing.
 Create a So what? or theme.
 Base the plot in grounded experience: the writer’s knowledge, gained firsthand,
observed, or learned about through reading/research.
 Create dialogue that’s relevant and moves the action forward.
 Keep a balance of action, dialogue, and the main character’s thoughts and feelings.
~74~
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Keep a consistent verb tens (present or past) and narrative voice: usually first person (I)
or third person (he or she).
Create a movie of the story behind his or her eyelids, then open his or her eyes and
capture the specifics of the action on paper: invent details that make the story visual.
Beware of too much plot.
Leave out or delete the parts that a reader will skip.
Write enough, in terms of length, to develop all of the above and invent a believable
world.
Create a title that fills the reader in, invites a reader, and fits the whole story.
Put significant time into the piece: multiple weeks is probably the average for a
fifth/sixth grade fictional narrative short story of merit.
~75~
Problems to Explore in Fiction
The successful writer of fictional narrative creates a world so complete, plausible, and seamless
that readers unknowingly slip into its rhythms and feel as though they inhabit the world of the
narrative. It takes tremendous skill to pull off such a feat as a writer of fiction.
Our first step in writing fictional narratives will be to develop the problem of the story, starting
first by reflecting on how published authors develop problems. We’ll then develop possible
problems to explore in our fictional narratives. Once we have the problem we create for our
characters, we will develop main characters and then determine how each character will
confront or avoid a particular challenge. The fictional narrative’s setting, theme, and plot will
emerge from the what if? of the problem.
Most published novels and short stories are about two things: a particular person or group of
people, and the particular problems one or more of them are facing. For example, how many of
you have read R. J. Palacio’s Wonder? I think we can agree: Auggie is the main character. What
problems has Palacio given Auggie to confront?... Stereotyping, isolation, discrimination, kid-onkid violence based on status, the death of his beloved dog, a rare craniofacial deformity
requiring numerous surgeries, terrible tension with his sister. Palacio has provided myriad
problems for Auggie.
This isn’t plot or theme; it’s difficulty: what will a particular character do, faced with a
particular challenge. Consider the novels and short stories you’ve read, both independently and
in class, and determine the problem or what if? of each title you’ve read. You are to gather data
about problems or plot premises that have served as the foundations of fiction.
Note this quote from author Roald Dahl:
“What about a chocolate factory that makes fantastic
and marvelous things—with a crazy man running it?”
This quote is from a note Dahl wrote to himself about a what if that intrigued him. That what if
jotting was the seed from which Charlie and the Chocolate Factory grew.
Below are some problems published authors have explored in fiction.
Troubled relationship with a grandparent
Looking for an adult role model
Kids with different religious views
Competition with a friend/jealousy
Peer pressure to do something dangerous
Facing the past--trying to make a new life
Physical appearance issues
Getting past stereotypes/first impressions
Proving one can do something
Solving a crime/mystery
Influence of childhood friends on rest of life
Childhood friends who change in jr. high
Telling the truth
Debilitating disease
First love
Overcoming adversity
Changes in a friendship
Adult censorship of kids
Moving away from friends
Parents’ divorce
Seeking revenge
Finding love
Social status or class issues
Racial prejudice
Troubled friend
Peer pressure to win
Dysfunctional family
Fighting evil
Adverse effects of technology
Fighting an enemy
Kidnapping
~76~
Figuring out one’s identity
Peer pressure at school
End of a friendship
Trying to fit in
Pressure to fit in
Gender stereotyping
Troubled sibling relationship
A parent’s or sibling’s death
Survival against the elements
Deciding to make a big change
Ghost encounter
Facing a fear
War/nuclear holocaust
Recovering from an accident
Death of a pet
Now it is time for you to make your own list of potential problems in fiction. Imagine and list
dilemmas that interest you as a writer. What problems inspire your imagination? What what
ifs? intrigue the writer in you. Go for quantity and quality of ideas.
It may help you to see a student list of what ifs? for fictional narratives. Notice that this list
avoids using death as a short story problem. Death, as a subject, is so huge that it requires
pages and pages of the main characters’ thoughts and feelings, reacting to such an
overwhelming loss and attempting to come to terms with it. You will have neither the time nor
the physical space in a short story of ten pages or less to do death justice or make it convincing,
so do not choose death as one of your dilemmas.
Potential Problems in Fiction, A Student’s List
What if…
 Grandfather can’t do all the things he used to—girl deals with it
 Best friends—boy, girl teased about their friendship, almost decide to stop friendship
 Cousins move next door, conflict with cousins and main character
 Siblings growing apart—different interests
 Only girl on baseball team, teased but girl keeps trying to be a good team member and
hone baseball skills
 Game obsession—boy obsessed with video game and not doing homework
 Best friend ditches character for more popular friends—character has to deal with it
 Send two colonies—one human, one mechanical—to a planet outside this solar system,
switch back and forth between perspectives
 A kid pressured to join the cool group—he hangs out playing basketball even though he
knows they are up to something bad, but he doesn’t have any friends
 A kid with a bad lisp is laughed at and rejected; he saves another kid’s life and nobody
else knows; the second kid stands up for him and changes his life at school
~77~
The Main Character Questionnaire
“Fiction is not a dream. Nor is it guesswork. It is imagining based on facts,
and the facts must be accurate or the work of imagining will not stand up.”
~ Margaret Banning
“Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly
perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.”
~ Virginia Woolf
“Don’t expect the puppets of your mind to become the people of your story.
If they are not realities in your own mind, there is no mysterious alchemy
in ink and paper that will turn wooden figures into flesh and blood.”
~ Leslie Gordon Barnard
The lists of dilemmas you created for your fictional narratives are intriguing. Working from a
plot premise you like and that holds promise, one you’re interested to imagine will help ease the
challenges to come as you write fiction. A problem is one of two scaffolds that will guide you as
you build your fictional narrative; the other supporting scaffold is your main character.
A main character questionnaire will help you develop a person you can become when you write
your story and someone your readers can connect to as they read. The questionnaire is
designed right from the start to urge you to develop details of character, toward facts. Consider
your one chosen problem and then “become” your main character as you complete the main
character questionnaire below.
Main Character Questionnaire
1. What’s your name?
2. How old are you?
3. What’s the problem you’re facing?
4. What’s your family background?
5. Where do you live?
6. What do you like to do?
7. What’s different about you?
8. What do you care about? What do you want?
9. What do you fear?
10. What are your dreams?
11. Who are the important people in your life?
12. What are the important things in your life?
13. How will you change through confronting your problem? Possibilities:
14. What will you understand about yourself and your world at the end of the story?
Possibilities:
~78~
Character Development: Stepping into the Picture
Another way to begin to develop a character is to practice envisioning the lives of unknown
people or characters in images. We can look at a work of art or watch people anywhere, at
Starbuck’s, at the ball game, on the bus, and start to imagine the fine details of their lives—what
makes them tick.
Here are some questions to employ, independently or with a partner, to begin to unveil the
inner workings of character. When you are working with a partner, answer these questions
orally. What other questions would you ask and answer?
1. What is his/her name?
2. How old is s/he?
3. What is his/her occupation?
4. What is his/her personality like?
5. What education has s/he had?
6. What are his/her hobbies?
7. What is his/her most cherished possession?
8. What is his/her greatest fear?
9. What does s/he do with friends on Thursday night?
10. Where would s/he like to travel?
11. What secret does s/he keep?
12. What is his/her favorite music?
13. What does s/he long for?
14. What is something s/he would never do in public?
Below are three renowned Impressionist works to start you “stepping into the picture” to
develop character. In an image with multiple characters, focus on one or two.
~79~
~80~
Considerations in Creating a Character
Now that you have seen a demonstration about character development and how to complete a
main character questionnaire, review these components, which are essential elements for
creating a fictional character.
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Create a meaningful, interesting problem for the character, one that holds possibilities
for you as a writer and one you can imagine.
Decide what your character wants, and decide why he or she is having trouble getting it.
Choose a name that fits the family background and setting and doesn’t take over or
distract from the story.
Choose an age you can imagine.
Choose a family background you can imagine, plus one that will support the
development of the problem.
Choose a setting you know well enough to describe in accurate, believable detail.
Choose favorite things for the character to do that reveal what he or she is like and that
fit with each other and the character.
Choose a cast of supporting characters who will reveal the main character and his or her
problem but won’t distract from the main character.
Let the plot grow from the tensions created by the character’s problems.
Make the change in the character plausible and consistent with his or her personality.
Make the resolution believable and consistent with who the character is and with the
personalities of the supporting characters, especially those with whom the main
character is in conflict.
Keep the main character true to himself or herself: consider, at every step, would this
person act this way?
A graphic organizer may help bring your character to life. Design your own or use this
character map.
~81~
How to Write Compelling Fiction: Short Story Structure
“I believe you have constructive accidents en route through a novel only because you
mapped a clear way. If you have confidence that you have a clear direction to take,
you always have confidence to explore other ways . . .The more you know about a book, the
freer you can be to fool around. The less you know, the tighter you get.”
~ John Irving
“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s work. …
Belief and reader absorption come in the details:
An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned
neighborhood can stand for everything.”
~ Stephen King
Over the course of the year, you have read and heard a variety of short stories and novels. You
may have noticed that short stories are unique in that they are compact: they must do all the
work of a novel in a small space.
The writer of short fiction must be complete and concise, while being sure to do the following:
 Engage the reader
 Introduce and develop the main character
 Describe or imply a setting
 Create action that introduces and develops the problem faced by the main character
 Develop the plot and problem toward a climax/high point
 Show the main character changing
 Resolve the problem—even if the resolution is that the problem is unresolvable
As a writer of fictional narrative, your task will be to follow the aforementioned patterns that
are the key characteristics of excellent short fiction. The short story structure listed below is
the basis for all fictional narrative, regardless of sub-genres (i.e., historical fiction, science
fiction, fantasy, mystery, etc.).
Short Story Structure
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Create a narrative lead: show the main character in action, dialogue, or reaction.
Introduce the main character’s character.
Introduce the setting: the time, place, and relationships of the main character’s life.
Introduce and develop the problem the main character is facing.
Develop the plot and problem toward a climax, e.g., a decision, action, conversation, or
confrontation that shows the problem at its height.
Develop a change in the main character, e.g., an acknowledgment or understanding of
something, a decision, a course of action, a regret.
Develop a resolution: how does the main character come to terms—or not—with his or
her problem?
~82~
Ways to Develop a Character
“My characters always take shape first;
they wander around my mind looking for something to do.”
~ S. E. Hinton
A fictional narrative’s introduction and development of the main character is crucial. Yet, how
do you create and flesh out someone who does not exist? Writers of fiction use a variety of
strategies to do just this: they invent characters—people who seem so real that it is as if they
truly exist—and show what these characters are like.
The opening paragraphs and/or pages of your piece are critical to the overall success of your
fictional narrative. This is your opportunity to get a character up and walking around,
breathing, living. This is your chance to convince readers—and yourself—that your character
lives, allowing readers to accompany a real person through the events of a story, not view from
a distance as a cardboard cutout or paper doll gets picked up and moved from point A to point
B. Build people. Listen to how they sound. Observe how they think and behave. Understand
them.
Do not skip this part. Do not imagine that you can come back later and scatter some thoughts
or give your character a sense of humor, a past, a daydream, an attitude, a yearning, a
personality, after the fact. Invest right from the start in the details of character: collect a person.
Then as you develop the chosen problem and move toward the climax, the events of your story
and your character’s reactions to them can grow in an organically from the seeds of personality
you planned at the beginning of your piece.
As you write your character to life, remember to include all of these ways to develop your
character:
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Reflection:
Whether the narrative voice is first (I) or third (he or she), tell often and everywhere
what your character is thinking and feeling: the best, most essential way to create a life is
to start and end with an inner life.
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Dialogue:
Get your character talking as a way to reveal himself or herself. (“I don’t have a very
clear idea of who the characters are until they start talking.” ~ Joan Didion)
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Action:
Get your character up and moving around, doing things both little and big that show
what he or she is like.
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Flashback:
Recall events from the past that show why your character is behaving as he or she does
today.
~83~
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Reaction:
Show how your character responds to the actions, words, and ideas of another character.
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Other Characters:
Compare and contrast your character’s actions, reactions, beliefs, or values with those of
friends, family members, classmates, etc. How is he or she like the others? Shaped by the
others? Different from the others?
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Quirks:
Imagine the habits, interests, skills, hobbies, goals, fears, tastes and preferences,
daydreams, and nightmares that will flesh out your character as a living, breathing
person.

Intimate Setting:
Create your character’s bedroom and fill it with the stuff of his or her life that reveals
parts of the past and present.

Beloved Object or Pet:
Give your character something to love that reveals his or her private self or previous
history. Maybe even have your character speak to the pet or comfort object.

Letters, Email Exchanges, or Diary Entries:
Illustrate what’s on your character’s mind through pieces of his or her writing.
~84~
Grounding Dialogue in Scenes
As you know, every fictional narrative is made up of individual scenes that are woven together
into the overall tapestry of the story.
Scenes:
 Are small moments, or mini-stories
 Include a clear setting that is intertwined throughout the moment
 Have characters who are thinking, talking, acting, or perhaps doing all of those things
 Contain a character motivation and obstacle of some sort
When you write a scene, it is easy to become so caught up in the dialogue that you fail to
remember all the other components included in a scene—the things that keep the readers
grounded and clear about what’s happening.
Below is an example of a student’s first attempt at writing a scene:
I was so embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. “Um…”
“Just apologize,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You’re forgiven. Let’s go get a slice,” she said.
We can agree that we can see some of the characters’ thoughts and feelings, but we can revise
this scene by adding more thoughts and feelings, as well as by adding action, setting, and more
specific dialogue tags.
Here is how this student author revised the initial draft from above.
I was so embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. “Um…” I kicked a pile of leaves that had gathered
at the base of one of the trees on Bergen Street. My face felt like it was so hot it would melt.
A breeze whooshed and leaves danced on the sidewalk. “Just apologize,” she hissed. She pulled her
collar tighter and buttoned the top button. I snuck a glance at her face. She was biting her bottom
lip. I knew it was hard for her to ask for an apology.
An acorn fell off a tree and ricocheted off a car parked on the corner. The smell of tomato sauce
and garlic wafted in the cool, late October air. My stomach growled. I snuck another peek at her
and now she was stomping every leaf on the sidewalk, moving intentionally to them and then
crushing them under her boots as she walked.
My heart pounded. What if I apologized and she didn’t forgive me? What if I didn’t and she never
spoke to me again. “I’m sorry,” I breathed.
She turned her head and smiled. “You’re forgiven. Let’s go get a slice,” she said. She pointed to the
pizza shop, two doors down. I raced ahead, stomach still growling, so I could hold the door.
~85~
When the student author added setting and actions to revise, he discovered important new
interactions and meanings in his story, adding interest to the scene and allowing the readers to
be in the moment with the characters.
Let’s practice by revising this scene, the first half of which is grounded in setting, action, and
thoughts and feelings, while the second half of the scene needs some attention. Read Parts 1
and 2. Then, with a partner, revise Part 2.
Part 1
“So, Esmé,” Maeve interrupted. She was looking at me, calling me a much cooler version of my
name than I was used to.
I couldn’t help myself; I smiled. She had given me a cool nickname. It was almost like we were
friends. My eyes left the spot on the carpet I had been staring at and looked at Maeve. “Yeah?” I
said, in what I hoped was my coolest voice.
Maeve leaned forward on the beanbag chair, her perfectly painted fingernails planted on her
knees. “You know Tilly better than anyone in this room; why does she dress like that?”
Part 2
“I mean, she never looks good,” Maeve said.
“Worse than that,” Liz jumped in. “She looks like she doesn’t even care.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh…well…”
“I mean, look at you—look at us. We clearly care. We look good,” Liz continued.
“I know. You completely look like you should be hanging out with us, not with Tilly.”
One Possible Revision of Part 2
“I mean, she never looks good,” Maeve said. She tucked her hair behind her ear, a diamond earring
peeking out. It was the largest diamond earring I had ever seen on a kid, and I could tell from the
sparkle that it was real.
“Worse than that,” Liz jumped in. “She looks like she doesn’t even care.” Liz sat up straight on the
bed, her own painted fingernails flashing.
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh…well,” I stammered. I felt like anything I said would be the wrong
thing, not to mention a betrayal of Tilly. I suddenly felt as if someone had turned up the heat. I
was sweating.
“I mean, look at you—look at us. We clearly care. We look good,” Liz continued. She hopped off
the bed and signaled Maeve to stand beside her. They each hit a model pose, showing off their
perfect looks. I don’t think I ever before realized just how obsessed they were with looks—their
own and other people’s.
~86~
The revision above, as well as all of the others you devised in partners, grounds readers in a
place and the thoughts and feelings of the characters, while also adding some action. The
revisions show how to keep readers from becoming disoriented, as if the scene were taking
place in the dark. Some of you may have even surprised yourselves, discovering things
happening between the characters that you didn’t initially envision.
Revisions that start out as corrections often end as creations that enhance the piece.
In addition to grounding dialogue in scenes, below are some additional dialogue tips:
Some Tips for Writing Realistic Dialogue

Make sure each character speaks in a way that makes sense for who they are. Moms
should sound like moms. Teachers should sound like teachers. Kids should sound like
kids.

Include only the information characters would really say to each other. Don’t pack
dialogue with information for the readers. Use character’s thinking or summary for that.

Feel free to include speech tics when it makes sense to do so. The character might say
“like” a lot, or talk using a lot of big words.
~87~
Setting: More than Just a Backdrop
Narrative setting is more than backdrop. It can be an integral part of the writing that permeates
the plot, creates tension, drives the action, and even develops the characters. As such, the
setting must be brought to life as a real place through realistic, detailed description and visual
imagery.
The preliminary steps for writing strong settings are as follows:
1. Pay attention to your world. Wherever you are, at all hours of the day, drink in the world
through all of your senses.
2. When something strikes you, make time to scribble at least a quick description wherever
you can—on a napkin, an iPad notes app, a journal, or the back of a homework
assignment sheet. You might also take a photograph of the place with your phone.
3. From your noted setting descriptions, choose one you might want to write more about.
4. Re-immerse yourself in the setting, either by revisiting it or recalling it from your notes.
5. Use this as the basis for your fictional narrative’s setting.
Imagine a movie about a young woman whose beloved has left her. We see her staring out a
rain-streaked window, wiping away her tears. This is no accident. The director intentionally
chose this particular setting to reinforce this particular character’s emotional state. Writers do
the same thing.
Even if you can’t change the setting you’re writing about—for instance, if a writing assessment
demands a specific setting such as ancient Egypt—you can choose to describe particular
weather, or a specific time of year or time of day to create a particular mood to reflect a
character’s inner life or to build tension or move the action.
With a partner, read the excerpt from Holes by Louis Sachar. Reflect on Sachar’s setting
description. How does the setting affect the mood of the piece? What do we know about the
narrator from this description of setting, provided in his voice? How does the setting
description build tension/suspense for the reader?
Excerpt from Holes by Louis Sachar
There is no lake at Camp Green Lake. There once was a very large lake here, the largest lake in
Texas. That was over a hundred years ago. Now it is just a dry, flat wasteland.
There used to be a town of Green Lake as well. The town shriveled and dried up along with the
lake, and the people who lived there.
During the summer the daytime temperature hovers around ninety-five degrees in the shade—
if you can find any shade. There's not much shade in a big dry lake.
The only trees are two old oaks on the eastern edge of the "lake." A hammock is stretched
between the two trees, and a log cabin stands behind that.
~88~
The campers are forbidden to lie in the hammock. It belongs to the Warden. The Warden owns
the shade.
Out on the lake, rattlesnakes and scorpions find shade under rocks and in the holes dug by the
campers.
Here's a good rule to remember about rattlesnakes and scorpions: If you don't bother them,
they won't bother you.
Usually.
Being bitten by a scorpion or even a rattlesnake is not the worst thing that can happen to you.
You won't die.
Usually.
Sometimes a camper will try to be bitten by a scorpion, or even a small rattlesnake. Then he will
get to spend a day or two recovering in his tent, instead of having to dig a hole out on the lake
But you don't want to be bitten by a yellow-spotted lizard. That's the worst thing that can
happen to you. You will die a slow and painful death.
Always.
If you get bitten by a yellow-spotted lizard, you might as well go into the shade of the oak trees
and lie in the hammock.
There is nothing anyone can do to you anymore.
Now read this excerpt from Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Reflect on
Dostoevsky’s setting description. How does the setting affect the mood of the piece? What do
we know about the narrator from this description of setting, provided in his voice? How does
the setting description build tension/suspense for the reader?
Excerpt from Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he
lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His garret was under the roof
of a high, five-storied house and was more like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who
provided him with garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time he
went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which invariably stood open. And each
time he passed, the young man had a sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel
ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.
This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; but for some time past he
had been in an over-strained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so
~89~
completely absorbed in himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not only
his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but the anxieties of his position had
of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical importance;
he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terror for him. But
to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering
demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate,
to lie—no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.
This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutely aware of his fears.
“I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by these trifles,” he thought, with an odd
smile. “Hm... yes, all is in a man’s hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that’s an axiom. It
would be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering a
new word is what they fear most.... But I am talking too much. It’s because I chatter that I do
nothing. Or perhaps it is that I chatter because I do nothing. I’ve learned to chatter this last
month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack the Giant-killer. Why am I going
there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It is not serious at all. It’s simply a fantasy to
amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.”
The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle and the plaster, scaffolding,
bricks, and dust all about him, and that special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are
unable to get out of town in summer—all worked painfully upon the young man’s already
overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, which are particularly
numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken men whom he met continually, although it
was a working day, completed the revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the
profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He was, by the way,
exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes
and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a
complete blankness of mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring
to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something, from the habit of talking to
himself, to which he had just confessed. At these moments he would become conscious that his
ideas were sometimes in a tangle and that he was very weak; for two days he had scarcely
tasted food.
He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness would have been ashamed
to be seen in the street in such rags. In that quarter of the town, however, scarcely any
shortcoming in dress would have created surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market,
the number of establishments of bad character, the preponderance of the trading and working
class population crowded in these streets and alleys in the heart of Petersburg, types so various
were to be seen in the streets that no figure, however queer, would have caused surprise. But
there was such accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man’s heart, that, in spite of
all the fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags least of all in the street. It was a different
matter when he met with acquaintances or with former fellow students, whom, indeed, he
disliked meeting at any time. And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was
being taken somewhere in a huge wagon dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at
him as he drove past: “Hey there, German hatter” bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at
him—the young man stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round
hat from Zimmerman’s, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all torn and bespattered,
~90~
brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly fashion. Not shame, however, but quite
another feeling akin to terror had overtaken him.
Practice: Writing a Scene with Setting
Take five minutes to drink in a setting. Perhaps it is your classroom, or the basketball court, or
the lunchroom, or the garden, or anyplace else you can physically be. Utilize all of your senses.
What do you hear, see, and smell? What can you touch and feel? What do you taste—only if it is
safe?
After your five minutes of communion with your setting, take another five minutes to record
your observations.
Once you have some notes from your setting observation, write a scene to place a narrator
within this setting. This place may or may not become the setting for your story, but will serve
as practice for creating believable settings. Add as many sensory details as you can, but not at
the expense of the narration. Don’t forget to bring your character to life in this place, perhaps
by illustrating how the setting makes the character think and feel or how the setting mirrors the
character’s internal thoughts and feelings or contrasts with these.
After you have finished drafting this setting, ask yourself these questions: Have I used details
that really describe the place where my scene happens? How might my setting become
more central to my scene? How might this setting affect what happens in the piece?
If it helps, create your own setting map or use the one below.
~91~
Setting Exploration: Stepping into the Picture
Another way to begin to develop setting is to practice observing and describing details of a
specific place. We can look at a work of art or notice special places in our daily lives and start to
imagine sensory details of these settings. How would you describe them to someone who
couldn’t visit them? What characteristics encapsulate the essence of these places?
Here are some additional questions to employ, independently or with a partner, to begin to
think about some aspects of building a vivid, realistic setting, one in which characters reside.
When you are working with a partner, answer these questions orally. What other questions
would you ask and answer?
1. Where are you? Describe the place and give it a name.
2. Why are you there?
3. What time of year is it? Describe the climate, weather, and temperature.
4. What time of day is it? How does the light provide clues?
5. What are you doing?
6. What sounds do you hear?
7. Describe the texture of something you might pick up.
8. Who or what might be there that is not actually visible in the artwork?
9. What do you anticipate might happen next?
10. What is the mood or feeling of the place? Use at least four adjectives in your description.
What is it in the artwork that gives you this feeling?
11. What is the sense of space in this artwork? How does the artist convey this?
12. Give your own title to the artwork or the setting depicted within.
Below are three renowned Impressionist works to start you “stepping into the picture” to
develop setting.
~92~
~93~
How to Write Compelling Fiction: A Second Look

Brainstorm a great story idea (think of small moments, places, events, issues, struggles,
stories you wish existed in the world).

Make your characters come alive (with traits, wants and challenges, self- attitude,
relationships).

Test-drive your character in scenes (envision and write actions, feelings, dialogue,
setting, point of view).

Plot several versions of your story, aiming to intensify the problem (use arcs, timelines,
and/or storyboards).

Draft a 3-D story (story-tell bit by bit, include evidence of your characters’ actions,
thoughts, feelings).

Manage space and time.

Use summary to quickly move a character across space and time.

Use transitional words and phrases to show changes in time or place.

Become the main character, living through the drama of the story—and then allow your
writing to unfold.

Use paragraphs wisely (to move in place and time, to highlight something, for dramatic
impact).

Revise the lead/engaging beginning—and hence the entire story (small action, mood,
time and place, foreshadow).

Research key facts to make the story more believable.

Get rid of extra stuff that weighs the story down!

Finish strong—make sure the ending shows what the story is really about, fits the story
arc, ties up loose ends.

As you revise (or draft) your stories, keep in mind these points:

Develop or increase conflict (tension, obstacles, trouble—between, among, or within
characters).

Reflect on deeper meanings/central ideas of your story and consider objects, settings,
actions that you can develop as symbols, images, or metaphors.

Listen to the rhythm and pacing of your sentences, then craft sentences of varying
lengths and types to create the intended meaning, feeling, mood.
~94~
Plotting with Tools, Part 1
As readers, we generally see only an author’s finished product, so it is easy not to be mindful of
the time, hard work, planning, making of multiple drafts, revision, and copy-editing done before
any successful idea finds fruition on the page as a rich, engaging work of fiction.
Writers use prewriting brainstorming and planning tools to envision the backbone, or key
elements, of fictional narratives. Frequently, writers generate multiple plans before settling on
the one to implement. These same prewriting planning tools may often guide revision, too,
helping to re-envision how else a story might unfold.
Writers generally choose planning tools that best suit their individual needs and thinking styles.
Typical plotting tools include, but are not limited to the following: timelines, lists, webs or maps,
and story arcs—also sometimes called story mountains.
Once a character has been brought to life and a central problem/conflict established, it is your
job as a writer to use an understanding of the character’s wants and struggles to develop
possible plotlines. What is the character’s motivation?
Most fictional narratives follow a predictable pattern, one in which a character wants or needs
something and faces increasingly challenging obstacles in the process of working to attain those
wants or needs. Tensions rise and fall as characters move along this trajectory, or story arc, and
this is what builds suspense for readers.
Rather than planning a series of equally-weighted events, ask yourself these questions as you
develop the plot:





How will my character reach for her desire?
What obstacles will she face, and how will those obstacles increase in intensity and
challenge as my story progresses?
When and how might my character overcome those obstacles or experience a shift in
perspective that yields new clarity?
How will my character grow and change over the course of the story?
Is this event or scene central to my character’s course of wants, needs, struggles,
and/or successes? If the answer is no, the event or scene is cut. Purposeful scenes are
what you are aiming to create; more is not better.
Many writers rely on story arcs to think through the plots of their stories, and there is never just
one way a story can go. Kurt Vonnegut, a famous writer, once laid out five common story arcs.
Vonnegut believed that each arc could be graphed on a plane, where the vertical axis is the G-I
axis: Good fortune-Ill fortune, and the horizontal axis is the B-E axis: Beginning-End. On the G-I
axis, death and terrible poverty, sickness, and the like are down below the midway point—great
prosperity, wonderful health, and such are up above. The average state of affairs is the midpoint
of the G-I axis.
Before using story arcs or other plot tools to plan your fictional narrative, let’s see how
Vonnegut described each of the five story arcs. He believed every work of fiction falls into one
of these five categories.
~95~
Here are Vonnegut’s five story arcs:
Story Arc 1: Man in Hole
You will see this story over and over again. People love it, and it
is not copyrighted. The story is “Man in Hole,” but the story
needn’t be about a man or a hole. It’s simply this: somebody gets
into trouble, gets out of it again. It is not accidental that the line
ends up higher than where it began. This is encouraging to
readers.
Story Arc 2: Boy Meets Girl
Another story arc is called “Boy Meets Girl,” but this needn’t
be about a boy meeting a girl. It’s this: somebody, an ordinary
person, on a day like any other day, comes across something
perfectly wonderful: “Oh boy, this is my lucky day!” Then
mishaps are encountered, the person falls down, and in the
end gets back up again and prevails.
Story Arc 3: Cinderella
One of the most popular stories ever told starts down near the bottom of the G-I axis, with a
despondent girl of fifteen or sixteen. Her mother had died, so why wouldn’t she be low?
Additionally, her father got married almost immediately to a terrible battle-axe with two mean
daughters who treat this girl like a servant. Things are about as bad as they can get for this girl.
You’ve heard this story?
There’s to be a party at the palace. The girl has to help her
two stepsisters and her dreadful stepmother get ready to go,
but she herself has to stay home. Is she even sadder now? No,
she’s already a broken-hearted little girl. The death of her
mother is enough. Things can’t get any worse than that. So
okay, they all leave for the party. Her fairy godmother shows
up, gives her pantyhose, mascara, and a means of
transportation to get to the party. This creates an incremental
rise up the G-I axis.
Better still, when the girl shows up to this fancy party, she’s the belle of the ball, placing her
storyline now near the top of that G-I axis. She is so heavily made up that her relatives don’t
even recognize her. Then the clock strikes twelve, as promised, and it’s all taken away again. It
doesn’t take long for a clock to strike twelve times, so she drops down. Does she drop down to
the same level? Absolutely not. No matter what happens after that, she’ll remember when the
prince was in love with her and she was the belle of the ball. So she meanders along, at her
considerably improved level, no matter what, and the shoe fits, and she becomes off-scale happy
forevermore.
~96~
Story Arc 4: Kafka
Now there’s a Franz Kafka story—Kafka is an author you will
read in high school or college—that begins down near the
bottom of the G-I axis. A young man is rather unattractive
and not very personable. He has disagreeable relatives and
has had a lot of jobs with no chance of promotion. He doesn’t
get paid enough to take his girl dancing or to go out on the
town with a friend. One morning he wakes up, it’s time to go
to work again, and he discovers he has turned into a
cockroach, which is where his line goes pretty nearly to the
bottom of the G-I axis and stays there forevermore. It’s a
pessimistic story.
Story Arc 5: Hamlet, or Neither Good News Nor Bad News
In one of Shakespeare’s masterpieces, Hamlet, Hamlet’s situation is the same as Cinderella’s,
except that the genders are reversed. His father has just died. He’s despondent, and right away
his mother went and married his uncle, who’s a jerk. So Hamlet is going along on the same level
as Cinderella when his friend Horatio comes up to him and says, “Hamlet, listen, there’s this
thing up in the parapet; I think maybe you’d better talk to it. It’s your dad.” So Hamlet goes up
and talks to this fairly substantial apparition there, and this thing says, “I’m your father; I was
murdered; you must avenge me; it was your uncle did it; here’s how.”
Well, was this good news or bad news? To this day we don’t
know if that ghost was really Hamlet’s father, and neither does
Hamlet. Nevertheless, he says okay, I can check this out. I’ll hire
actors to act out the way the ghost said my father was
murdered by my uncle, and I’ll put on this show and see what
my uncle makes of it. So he puts on this show, but it’s not like
some television courtroom drama. His uncle doesn’t go crazy
and say, “I-I-you got me, you got me, I did it, I did it.” It flops.
Neither good news nor bad news. After this flop, Hamlet ends
up talking with his mother when the drapes move, so he thinks
his uncle is back there and he says, “All right, I am so sick of
being so indecisive,” and he sticks his rapier through the drapery. Well, who falls out? This
windbag, Polonius, a character Shakespeare regards as a fool and quite disposable.
You know, dumb parents think that the advice that Polonius gave to his kids when they were
going away was what parents should always tell their kids, and it’s the dumbest possible advice,
and Shakespeare even thought it was hilarious. Polonius advises, “Neither a borrower nor a
lender be.” Yet what else is life but endless lending and borrowing, give and take? Polonius
continues his advice thusly: “This above all, to thine own self be true.” Be an egomaniac! Neither
good news nor bad news.
After murdering Polonius, Hamlet didn’t get arrested. He’s prince. He can kill anybody he wants.
So he goes along, and finally he gets in a duel, and he’s killed. Well, where did he go in the
afterlife? Was he judged just or malicious? Did he do right or did he do wrong? Quite a
difference. Cinderella or Kafka’s cockroach? So we don’t know whether it’s good news or bad
news.
~97~
So what we have is a flat story arc—no arc at all, which is the antithesis of what we have been
discussing. However, there’s a reason we recognize Hamlet as a masterpiece: it’s that
Shakespeare told us the truth, and people so rarely tell us the truth in this rise and fall of story
arc. The truth is, we know so little about life that we don’t really know what the good news is
and what the bad news is.
For the purposes of your writing, though, until you are convinced you are Shakespeare’s equal,
please avoid the Hamlet story arc/straight line.
As Vonnegut demonstrated in the five story arcs and examples, story arcs can help a writer
figure out the rises and falls of a fictional narrative plot. Story arcs serve to remind you, the
writer, that the story isn’t just one equally-weighted event after another. Rather, there is
transformation—upward or downward movement and growth—helping the narrative’s tension
and suspense build to a climax and then gradually move toward a resolution.
~98~
Plotting with Tools, Part 2
“Plot is people. Human emotions and desires founded on the realities of life,
working at cross purposes, getting hotter and fiercer as they strike
against each other until finally there’s an explosion—that’s Plot.”
~ Leigh Brackett
As readers and writers, you have an understanding of the basic structure of most fictional
narratives. Usually the main character has wants or needs, and something gets in the way of the
character attaining these, so the character encounters trouble—a problem, a dilemma. Then
after encountering the problem, the character has to deal with that dilemma in some way, thus
giving movement to the story. Generally, the problem intensifies—or comes to a climax—
before getting resolved, with the character experiencing multiple challenges along the way, or
the problem is resolved in a different way than was anticipated by the character. The story has
an arc; it doesn’t just plod from one equally-weighted event to another in a flat, stagnant way,
but rather, each scene builds on the one before it.
Today, we will read Rachel Vail’s fictional narrative, “Thirteen and a Half.” Let’s think about
how the events of the story fit together, and what the story’s shape is. If we were to record the
main events of the story as an arc, it might look like this:
~99~
When Rachel Vail wrote this story, she probably knew that it would be about two children
having a disastrous play date, but when she began writing the story, she may not have known
exactly what would happen on every page, and she probably imagined multiple directions the
piece might take, plotting and planning until the story’s truth emerged.
In your writing today, you will work in partners to experiment with story arcs and other
plotting tools. You may use any of the plotting tools/graphic organizers you’ve been given, or
better yet, create your own.
To demonstrate the myriad possibilities every kernel of a story holds, every partnership will
work to create at least two different plotlines for the first scene of the Esmerelda story we
discussed earlier in our fictional narrative study. What we know about Esmerelda is that she
desperately wants to fit in with the popular kids, her friend Tillie isn’t liked or respected by
those kids, and Esmerelda isn’t sure just how far she will go to be a part of the cool crew.
Work together to build multiple plotlines, imagining the different directions the story could
take. Use a story arc if it helps you remember the shape a plot should take, but if a list, a
timeline, a storyboard, or something else works more effectively, use that. By the end of today’s
session, please have two distinct plots planned, utilizing an apparent plotting tool, aiming to
intensify the story’s main problem.
Remember, the shape of a story, where it starts and where it ends, says a lot about what matters
to the author. If the story is about the importance of fitting in—or how much it really doesn’t
matter as long as you’re true to yourself—then it makes sense to have the beginning of the story
with the character grappling with fitting in, and the last scene showing some sort of reference,
perhaps even a scene explicitly illustrating how the character now feels about fitting in. If the
story is in part about growing up, learning to fly, it might begin and end with scenes that include
that.
While you are plotting your stories and revising your plots, stop and ask yourself: What is this
piece really about? What is the truth in what I am trying to say in this fictional piece? How
can the shape of my story—where it stops, where it ends, maybe even the peak of the arc—
showcase the truth of what I am saying?
~100~
“Thirteen and a Half” by Rachel Vail
All I knew about Ashley before I went over there yesterday was that until this year she went to
private school and now she sits next to me in math. But she asked me over and since I couldn’t
think of a good no, I said OK.
Ashley lives near school, so we walked. We didn’t have a lot to talk about on the way, but she
didn’t seem to mind. She was telling me that when she grows up she wants to be a veterinarian
and a movie star, and travel all over the world very glamorously and live life to the hilt. She
asked if I like to live life to the hilt.
“I mostly just hang around,” I admitted.
“But when you get older, and you can do anything,” she whispered, as we began climbing the
steep steps up to her huge stone house. “What do you like to imagine?”
I was a little winded from the steps, so I just shrugged.
“Like, I am constantly imagining I can fly,” said Ashley, spreading her arms wide. “Do you ever
imagine you’re flying?”
I stopped for breath. “I sometimes imagine I’m in a bakery.”
“Today is my half-birthday,” she said, pulling a key out of her shirt. It had been hanging from a
shoelace around her neck. She bent close to the lock, to use it. “Are you thirteen and a half yet?”
I shook my head. My birthday was just last month.
“It feels, you just feel… older, at thirteen and a half,” she said. “Things shift, subtly. You’ll see.”
I followed her in. I think her house might actually be a mansion. The ceiling is very, very far
from the floor in the room where you walk in. In my house we have a front hall. Ashley’s you’d
have to call a lobby. On the left there was a huge square room that I think was a library. Anyway
there were tons of books in there, on dark shelves all the way up to the ceiling. At the far end of
the library two huge doors opened into some other room. I don’t know what room it was or if
that one would open to another huge room. I decided to stay close to Ashley to avoid getting
lost.
Ashley unzipped her jacket and dropped it on the floor, with her backpack still hooked through
the sleeves. I took off my jacket and backpack too, put them next to Ashley’s, then followed
Ashley past a dining room that had paintings of annoyed-looking people hanging on the
greenish walls, down a long hallway, into the kitchen.
“What do you want for a snack?” asked Ashley.
I didn’t know.
~101~
Ashley climbed up onto one of the counters and opened a cabinet. “Let’s have Mallomars,” she
said. “I think you can tell a lot about a person by the way she eats Mallomars, don’t you?”
She brought down the box, and held it open for me to choose one. I picked one in the center of
the back row, wondering what that revealed about me. She took one from the far right front and
said, “Come on and meet my bird, Sweet Pea. Did I tell you I’ve had him since I turned three?”
My Mallomar was melting a little on my fingers as I hurried to keep up with Ashley, around
corners and then up, up, up a steep flight of stairs with dark red carpeting worn out in the
center of each step. My house is just regular.
“Sweet Pea is a budgie,” Ashley was explaining. “People think that’s the same as a parakeet, but
it’s not. Budgies are slightly larger and much more exotic. Do you like exotic animals?”
“Um,” I said.
“I got Sweet Pea when I was three years old and though tragically he never learned to talk
people-language, he is still able to communicate, at least to me. I can tell his chirps apart. You’ll
see. This is my brother’s room—don’t go there,” she warned, indicating a closed door. “This is
the bathroom—do you have to go?”
“No.”
“OK. Tell me when you do.”
I took a bite of my Mallomar, maybe revealing that I was a hungry type of person. Ashley
gripped a doorknob on a tall white door. “And this—this is my room.”
She swung the door open. Everything inside was pink. Pink carpeting, pink walls, pink bed piled
high with pink pillows. “Sweet Pea?” she called, heading across the thick rug toward an empty
birdcage. “Sweet Pea? Ahhh!!!!”
I got there as she began screaming, and saw a dead bird, lying on its side in the bottom of the
cage.
She was still screaming when a woman raced into the room, across the acres of pink rug, and
grabbed Ashley, demanding, “What happened?”
Ashley stopped screaming, said, “Sweet Pea…died!” and started to sob. The woman, who, now
that I got a better look, was an older version of Ashley—big brown eyes, freckled nose, black
hair pulled back in a ponytail—anyway, the woman gathered Ashley into her arms and sat
down on the rug, hugging her.
I was still standing there, holding my half-eaten Mallomar, feeling a little weird. I don’t think
the woman, who I had to figure was Ashley’s mom, even noticed I was there.
Ashley’s crying turned from shrieks to gasps to, finally, just little burbles that sounded like she
was saying, “Haboo.”
~102~
Here mom was stroking her hair whispering “OK,” and occasionally checking her watch.
I ate the rest of my Mallomar and tried not to look at the dead bird or Ashley and her mom, who
seemed to be having some private time, just with me happening to be standing three feet away.
I would’ve gone to the bathroom but Ashley had said to tell her before I went there, so I thought
maybe their family had a rule of some sort about that. They seemed like they might.
Ashley sniffled, then said, “I’ve had him since I was three.” She whimpered a little, then dried
her face on the bottom of her t-shirt. “It feels, it just feels like, like the death of my childhood.”
“Oh, Sweetheart,” said the mom. Ashley started sobbing again.
“Maybe I should call my mom,” I whispered. “Don’t leave!” screamed Ashley. So I didn’t.
“I feel like,” she started again. “I feel like maybe Sweet Pea felt like, like I had grown up, now that I
turned thirteen and a half, and like, after all this time, this lifetime together…” She was too
breathy to continue.
“Ashley,” said the mother. “There’s something I have to tell you.
Ashley sat up straight, slid off her mother’s lap, and sat cross-legged on the carpeting facing her
mom. She swallowed hard and then nodded. “OK.”
“Sweet Pea,” started the mom. “Sweet Pea wasn’t actually, well, what you think he is. Or was.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ashley.
“You didn’t get this bird on your third birthday.”
“Yes, I did,” Ashley protested. “I remember. I went to the pet store with Grammy and Papa,
and picked him out.”
“Well,” said the mom, tilting her head sideways. “You picked out a bird. He looked something
like Sweet Pea, and his name was Sweet Pea, too…”
“You mean…”
The mom scrunched her face apologetically. “You were so excited, but then the darn bird died a
few weeks after we got him, and, well, I didn’t want to start explaining death to a three- year-old
so I just went back to the pet store and got a new one.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Well,” said the mom. “I didn’t want you to be sad. And when that second one died you were
five, and just starting kindergarten, so that seemed like a bad time to deal with death, too. So I
just bought a new parakeet.”
~103~
“Budgie.”
“Isn’t that the same as a parakeet?”
Ashley stared at her mother. “Budgies are more… Sweet Pea was a budgie.”
“Not recently.”
“There was more than one replacement?”
The mom smiled awkwardly. “Sweet Pea was sort of a series of birds.”
“NO!”
“Honey,” said the mom, leaning toward Ashley. “Some of them were green, some were blue…”
“You said he was molting!” shrieked Ashley. “Get out! Get out of my room! I want to be alone
with Sweet Pea, or whoever this is! Get out!”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to stay or go, but I followed the mom out just in case. Ashley
didn’t yell at me to stay, so I figured I’d made the right choice.
The mom closed the door behind us and said, “Do you want a snack? I am studying for the Bar.”
I had no idea what that meant. I just shook my head. “You can wait in the kitchen,” she said,
moving fast toward the stairs. I could see where Ashley gets her speed. “I’m sure Ashley will be
down soon.”
When we got down to the kitchen, the mom took out two glasses and a pitcher of water. She
poured us each some, gulped hers down, then looked at me for the first time, really. “It’s nice for
Ashley that you are here. She was bound to discover death eventually, and it’s nice she has a
friend to lean on.”
“I’m not really… we’re not that close,” I explained. “I just sit next to her in math.”
“Well,” said the mom, pouring herself more water. “I wish I could chat, but as I said I really have
to study. Call me if you and Ashley need anything.”
And then she left. I sat alone in the kitchen listening to the clock tick, wondering if I should call
my mom and ask her to pick me up early on account of the death of the bird and also since it
was getting a little creepy there in Ashley’s humongous kitchen all alone.
Just as I was starting to wander around to look for a phone, though, Ashley appeared in the
doorway. She had a jewelry box in her hands. It was the kind where, when you open it, tinkly
music played and a ballerina spun on her toe. I had one of those when I was little.
“Want to do a funeral?” Ashley asked.
~104~
“Is he in there?” I asked.
Ashley nodded.
I followed her through the kitchen out into the back yard.
Across a big green lawn, up a hill toward some evergreen trees, we came to a shed. “Hold this,”
said Ashley, and handed me the jewelry box/coffin. I waited outside the shed while she went in.
I tried to be very still so I wouldn’t drop it. She came out wearing big denim gloves and holding
a small spade. “I don’t have any experience with death,” I told her.
“I didn’t think I did, either,” said Ashley. “I guess you never know.”
I followed her to the evergreen trees. She knelt down beside one and started digging. I just
stood there holding the jewelry box/coffin. When she was done, she said, “You can put him in.”
“Do you—maybe you should,” I suggested. “You’re the one, you know…”
“That’s OK,” she said.
So I placed the box into the hole.
“Kneel down with me,” she whispered. “Please? I’ll be quick.”
“OK.” I knelt in the soft dirt. Usually at a friend’s house we play ping-pong or something. “I’m
going to say some stuff, OK?”
I nodded.
Ashley took a deep breath. “Goodbye, Sweet Pea. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were actually a
series of birds. I’m sorry if I wasn’t a good enough bird-owner, and you never learned to talk
and you never flew anyplace interesting. I guess you probably had a pretty boring life. I’m
sorry.” She sniffled.
I was thinking she might start really crying again, and if she did, where would I find her mother?
But she cleared her throat and turned to me. “Do you want to say anything?”
“Uh-uh.”
“You can. Just say whatever comes to mind.”
“I’m not that good at saying things,” I whispered.
“That’s OK,” whispered Ashley. “He can’t really hear you anyway.”
I turned and looked at her. She was sort of smiling at me. I sort of smiled back. Ashley closed her
eyes and lowered her head again.
~105~
I took a deep breath and said, “OK. Sweet Pea? Um, I never knew you, you know, alive, but, and I
don’t really know Ashley that well either—I can’t figure out if she is severely weird or like, the
opposite, but, um, I think she really, kind of, loved you.”
“I did,” mumbled Ashley with her eyes closed. “I did.”
“So,” I continued, making it up as I went. “I was thinking maybe it would be nice, if you could,
like, maybe show up in her dream some night, and fly with her. Because Ashley likes to imagine
she’s flying. Anyway, um, that’s all.”
Ashley stayed still with her eyes closed, so I didn’t get up either. Sometime after my feet fell
asleep, Ashley shoveled the dirt onto the top of the box and patted it down hard. Without saying
anything, she got up and went back to the shed. I waited outside it again, stamping my pincushiony feet, until she came back out without the gloves and shovel.
“Thanks,” she said, as we headed back toward her house. “That was really beautiful, what you
said.”
I shrugged.
She held the back door open for me. “Is this the worst playdate of your life?” “It’s up there,” I
admitted.
We waited out front for my mom to pick me up. I sat between my stuff and Ashley. We both
tilted our faces up toward the sun. When my mother’s car pulled up and she beeped, I turned to
Ashley. “Happy half-birthday,” I said.
“Thanks,” she answered. “Thanks for, you know, being here today.”
I grabbed my stuff and ran down the steps to my mom. I slipped into the car, buckled my seat
belt, and leaned over to get my kiss.
“Did you have a good time?” Mom asked.
I shrugged. I looked out the window. Up the hill, on the front lawn, Ashley was running around
in big, loose circles, her arms spread straight out.
~106~
Story Mountain
Major Character(s)
Minor Character(s)
3
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ACTIONS
4
2
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1
Setting:_
5
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~107~
Setting:_
Review: Short Fiction Resources and Techniques
Throughout our study of free verse poetry, personal narratives/memoirs, and fictional
narratives, we have covered a lot of ground about how to write narratives. Your writing
binders are filled with lessons you can draw upon as you draft and craft your short stories and
historical fiction narratives.
Together, we have built a strong writing foundation. Please use it. Refer to this review guide
when you are stuck in your writing of fiction. Refer to it even when you aren’t stuck. Utilize it
to remind yourself of what you’ve learned and of the possibilities that exist beyond your first
efforts as writers of fiction.
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Fictional Narrative Resources and Techniques
Create, revise, and review a main character questionnaire.
Review “Narrative Leads/Engaging Beginnings” in your writing binder.
Review “Ways to Develop a Character” in your writing binder.
Review “Plotting with Tools” in your writing binder.
Review “Setting: More than Just a Backdrop” in your writing binder.
Review “Grounding Dialogue in Scenes”
Review “Short Story Structure” in your writing binder.
Review “The Rule of Thoughts and Feelings” in your writing binder.
Review “Some Ways to Include Thoughts and Feelings” in your writing binder.
Make a movie behind your eyelids: see your writing binder.
Create a planning sheet, e.g., sketch a timeline of events; brainstorm possibilities for
what might happen next in your story; experiment with different leads, endings,
exchanges of dialogue, and titles; and capture any idea that comes to you that might
work in your story.
Review “Figurative Language: Two Things at Once” in your writing binder.
Review “Some Additional Literary Devices” in your writing binder.
Review “Good Titles” in your writing binder.
Review “How to Punctuate Dialogue” in your writing binder.
Confer with a friend or me: ask us to read your story and help you with the lead, plot,
climax, thoughts and feelings, dialogue, resolution, or conclusion.
~108~
Student Fictional Narrative Samples
These fictional narrative samples were written by Nancie Atwell’s middle school students.
These pieces are strong examples of fictional narratives that provide a level of quality for which
fifth and sixth grade students may strive. As with any written work of art, none of these pieces
is perfect. Nevertheless, each piece does many things well, and any one piece may serve as a
model or ignite ideas for your own fictional narrative.
Don’t Give Up the Fight
I was running. My legs were burning, and when I looked down, they were on fire. Literally. The
finish line seemed miles away. Then my clock radio turned on, and my mind shifted, happily, to
reality—but only for a moment. As Bob Marley’s voice sang “Get up, stand up,” my mind drifted
back into the dream. Now the finish line moved farther away, and my feet could barely lift off
the ground. “Don’t give up the fight,” Bob Marley sang, his voice ringing out. But my mind
returned again to the dream, and suddenly I fell into a hole that appeared in the track out of
nowhere. “Stand up for your rights,” Bob Marley sang. This time I sat up in bed, blue sheets
twisted around me. I rubbed my eyes, finally clearing my head of the weird nightmare. Listening
to the rest of the song made me think back to my dad’s comment of the night before.
He had asked about the track team, and I had commented that the boys seemed to hate me. My
dad had been watching baseball, sitting in his brown leather easy chair. He laughed and said, as
a joke, “Beat them up. Slap ’em around. That’ll teach them something.” I had laughed and said,
“Yeah right.” Remembering the conversation I repeated those words, “Yeah, right.”
I glanced out my window: clear—or as clear as it gets at 5:00 in the morning in April. I pulled on
blue nylon shorts and a smiley face t-shirt, grabbed my running sneakers, and snuck down the
carpeted stairs. My parents didn’t mind my morning runs, but I didn’t want to take the risk of
waking them up this early.
Once outside, I sat down on the old deck and pulled on my sneakers. My legs were itching to
run.
Quickly I tied the laces, then jogged down our gravel driveway. Once I hit the sidewalk, I picked
up my pace. I had a track meet Saturday.
Soon my mind was filled with nothing. My pace set, my feet hit the sidewalk steadily as a clock. I
passed my friend Lindsay’s house; it was painted white, like most of the houses in Morgan. The
grass was mowed, and a well-tended garden grew in the front yard, just like at my house. I spied
Lindsay’s silhouette through an upstairs window. I waved but quickly turned back toward my
house. It must be six o’clock if Lindsay was up, and the bus came at seven. As I turned the last
corner and my house came into view, I spotted my chocolate lab, Hershey, chewing my mother’s
rhododendron plant in the front yard. When I jogged past him, he barked a greeting at me and
continued chewing.
After school that day, at the Morgan High track, the team gathered around the high-jump mat.
Mr. McCoy, our coach, started the roll call.
“Ava?” he said.
~109~
“I’m here,” I answered.
“Good,” said Jacob, a runner. “We couldn’t live without you.” He laughed like an evil super hero,
while Mr. McCoy continued to call the roll. The rest of the boys snickered at Jacob’s comment
and slapped fives. I stared down at the black track as my hands curled into fists. I tried not to
punch the thing closest to me, which happened to be Coach McCoy.
“Now, as you know, we have a track meet on Saturday. I would like all of you to practice your
events. But remember, boys, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose. Just do your best on Saturday.”
Coach McCoy continued his speech about winning and losing, which nobody, including McCoy
himself, believed. Along the way he kept addressing us as boys and men. It happened every
time, but still my stomach hardened and I clenched my teeth.
“Ava, to the triple jump. Mark, to the javelin. Curt and Adam, to the discus. Jacob, Greg, and
Kevin, to the track for the 100 and 200. The rest of you, find an event. I’ll come around and help
you,” Coach McCoy ordered. I walked to the pit, found my mark, took a deep breath, and ran, my
ponytail streaming out behind me. When I got to the second mark, which is called a bar, I
hopped, then took a step and jumped. I landed well, with my hands forward. I walked back
along the newly sprouted grass to try again.
“Nice jump, Ava,” Mr. McCoy commented. I turned around.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to do better than that to win Saturday.”
“You will have to do better, to beat the West Pine ladies. They’re pretty tough this year,
especially for girls.”
“Oh, I see,” I said with an edge to my voice. I felt my body tremble, and my hands once again
curled into fists. I wanted to scream at Mr. McCoy. Why did he, of all people, have to be my
coach?
“I’ve got to go see Mark now. Bye-bye,” he said in the saccharine voice he reserved especially for
me. When I was angered I always jumped better. I should have thanked him; I beat my distance
by two inches, which is pretty good, for a girl.
When I got home I grabbed a Granny Smith apple from the fridge and ran up to my room. I flung
my backpack onto the floor and flung myself onto my bed. I wished I had Lindsay’s punching
dummy, so I could imagine I was beating up Coach McCoy and the boys like Jacob. But I couldn't
explain any of this to Lindsay. She had tried out for the team with me, but only I had made it.
Whenever I talked about track, Lindsay’s face fell. But she would have been the perfect person
to talk to. She understood me so well.
The only way to ease this anger was physically. I punched my pillow. My fist hit it with a whap,
and the pillow sagged. I can’t deal with my coach any longer, I thought. Tears of frustration
escaped my tightly closed eyes. I took a deep breath and focused on the blue spirals on my
bedspread. They wove in and out and around each other. My mind drifted from my coach to
thoughts of sleep.
~110~
“Ava, Ava?” my mother’s clear voice woke me.
“Yeah?” I rubbed my eyes.
“Dinner time.” Mom opened the door to my room. Had I really slept until dinner? I looked at my
clock: 6:27 pm. Outside the sun had almost set.
“Were you sleeping?” my mom asked, tucking strands of long brown hair behind her ears.
“I guess so. Track must have worn me out,” I said, surprised, as I sat up in bed.
“Wow, tough practice? Anyway, wash your hands and come down. ’Kay?” Mom said. She
sounded surprised. Track didn’t normally wear me out. I figured I was emotionally exhausted. I
sighed. Thanks,
Mr. McCoy.
Each afternoon’s track practice became more and more unbearable as I received less and less
encouragement from my coach. Even when I came in first in practice runs, Mr. McCoy
celebrated only the boys’ accomplishments. Mine were completely ignored. I felt as if I could
have fainted dead away and the rival West Pine coach would had been more likely to help me
up.
But when I ran, my problems floated away and I focused on winning. My mind shut down except
for the running part, and for those few seconds I just ran, stretching my legs and striding
forward as though my worst fears were behind me. And they were. My teammates were ready
to attack as soon as I made even the simplest mistake. Running was my escape. It was then that
my mind melted into nothingness and I could float away. Or when I jumped: for that split
second when I was in the air, my problems left me then, too, only to greet me again when I
landed.
“How is track?” Mom asked. She was sitting in my dad’s armchair, watching a game show.
“Okay,” I sighed, slumping into the couch.
“Only okay? Don’t you like track anymore?” Mom said, eyebrows raised.
“No, no, I like track. It’s just that Mr. McCoy bugs me, that's all.”
“What does he do to you?” She seemed worried now. She hit the mute button on the TV.
“Nothing physical. He just bugs me. Don't worry about it.” I didn’t want my mom to get involved.
“It’s just I am the only girl on the team, so it’s harder.”
My mother smiled. “But you’re good at track. I bet you could beat Mr. McCoy in the 100. I
wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. McCoy needs to spend more time working with other runners, who
aren’t as talented as you.” Yeah, I thought. According to him, everyone was as talented as me. Or
~111~
more so. But again she smiled and cocked her head to one side. “If it bothers you that much, I
can talk to him . . . ”
“No, no, no, that’s okay. Please don’t.” I shook my head, picturing the consequences.
“Why don’t you write him a letter, or explain how you feel to him? I’m sure he’d understand.
Now, up to bed. You have a meet tomorrow.” I sighed. I should have expected this typical
parental response.
I stormed out of the room, filled with anger at my mom. Couldn’t she understand about Mr.
McCoy? Why didn’t she realize how important track was to me? Didn’t she know it was the only
thing that could make me completely happy and the only thing that could make me cry? Didn’t
she understand I needed to get better at track? Didn’t she understand anything?
The bus ride to West Pine High School was hot. The whole bus shook as we turned onto a back
road. My bare limbs stuck to the vinyl seats, and my cool lunch box rattled against my leg. The
bus radio was tuned to some unknown station, which only the bus driver, Rick, was singing
along to.
I reached into my backpack for my book, but when I straightened up to read, I ended up staring
at the back of Mr. McCoy’s head. He was wearing a Yankees baseball cap. I suddenly hated the
Yankees. I stared and stared at that cap until I felt like I knew every line, seam, and crease.
“Hey, Ava,” called a voice from the back. I turned to face the voice. It was Jacob. He was sitting in
the very last row with Kevin. He smiled. I immediately turned back around and tried to read my
book. The words jumped around on the page as the bus lurched over yet another bump. My
heart was beating fast. I hoped that he would just leave me alone.
“Ava,” Jacob called again, pretending to be worried. “Are you dead?” At that the rest of the team
sobbed and shed fake tears for my fake death.
“No,” I called back over their sobs. “No, I am not dead.” My face turned red as I realized I had just
given Jacob the satisfaction of responding to him.
“Shucks,” said a voice different than Jacob’s, probably Kevin. “I thought we’d get lucky.”
“Wow, she’s tough,” laughed Jacob sarcastically. I almost yelled at them. But as the snickers and
laughs from behind me continued, I knew I wouldn’t. Then I heard a different laugh, a sort of
belly laugh, not like the snickers from behind. I saw the Yankees cap shake. It was then that I
realized that Mr. McCoy was laughing, too. Laughing at what Jacob and Kevin had said. Laughing
at me.
“You guys are so funny,” Mr. McCoy congratulated them. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I
could, hoping with all my might that my tears would not come. I knew my eyes would look
swollen and red, but when I opened them, there were no tears. My wish had been granted.
~112~
“Okay, everyone, we’re here. Let’s win some ribbons,” Mr. McCoy yelled over the squeaking
brakes, as we came to a stop at the West Pine Memorial High School track. I breathed a sigh of
relief and left the confinement of the horrible, hot, sticky bus as quickly as I could.
We were late, thanks to all the back roads Rick had managed to take. It was already time to sign
in to the 100 meter.
“Your name, please?”
“Ava, Ava Clark,” I said breathlessly. I’d had to run all the way from the parking lot to get to the
start on time.
“Okay, you’re in the third heat, second lane,” the official said. Yes, I thought. Second lane was my
best. I walked up to my spot and breathed in and out evenly. Finally I caught my breath. Mr.
McCoy’s laughter still echoed in my head. I tried to forget about it, but inside I was shaking with
anger. I knew I needed to concentrate on my running. The distance was short, and I hoped my
run from the bus would leave me with enough breath.
“Third heat up. Remember, girls, you can’t move until the gun goes off. On your mark, get set . . .
”
He paused. My thighs were shaking, ready to run. Bang. The gun went off. Energy burst from my
legs, and I was off. My legs pushed, and my arms pulled. All I could think about was running.
Then, so quickly, it was over.
“Okay, young lady, stand here.” A young man stationed me on the first mat. It struck me then. I
had won. I had come in first. I felt like hopping with excitement, but I was too tired, so tired that
I didn’t hear my time. But I felt so wonderful, I didn’t care. I sighed, feeling perfectly happy.
“Congratulations, Ava,” said Jacob snidely. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. “Too
bad you didn’t win.” My wonderful mood burst immediately. I had to respond.
“I did win,” I said, in what I hoped was a confident voice. But it came out sounding like a kitten’s
meow, helpless and scared.
“Oh, yeah? Ava, from here to that tree, does it look about a hundred meters?”
“Yes,” I said uncertainly. It probably was. It was hard to tell because it was close to a hill.
“If you beat me to the tree, I’ll believe you,” Jacob challenged. My heart was pounding, and my
stomach felt like it was shaking. Why did I even have to talk to this jerk? I had just won the race,
and he knew it as well as I did. I didn’t want to race him. But I knew if I won I would show him I
was fast—faster even than him. Then maybe he would shut up and leave me alone. That was all
I wanted.
“Okay . . . ” I muttered. I was scared but determined.
~113~
“On your mark . . . get set . . . go!” Jacob said. But as we started to run, out of the corner of my
eye, I saw his arm come shooting towards me. Before I had time to move away, I felt his hand on
my shoulder.
Suddenly he pushed me, hard and strong, and I lost my balance. My reflexes signaled my hands
to strike out to cushion my fall. As soon as I landed, pain shot up my wrist like lightning. Ahead
of me I saw Jacob. He was almost to the tree, and he was laughing, jogging now because he knew
he had won.
I tried to get up, but the pain in my right wrist was too harsh. It just hurt too much. I held in my
tears, so many tears I wondered if there was an ocean waiting to be released inside my head. I
sat on the ground holding my wrist. When Jacob jogged away, laughing, the ocean was finally
released.
The tears rolled down my cheeks, all the tears I had not cried before—tears of anger at my mom
and Jacob and my coach, tears of outrage from the teasing on the bus, and now tears of physical
pain. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell Mr. McCoy. I knew that was useless. My wrist was
badly hurt, at least sprained and maybe even broken. By now it was numb with pain.
Suddenly I remembered something. My mother was going to stop by the track on her way back
from the school where she worked. She wanted to see me jump. I had told her to come at
around eleven-thirty. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven forty-two. I sighed with relief and
struggled to my feet.
When I found Mom in the crowd, I ran into her arms and hugged her tightly with one arm. My
eyes stung with the beginning of new tears. I closed them, relieved, as I nuzzled my face into her
shoulder.
“Ava, what happened?” she asked. I bit my lip, thinking. What should I tell her? I looked into her
eyes. They were full of love and concern. I smiled weakly at her. I felt horrible lying to her, but I
couldn’t let her know the truth. This was my problem, and it could only be solved by me.
“I fell,” I sniffed.
“Oh, sweetie,” she began, touching my arm in different places, asking if it hurt. And it did.
“You need to see a doctor. Oh, I am so glad I stopped by. Just think what would have happened if
I hadn’t.” Her voice was full of worry.
“Okay, Mom.” I wanted so badly to tell her the truth as the tears rolled down my cheeks. But this
was a battle my mother couldn’t help me win.
I fell asleep right away when I got home, after resting my arm, in its cast, across my stomach.
When I woke in the morning, I was hungry and cold. I felt awful from sleeping in my clothes and
on my back. Today was Sunday, so I just lay in bed, thinking about what I might have done and
said to Jacob. If only I had stood up to him or ignored him and not raced him. How different
would things be? Would I be lying on my bed with a blue cast on my wrist? I couldn’t stop
~114~
thinking about the what-ifs. But I also couldn’t cry anymore. It seemed to me that maybe the
ocean in my head had finally dried up.
“Ava, dear. Ava, are you awake?” my mother asked, quietly interrupting my thoughts.
“Kind of,” I said, yawning.
“Lindsay is on the phone. Do you want to call her back?”
“No, no, I can talk,” I said. Gosh, I hadn’t injured my mouth. My mother handed me the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Lindsay. I heard what happened. Does it really hurt?” she asked.
“No, not really. The painkillers haven’t worn off yet,” I said. Lindsay laughed.
“So, you want to come over today? You don’t have to. I was just wondering.”
“I want to. I don’t know if my mom and dad will let me though.” It would be so good to be with
her.
I hadn’t seen Lindsay in a while, I had been so busy with track. I missed her.
“You don’t have to ask. I already did. Sorry. So it’s okay if you come. Your mom said it would be.”
I loved the way Lindsay talked, her voice so full of energy and life.
“Great,” I smiled. “When do you want me?”
“How about now?” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay. I’ll walk over as soon as I have breakfast and get dressed.” I decided to push thoughts of
Jacob, my wrist, and Mr. McCoy out of my head. I ate and got dressed without much difficulty,
though putting on a shirt was hard. I said good-bye to my parents and left for Lindsay’s.
Lindsay was the best friend I’d ever had. We understood each other so well. Often we didn’t
even have to speak. Just a simple nudge or a second of eye contact would be enough to say I hate
him, or let’s go. When I reached her house, her mom and dad greeted me at the door, crowding
me with questions about my “fall.” The crowding was nice though; it was a sign of concern, not
mere politeness. When
Lindsay and I finally escaped to her room, we flopped down onto the floor and laughed at
nothing.
“How’s track? Besides your arm,” she asked politely, after our laughing attack. I don’t know—
maybe it was the sincere concern in her voice, or maybe it was the result of having kept a secret
from her for so long, but I began to sob. Lindsay looked surprised but quickly put her arm
around me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
~115~
“No.” It felt good to say even that much.
“Do you want to talk? Please tell me.” She had the kind of urgency in her voice that only best
friends can.
“Yes. I do.” I took a deep breath. And another. In and out, in and out.
“You don’t have to tell me right now, only when you’re ready.” After a moment I was ready. I
described the teasing at practice, the lack of acknowledgment, Mr. McCoy’s laughing at me. A
couple of times I cried out of pure frustration.
“Ava! Oh, my gosh, you need to tell someone this is horrible Mr. McCoy should be fired how
come you didn’t tell me does anyone else know I feel so bad are you okay?” Lindsay blurted. Her
run-on sentences became a blur of oh-my-goshes and are-you-okays. I sniffed. “I’m sorry I got
carried away.” She reached over to give me a hug. “Are you okay, Ava?”
“Sort of. But Linz, what should I do? What should I do?” We moved closer, settling down
forehead to forehead. I felt like a spy plotting a secret strategy.
For two hours straight we talked and laughed and planned and cried. And I wondered why I
hadn’t told Lindsay about all of this long before.
When I went home that night and climbed into my bed, I lay there sleepless for a long time,
nervous about tomorrow. I thought back to the morning a week ago when I had awakened to
Bob Marley singing “Get Up, Stand Up.” My dream that morning had been awful, with my legs on
fire and the yawning hole in the track. But now I realized how much my dream was like my real
life. In my waking hours I was angry and hurt. The longer I kept my secret, the farther away the
solutions to my problem seemed, like a finish line I could never reach. But Lindsay’s friendship
had awakened me, and now the words of the song pulled me out of my hole and set me free.
The next morning I arrived at school twenty minutes early and did what needed to be done.
When I reached my homeroom, I was a couple of minutes late. Mrs. Schafer glanced at me and
pointed to my seat, where I promptly found my place next to Lindsay. People around me asked
what had happened to my arm. I simply replied that I’d broken my wrist, which seemed good
enough for them. I didn’t want to talk. I tried to pay attention to Mrs. Schafer, but my mind was
elsewhere. I bit my lip in anticipation.
“While the . . . ” Mrs. Schafer began. She was interrupted by the intercom.
“This is Mr. Hilton speaking. Would Mr. McCoy and Jacob Stone please come to my office
immediately?” Lindsay nudged me and let out a whoop, but I just smiled.
Get up, stand up. Don't give up the fight.
~116~
Too Far
“Son, the police called today!” my father yelled from the living room, the second I pulled open the
sliding glass door.
“What now?” I asked sarcastically.
“Come here.”
I wasn’t scared. I knew my father couldn’t hurt me. He just liked to yell. This situation occurred a
lot, considering I was in trouble so often. I dropped my backpack, threw my coat on the floor, and
trudged into the living room.
The sun was receding below the tall horizon of pine trees that encircled our house. A bright light
shone from the living room, where my father sat on the couch reading the paper, his small, square
glasses pushed down on his nose. He looked serious.
I thought back: I didn’t hurt anyone today, and I didn’t skip school. I’d been a good kid. Then it hit
me. I remembered. I reached into my pocket and felt the CD player I’d boosted from Stanley. How
did the old man find out? Stanley wouldn’t tell anyone; he was a wimp. My father set down his
paper and looked up. I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Do you have something to tell me?” he started.
“Ummm,” I pretended to think hard. “No.”
He slammed his hand on the coffee table, rattling the pictures on the wall. “Son, I’m serious,” he
continued. “How about four-thirty this afternoon at the mall? Does that jog your memory?”
“No,” I lied. I couldn’t keep on lying and expect him to believe me. The mall security had obviously
seen me.
He sat there, perfectly silent, staring into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally
spoke again. “You know, I can tell. Just admit it.”
I didn’t want to admit it. Something inside me told me to go with the lie.
“Dad, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What do you think I am, an idiot? I know what happened. They even have a surveillance tape that
shows you run up to him, grab his CD player, and take off. You have to stop stealing. You don’t
realize how bad it is for your reputation—and ours as a family. How many times do you have to get
caught to realize this?” he yelled. He pulled his glasses off and set them on the coffee table. “When
are you going to grow up?”
Talk about taking things too seriously. What a jerk. In case he hadn’t noticed, I was grown up. I
turned without saying anything and bounded up the stairs and through the hallway into my room.
~117~
“Get down here . . . ” I slammed the door before he could finish.
I sat on my bed and thought about my latest offense. It wasn’t that bad; it was a CD player. And it
was only Stanley, after all—Stanley the nerd, the mama’s boy, my favorite victim. He was used to it
by now. He should have known better than to hang out at the mall with an expensive CD player.
I awoke the next morning at four to the sound of my dad’s one-ton truck pulling out of the driveway. He was a fisherman and somehow managed to get up early in the morning every day. Of
course I fell back asleep. I woke up again at 6:45 to the sound of my mother’s frantic voice.
“SEAN,” she screamed. “Get out of that bed. You’ve overslept. It’s almost seven.” She slammed her
fist against my locked door. “Do you hear me?” I was awake but I didn’t bother to get out of bed
right away.
The bright sun was shining through my windows, but I could barely hear the birds singing their
serenades to who-knows-what over the repetitive screams and the slams on my door. I hoped I
wouldn’t get hauled in by the cops today.
“I’m awake,” I muttered, as she continued pounding on the door. “I’m awake!” I finally yelled.
I rushed through my shower, grabbed breakfast, and was out the door to the bus. We lived in the
middle of the woods in midcoast Maine—as I like to say, in the middle of nowhere. We were about
thirty minutes from the nearest town. I’m surprised the bus came this far, especially since we lived
on a dead-end road.
I wasn’t the most patient person in the world. And usually I had to wait for the bus. Today it was a
good fifteen minutes late. I stepped through the door onto the high steps and glared at the driver.
“A little bit late today, don’t you think?” I said. He didn’t respond, just stepped on the gas before I
sat down, tripping me up. I found a seat next to John, my best friend. He was staring out the
frosted window.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I asked.
He didn’t respond. “John, are you alive?” I shook my fingers in front of his face. He turned around
and looked past me, unblinking. I could tell he was thinking.
“Yes, of course, I’m alive,” he said. “You know what would be funny?” he continued.
“No, what?” I asked
“Today after homeroom, on the way to math—” He hesitated. “We take a can of soda and pour it on
Stanley’s books.” He grinned. “He’ll never know who did it, because, think of it—when we’re
switching classes, the halls will be crowded.”
We loved to humiliate Stanley. He didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd. When he did speak, which
was hardly ever, he had a strong Southern accent. Supposedly he’d worked with his parents on a
farm before he moved here. Almost all his outfits were overalls. He was small, skinny, and scared of
his own shadow: in short, the perfect victim.
“Sounds good,” I said, confirming the deal.
~118~
When the bell rang to end homeroom, John and I stuck close together. We hurried out the door
and waited for Stanley to come out of Mr. Becker’s homeroom. Sure enough, he straggled out last,
his canvas backpack hanging off his arm. He walked fast. He was always in a hurry, because of kids
like us, I guess.
All the classes were out now. The halls were bustling with kids. John and I snuck right up behind
him, walking at the same pace. This was great: he’d never know who it was. Carefully and silently
we passed classrooms, weaving in and out of traffic. Doors were wide open. Teachers sat at their
desks. I reached forward and opened Stanley’s backpack as we kept moving. He didn’t even notice.
God, he’ll be the star of the school; this will be great, I thought.
John pulled out the can of Moxie and poured the thick liquid all over Stanley’s books. When it
started dripping on the floor, I had to cover my mouth with my shirt to stop from laughing.
“Let’s get out of here.”
We turned around and ran against the moving crowd, laughing so hard we could hardly breathe.
We stopped running at our next class. Slowly but surely we could hear it start as a low rumble, but
soon the whole hall was laughing hysterically. There was Stanley, with Moxie all down the back of
his shirt and overalls, his bag lying on the ground, his books brown. He was trying not to cry. This
was going to be a moment to remember.
Mr. Benson came running down the hallway and helped Stanley pick up his now-ruined books. A
circle of curious kids surrounded them, some still laughing.
“Who did this?” Mr. Benson yelled down the hallway. By now everyone had resumed their paths.
We snickered and went our separate ways to our classes.
When school let out, I met up with John again.
“That was so lame. Did you see his face?” John asked.
“That was cool and everything, but I hope we don’t get caught.”
“We won’t get caught. Don’t worry. We won’t,” he assured me.
“I guess you’re right,” I replied. I probably should have felt bad for Stanley, but I was used to
humiliating him, and it was especially fun since he never told anyone. John was right. The chances of
getting caught were pretty slim.
It was getting cold out now, so I pulled my hood up and started to walk to the park to use the
phone.
The dark came early now, as we neared the end of November. No snow yet, but it was cold. “I’m
going to go call my mom. See you tomorrow, man!”
~119~
“No problem. See you tomorrow!” he yelled.
Before I’d taken more than a dozen steps, I saw Stanley walk out of the woods. It was getting dark.
What the heck was he doing here? I scanned him and his pathetic clothing. He didn’t see me. I had
a brainstorm, turned, and bounded after John.
“John, check this out,” I whispered, as I caught up with him. The air smelled strongly of moss and
pine trees. We hid behind some thick bushes.
“He must’ve not taken the bus because of us and decided to walk home. That’s quite a long ways to
hoof it.” I tried not to laugh. Stanley was walking fast. What a pathetic excuse for a human being.
John and I set down our bags and followed him as he strode back into the woods, darting in and
out of the shadows of the trees. Owls were hooting, and the cries of coyotes rose from the earth.
We slithered around trees, pursuing him. An owl hooted, and Stanley stopped and looked around.
We were panting now, out of breath.
“So, what are we going to do?” I whispered to John. “I don’t know. Let’s see if he has any money,”
We slipped ahead of Stanley and ran right into the middle of his path. We stood there side by side,
about ten feet in front of him. He froze. My heart was pounding, the adrenaline rushing through
my veins. We were two giant silhouettes against the setting sun.
Not a word came out of his mouth. He turned around to run, but I lunged forward and grabbed
his shoulder, pushing him to the ground face first. It was fun playing God. I could do anything to
him, he was so small. His body squirmed as I held him down. John grabbed his backpack, tore it
off his arms, and went through it, finally finding a five-dollar bill. He threw the bag back at Stanley
and stepped aside.
“You tell anyone,” I whispered in Stanley’s ear, my hot breath stinging his face, “you will die.” I was
amazed at my threat. I knew I could never kill him; I could never kill anyone. We took off, running
as fast as we could, back to where we’d left our stuff.
“Well, that wasn’t worth it,” I said, panting. “Hey, we got five dollars!”
“Yeah, five dollars, big deal,”
We never looked back. But I felt a twinge of worry. Could we push Stanley too far? How far was too
far?
Stanley didn’t come to school the day after the incident. I guess he needed a day to rest up. I decided
it was his problem, not mine. In this life you learn to put the past behind you and to worry about
the future. But still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn’t have threatened him. I
had gone too far, even for me.
Stanley didn’t show up for school the next day, either. I was starting to get a little nervous. I called
John up after school.
“Wazzzzzzzuuuuuuup,” he answered.
~120~
“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” I hesitated. “I’m starting to get nervous about Stanley.”
“No worries, mate,” he said, in his pathetic attempt at an Australian accent. “He’s just a baby, that’s
all.
“No, I’m not joking around, John. I feel weird about this,” I said. “Lighten up, for gosh sake. It’ll be
fine.” At that, he hung up the phone.
What a little creep: he’d hung up on me. I was more anxious now. John didn’t care about it, so I was
on my own.
On Friday Stanley finally returned to school. He acted even more scared than usual, and he stayed
near teachers at all times. He wouldn’t let anyone else get close to him.
Finally it was sixth period. I thought, it’s Friday; why doesn’t this class let out early? I sat slouched at
my desk, rolling my pencil back and forth, back and forth, paying no attention whatsoever to the
teacher, just the clock on the wall. I tried to convince myself that school would eventually come to
an end, but it seemed hopeless. My hand shot up in the air.
“Ms. . . . ” I started, but she interrupted me.
She had had enough. I had already asked her about sixteen times if I could go to the bathroom, and
we didn’t have the best relationship in the world anyway. She was writing something on the board
at the time, but she instantly stopped, dropped her chalk on the floor, spun around, and slammed
her fists against her desk.
“What!” she yelled.
“Well, I’m sorry. I just need to go to the bathroom,” I said, kind of concerned for her mental state.
“Go ahead. Do whatever you want to. See if I care. Go. Get out of my sight!”
“Okaly dokaly.”
I stood up and strolled out of the classroom, laughing the second I shut the door behind me. The
hallways were silent. Not a soul occupied them. I took my time. I wasn’t in class now. This was
better—anything was better. I headed toward the bathroom near the office. The door was wide
open, and someone was inside. Silently I slid through the doorway and slipped into the nearest
stall. I peered through the crack in the dirty door.
Stanley was running around the bathroom, picking papers up off the floor. He was freaking out.
There must have been something really important about them, or he wouldn’t put the pages back
in his backpack after they had touched the filthy floor of the bathroom. He was panting and
seemed almost scared that someone might see the papers.
I quieted my breathing and focused on the pages he was frantically collecting. What could be that
important? He picked up what he thought was the last page and ran out of the bathroom. I waited
until the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall, then stepped out of the stall. There was
~121~
one piece left underneath the sink. Well, I thought, I’ll get to see what old Stanley is so paranoid
about.
I looked around, checked to make sure no one was in sight, and snatched the piece of paper up into
my pocket, just as the bell rang. Classroom doors flung open, slamming against the doorstop. Kids
rushed by the bathroom, running to their lockers, desperate to be the first ones out of school. I
stayed in the bathroom until the rush dwindled down to the last few kids who strolled by, talking
in their small groups. School was out for the weekend, and I was psyched. I was free, finally. But I
was also dying to know what was written on the piece of paper. I decided not to risk reading it in
public—I’d save it for home.
When the bus arrived at my house, I jumped off and yelled, “John, I’ll call you,” over the rumble of
the diesel engine. He gave me a thumbs up and put his headphones back on. When I entered the
house, I rushed up to my room. I was anxious to know what Stanley was so panicked about.
I turned my stereo on and sat down on my bed, throwing my shoes off onto the floor along with my
dirty laundry. I reached in my pocket and unfolded the paper. The sound of Godsmack rang in my
ears. My parents weren’t home yet; they hated my music.
I read the note, then let it slip from my hands. I was frozen. Then sweat formed in beads on my
forehead. Godsmack was still screaming from my speakers. Stanley’s scribbly handwriting was
plastered all over the sheet, and what he had written was permanently engraved on my brain.
What could I do? Who could I tell? I ran to the phone and called John.
“Wazzzuuuuup?” he answered.
“John, you will not believe this.” I was panting, out of breath, scared. My words were choppy. I
wanted to say too much at once. I couldn’t believe what I’d read. We’d pushed him too far. I
shouldn’t have threatened him. My heart was pounding as I thought back to all the pranks we’d
played on him. We had pushed him too far.
“I found a piece of paper in the bathroom I saw Stanley try to pick it up but he was in a hurry he
rushed to get them all but he forgot one.” My words ran together. I didn’t stop for a breath. I still
couldn’t believe it; I wouldn’t let myself believe it. “John, he’s planning to kill us. You have no idea
how scared I am. I have to tell someone. I’m at the top of his list, then you. He’s going to shoot us,
John. We’re going to die!”
“Man, calm down. You don’t even know if it’s real. It could be just a prank someone is playing on us,”
John said.
“Stanley playing a prank? This isn’t a prank, man. This is serious. Whoever I tell won’t believe me,
anyways. I don’t know what to do.”
It was true. I didn’t know what to do. I stared at my watch: 2:45. Should I call the police? No, they
wouldn’t believe me. I was in a bad situation. The police would never believe me, not with my
record. I didn’t even know if the note was real. But from the way Stanley’d been rushing around to
make sure he had them all, it sure seemed like it could be. Just then I heard my mom’s car pull in
the driveway.
~122~
“John,” I said on the phone, “I don’t know what to do. Just stay home tonight. I’m going to tell my
parents.”
I slammed down the receiver, snatched up Stanley’s paper, and ran downstairs. My mom came
wobbling through the door with an armload of groceries.
“Mom this guy at school Stanley is planning to shoot John and me and I don’t know what to do.”
Again I ran my words together, but she understood what I was saying.
“Are you kidding?” she laughed. She actually laughed at me. “What are you trying to do, get him
arrested or something?” She laughed again. “Just how far can you push that poor kid?”
She thought I was lying. I couldn’t believe it. My own mom didn’t believe my story. What was her
problem? When I pulled the sheet of paper from my pocket, my hands were shaking. I was scared,
really scared, for maybe the first time in my life. My mother set down the bags of groceries,
snatched the folded-up paper from my hands, and unfolded it. She had a look of disbelief in her
eyes, then confusion. My mom didn’t show emotion very well. She frowned as she read.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You just . . . ” I interrupted her.
“It’s okay. I know what you’re thinking. Why should you believe me, right? But what should we do
now? I don’t know. I’m scared. You have no idea how scared I am.” I broke down and cried for the
first time since third grade.
My mother called the police right away. At first they were doubtful, given my record, but my
mother convinced them this wasn’t a hoax. They said an officer would drive to our house. For the
first time in my life I was relieved that something was in the hands of the police.
I sat down in front of the TV to pass time, but I couldn’t concentrate. I was itching to know what
they would find, if anything, at Stanley’s house. I stared at the clock on the wall, counting the passing
seconds.
A trooper arrived minutes later. He introduced himself as Officer Bradley. We shook hands, and I
unfolded the note to show him. He read it slowly. He called on his radio to two other officers and
instructed them to drive to Stanley’s house and search his room. Then he sat down, and my mother
made him a cup of coffee.
“You know, I’m a bit unsure about this, given the fact that you stole a CD player from him the
other day, and you have a long record . . . ”
Luckily, the phone rang, interrupting him just in time. I couldn’t hear the person on the other
end of the line, but I sure knew Officer Bradley looked surprised.
“Son, you are very lucky you came to the police in time,” he said after he hung up. My heart skipped
a beat. I was dying to know what they found.
Bradley filled me in. “They found two firearms in his home, a pistol and a shotgun, both loaded
~123~
with ammo. They also found a detailed account of a planned school shooting and another list of
victims. He’s been taken into custody.” He hesitated. “You’re safe now, but if you hadn’t told
anyone, you could have died.”
I didn’t know what to think now, whether to be scared or relieved. Mostly I was confused. I
thought about the pranks we had played on Stanley, the Moxie and stealing the CD player, the
name calling and physical abuse. I realized that John and I had bullied him, and that you can
push someone too far.
We had done more than our share to push Stanley over the edge. We had inflicted so much pain
on him that he actually wanted to kill us. For the first time ever, I felt what it was like to be in
someone else’s shoes. I realized how life could be made so painful that someone would try to
take matters into his own hands. I knew it hadn’t been right to make myself feel big and
powerful by terrorizing another person, by humiliating him time after time. I had pushed
Stanley too far.
I had sent him off the edge. Now, the question was: What would happen next? Who would I
become? How would I have to change, so I wouldn’t ruin another person’s life, or my own?
Suddenly I understood what it meant to grow up.
A Different Tune
The orange and yellow flame traveled from its place below the pick guard, up the neck of the guitar,
and licked my wrist and fingers. The bright, artificial adornment was intense against the purple
body of the guitar. I had been practicing for the last thirty minutes, and my wrist burned from
positioning it at a ninety-degree angle for such a long time. The tips of my fingers were raw from
pressing them against the six metal strings. Whenever I practiced for jazz band, the sheet music
dissolved in the air around me with every note I played, with every chord I strummed.
Exhaustion interrupted my playing. I filed the sort-of-memorized sheet music in its folder and set
my guitar down in happy defeat. Diminished and augmented chords still echoed through my mind;
their peculiar and eerie sound made my room feel silent and dark.
My homework was finished long ago. The alarm clock beside my bed digitally tick-tocked to 11:30
P.M. My unmade bed, pathetic with its twisted sheets, looked like the most comfortable place in the
world. I switched off the overhead light, walked blindly to my bed, crawled in, and reached for the
quilt.
The next morning the screen door slammed shut behind me as I was halfway across the front lawn.
My breath made ice crystals when I exhaled the sharp, cold air. My backpack felt like an unnecessary
burden: I had packed my algebra and French books, for the two classes I had on Tuesdays through
Fridays, but never Monday. I walked as fast as I could to my bus stop, where Rowan would be
waiting for me. I shifted my backpack to an easier angle.
“Hey, Brian,” Rowan greeted me. His face was red from the cold. I jogged the last couple of steps and
threw my backpack to the ground.
“What’s up?” I asked.
~124~
“Nothing much,” Rowan said. I knew he was lying; there wasn’t “nothing much,” going on, not since
what had happened on Friday. A car, or maybe the bus, interrupted my thoughts as its vehicle
sound came around the corner. I hugged myself, trying to keep the warmth inside my coat and the
autumn breeze out. I hoped it was the bus, so I could warm up for real. But it wasn’t, just an old,
beat- up car that thundered past Rowan and me at top speed.
“Hey, Brian, I think we should talk with Patrick again today and see if he wants to get together with
us and practice.”
“Practice for what?” I replied dumbly. I wasn’t paying attention to Rowan; all my attention was
focused on trying to get warm.
“You know, this band thing you and Patrick and I have been talking about?” Rowan said to me as if
he were educating a two-year-old.
“I never talked to him before last Friday, but sure, I guess,” I said sarcastically.
Last Friday at lunch, Rowan and I sat with Patrick, a new guy who entered Morrison High in the
middle of October. He seemed cool. He was a freshman, like Rowan and I, but I never noticed him
until Rowan had approached him. He was a drummer who happened to play in the school’s jazz
band; so did I.
On Friday at lunch the three of us got to talking about a radio contest that this local station, WOPS,
was sponsoring. They were asking listeners to send in an original recording of what they thought
would be a good jingle for the station. Patrick, Rowan, and I decided that WOPS played some pretty
decent songs and that we’d get together and try to come up with something.
Rowan and I had been talking about starting a band ever since his dad had showed him the basics of
the bass guitar over the summer. We were always talking about how we needed someone who could
play the drums, someone who could keep a beat. And now Patrick had come on the scene.
I heard another tell-tale sound of a vehicle approaching our corner. This time it was the Morrison
High bus.
*
*
*
“What is his problem?” I whispered to Rowan as the principal walked by us, his usual death glare
plastered on his face. I think every student in our high school disliked Mr. Harriman. Everyone
knew his nickname, Mr. Hairy Man. Even the teachers made fun of him behind his back. He was just
so boring and rigid. His nickname was a contradiction, since Mr. Harriman didn’t have a hair on his
head. He was bitter towards his job. He had no favorites: every student was on his list.
“I don’t know. I bet he’s like that crazy kid in that movie. You know, where the kid says he has a
friend named Tommy who lives in his mouth and hides in his stomach? What was that movie?”
Rowan became silent with thought.
I emptied my unnecessary books into my locker as Rowan babbled on about Mr. Harriman’s psyche.
“Hey, Brian, what was that movie called? You know, when the family is in that hotel . . . ” I watched
~125~
Rowan’s face transform itself into an expression of deep concentration. “The Brightness!” he yelled at
the top of his lungs. My face immediately turned red. The halls were packed with students, mostly
upper- classmen. I think even the people in the office heard Rowan's exclamation. Rowan really
didn’t have any shame. I, on the other hand, had enough for both of us.
“Calm down, Rowan. The movie’s called The Shining,” I said.
“Yeah. I bet Mr. Harriman has a little ‘friend’ that hides in his coat pocket and tells him to be as strict
as he can and if he doesn’t abide by the rules he’s going to have to pay the piper.” Rowan widened his
eyes and crunched up his face. “Just like my tiny friend Vicky,” Rowan said in a menacing voice. He
had always been crazy and random, especially towards figures of authority. But whenever he had
these outbursts, I just tried to smile and laugh along, like any good sidekick, even though inside I was
mortified.
*
*
*
“Do you honestly think that is real tuna?” Rowan asked, with a sideways glance that said, “You’re
crazy if you put that sandwich in your mouth.” Patrick was sitting with us again; he seemed to be
making a habit of it since Friday.
“Patrick.” Rowan put on his serious face and got right down to business. “Tomorrow, when jazz
band is over, we’re going to stay in the music room after Mr. Mettee leaves, all right?”
“Sure, that sounds good,” replied Patrick, looking down at his sandwich.
*
*
*
“Hey, see you later at practice,” Rick Millen yelled across the music room to Patrick. Rick had just
finished cleaning his trombone and was about to place the two brass pieces into the soft velvet of his
trombone case.
“Okay,” Patrick semi-yelled back.
“What sport are you playing?” asked Rowan. “Cross-country,” Patrick replied under his breath.
“Really? I run long distance in the spring for track,” I said.
“Cool,” said Patrick. “And are you sure that Mr. Mettee said it was all right that we’re in here after
jazz band?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah, he won’t care,” Rowan said carelessly. It was like Rowan not to ask permission. “So, you
haven’t asked him?” asked Patrick, alarmed.
“Well, no, but—”
“It doesn’t really matter, okay? Let’s just try to get something together for this WOPS thing,” I
intervened, before anything else was said.
It was forty minutes later when Mr. Harriman entered the music room. He informed us that Mr.
Mettee had left the building half an hour before. He also told us that for the next five days we would
~126~
be spending our afternoons in Room 112 on detention.
At lunch the following day Patrick said he was grounded for a month. His parents told him that
they had moved away from the city to avoid trouble, but it seemed to have followed them here to
Vermont. I told Patrick that nothing had followed his family here; Rowan was the trouble. Rowan
wasn’t with us at our usual table. For once, Patrick and I were Rowan-free.
Our conversation began with me recalling some of Rowan’s numerous and legendary
misdemeanors.
By the time he joined us, we had begun resenting his persuading us to stay in the music room after
band. By the time Rowan got settled in his seat, I was beyond mad.
“So, why don’t we all just meet at my house and practice?” he asked. He had no idea that Patrick and
I had been talking about him behind his back.
“I am grounded. I told you last night,” I reminded him. “Yeah, me too,” added Patrick.
“Well, we still have to find someone to sing the words to our jingle, right? I mean, we won’t win the
contest if we don’t have a vocalist,” said Rowan.
“Yeah, we’ll find someone. I just don’t see why we have to go through all this trouble just for some
stupid contest,” I responded.
“What’s with the bad mood?” Rowan asked. “Nothing. When is detention again?” I asked.
“I don't know. Why don’t we just go to my house after school, skip detention, and work on the song
a little bit—”
“Hold on. I’m not skipping detention just so I can get more detention,” I said, raising my voice.
“Okay, it was just a thought. Hey, we could always skip town and join a carnival,” Rowan said in his
usual happy voice. “Anyway. I think we should go to detention. You know, check it out to see who the
really troubled kids are at Morrison.” Rowan ended with a laugh. I plastered a smile on my face and
looked at Patrick; his fake smile wasn’t very convincing, either.
When the lunch bell rang, I tried to picture the “troubled kids” that Rowan imagined populated our
school. I couldn’t think of anyone, except Rowan. I remembered the summer when I went to an
actual carnival with Rowan, back when we were in grade school. We’d gone into the hall of mirrors,
where we could see ourselves in all shapes and sizes, but everything was distorted. I figured that’s
how Rowan’s conscience was. He didn’t worry about the consequences of his actions, because he
couldn’t see them for what they were.
By the time Patrick and I entered Room 112 that afternoon, separately from Rowan, I had cooled off
a little.
“Rowan Mills,” droned the supervising teacher. “Here, sir,” Rowan said in his happy tone of voice.
~127~
I scanned the room, examining the other poor, unfortunate souls. There were three others in the
room. A freshman girl was the only one I recognized. I had met her at orientation. She had dark
brown hair, but I couldn’t quite place her name.
“Nicole Banks,” the teacher said.
“That’s it!” I said in a hushed voice to Patrick. “What?” said Patrick, glancing around the room.
“I met that girl.” Patrick stared at me. “At freshman orientation. She was in my group, when we
talked about our likes and dislikes and what we were looking forward to . . . ” I explained. “You got
it? Well, this girl, Nicole, talked about how she was looking forward to high school because the
music program at her junior high was so slack.”
“Yeah, so?” Patrick said.
“So . . . she sings! We could ask her to sing the WOPS jingle,” I finished.
“Hey, I’m not sure I’m even going to do this song thing for that radio station,” Patrick said reproachfully.
“Look, we’re almost finished. All we need is someone to sing the lyrics and record it; then we’re
done.” I was mad at Rowan for getting us into trouble, but he was still my best friend. I knew how
much this radio contest meant to him—maybe because it meant a lot to me, too.
“Okay, fine.” I could tell Patrick was annoyed, maybe a little bit angry. I took a seat next to Rowan
and whispered to him about Nicole.
“Okay. Are you going to speak to her?” asked Rowan. “Wait. Let me get a piece of paper, and I’ll draw
out a plan.” Patrick took a seat in the desk on the other side of Rowan.
“Okay, you go here,” Rowan, talking to Patrick, indicated a place where the pencil sharpener would
be on his map of the room. “Pretend you’re sharpening a pencil, but don’t be obvious. You’re going to
watch Brian’s back while he goes in for the kill.”
“The kill?” Patrick said with a waning smile.
“I’m just using the official terms. Geez. Now, you, Brian, go up to Nicole.” Rowan drew a line from
our three desks to where Nicole was sitting. “Then you say something like, ‘Remember me from
orientation? Wanna sing some song that my buds and I made up for a radio contest?’” Rowan
changed his voice, imitating mine.
“Yeah, I’ll say something along those lines,” I replied.
“Tell her to meet us in the band room at three tomorrow,” Rowan said.
“After band? Did you forget? We’re suspended from all after-school activities,” I said in a defensive
tone.
~128~
“No, we’re just going to ask Mr. Mettee if we can use his recording microphone for a little while so
we can get this thing over with,” explained Rowan.
“Hey, what are you going to do?” Patrick asked.
“I’m going to distract Mr. Supervising Teacher,” Rowan said with a devious smile.
“How?” Patrick and I said at the same time, just as Rowan fell from his chair and landed on the
floor.
“Ow. God. Help. I think . . . I broke . . . my wrist . . . ” Rowan wailed as Mr. Supervising Teacher came
to his aid.
“Uh, let’s go to the nurse’s office. Come on, get up.” He helped Rowan onto his feet. Rowan was
cradling his “broken” wrist.
“Nobody get out of line while I’m gone,” the teacher barked, as he and Rowan exited the room. “Oh,
my word. I am not doing this. Is he crazy?” Patrick pleaded.
“You don’t have to pretend to sharpen your pencil. I will just . . . go up to Nicole and ask her,” I said,
my face reddening. I avoided talking to girls as much as possible. My face always got red, my palms
sweaty. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“Okay, but I think I’ll go to the door and be lookout for any teacher who might come by,” Patrick
said.
“Okay. Let’s break,” I said. Patrick got up and walked to the door. He gave me the thumbs up. The
coast was clear. I made my way to Nicole, weaving through the desks.
“Um,” I could feel my face reddening. “Hey, do you remember me? I’m Brian. I think we might have
met a couple months ago at freshman orientation.” She looked up from her reading and frowned.
She used her thumb as a bookmark.
“Yeah, I remember you. You play the guitar, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “Uh, well, do you still sing?” I asked, getting right to the point. “Um, yeah.
Why?” she said, her eyes questioning.
“Oh, well, a couple of my friends and I are sending in this recording of us playing, to a radio station,
to see if they’d use it as their theme jingle, or something. We have a little band going on. And we have
the lyrics figured out, but none of us can sing.” My voice was racing.
“Yeah?” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you’d want to sing on it. Maybe we’d win. I mean, you still sing, right?” I
was lost in my own nervousness; I could tell because I had started to repeat myself.
“Sure. I guess. I have nothing better to do. I was kicked out of chorus, and I keep cutting classes and
getting detentions, so maybe it would be fun,” she said. I couldn’t tell whether she was serious or not.
~129~
“Okay, great. I’ll meet you tomorrow after school, at the end of jazz band practice, in the band
room?” I said, making up where and when on the spot. “Why were you kicked out of chorus?” I
asked, as an after-thought.
“Oh, too much talking, and I skipped too many practices. It wasn't—” She was interrupted by a
panicked cough coming from the direction of the door. It was Patrick, trying to get my attention. He
was motioning for me to get back to my desk. Someone was coming.
“Okay, meet me at four. Sound good? See you later,” I said turning around, not waiting for an
answer.
I made my way back to my desk. “Is she going to sing?” Patrick asked, taking his seat.
“She said she would. I told her to meet us in the band room at four tomorrow,” I said to Patrick,
who was looking over his shoulder to see who had just entered. It was Rowan and the teacher;
Rowan was cradling his “hurt” arm.
*
*
*
“You came?” I said in an astounded voice. Nicole entered the band room a little after 4:00.
“Yeah, I’m here,” she drawled. Rowan, Patrick, and I had discussed whether or not she would actually show, on account of the reason Nicole had been assigned to detention in the first place.
It was weird practicing with someone singing to our music. It took at least a dozen attempts for the
four of us to get in sync. Finally we started recording. We were halfway through the jingle when Mr.
Harriman entered the band room. The recording was still going on when he motioned Mr. Mettee
over to a corner, where they had a brief discussion. Our jingle was only a minute long, and by the
time we’d finished, Mr. Harriman had approached us.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
Before anyone else could speak, Rowan piped up. “Well, we’re conducting a science experiment on
baldness, you know, so some school leaders could be a little nicer to the students at their school.
That’s why we’re in here with musical instruments.” I was stunned that Rowan could be so openly
disrespectful. Mr. Harriman was steaming. I looked around at Patrick. His eyes were closed in
disbelief. I mouthed, “What are you doing?” to Rowan, but he didn’t notice or pay attention. He just
stood tall, wrapped in his air of defiance.
“Excuse me, young man. That is no way to talk to an authority figure,” Mr. Harriman countered.
“And what are you four doing in here? Aren’t you supposed to be in detention? Right now? All of
you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Then go there. Now.” Mr. Harriman left the music room with one last, fuming glance. “What’s your
~130~
problem!” I screamed at Rowan.
“Nothing. That guy’s a jerk,” Rowan yelled back.
“Look, I’ve had enough of this,” Patrick said. He picked up his drum sticks and backpack and ran out
the door, probably to detention.
“You probably got all of us a week more of detention, all for your stupid idea of winning a stupid
radio contest,” I said to Rowan, my eyes narrowing on his. We both knew this was our first big fight,
and maybe our last. When I turned my back on Rowan for the first time ever, packed up my guitar,
and left for detention, I saw him and Nicole out of the corner of my eye. They were laughing at me.
*
*
*
The sound of the telephone rang in my ears. It was a week after the whole fiasco with Rowan
mouthing off at Mr. Harriman. I hadn’t spoken to Rowan since, but I had seen him in the halls at
school, his hand lightly grasping Nicole’s. Someone told me they’d been caught smoking behind the
school and were on permanent detention. Rick, the guy Patrick knew from cross-country, had taken
Rowan’s seat at our table at lunch.
“Hello?” I said, putting the portable phone to my ear.
“Hello, this is Michael T. from WOPS Greatest Hits,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Is this a Brian Bell?” he
asked.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Well, I’m calling to tell you that you and your friends have won the WOPS theme song contest,” the
man said, in a voice that sounded like I had just won a million dollars.
“Oh, great,” I said in a not-so-thrilled tone.
“Well, I just phoned Rowan Mills, and he said that you’re in charge of the band,” said Michael T.
“Really?” I asked skeptically.
“Really. So, Brian, what’s the name of the band?”
“Um.” I thought of what had happened to the four of us over the past month. “The Split, that’s what
we’re called,” I said.
“Oh, that’s an interesting name. Okay, Brian, I’ll be making a trip to Morrison High on Monday. Then
I can interview you and your friends, and the jingle will be aired on Wednesday.” Michael T. ended
his agenda.
“Um, well, I don’t—” I began.
“Sorry, Brian, I’ve got to go. See you Monday.” I heard a click on my end of the receiver.
~131~
I awoke the following Tuesday morning to the sound of Nicole singing on my clock radio. I lay in bed
until the jingle was over. Then I heard Michael T., asking each of us how we felt about winning the
contest. I heard our mumbled replies and then Rowan’s voice. “Oh, we’re all good friends. We met
Nicole in detention, but that’s a long story.” I remembered Rowan’s face as he tried to encourage me
to say something positive.
“Oh, yeah, we’re all great friends,” I heard myself lie.
“Now, what’s your favorite radio station?” Michael T. asked. We had to do this part a couple of times.
First Patrick wouldn’t say anything. Then the second time nobody said their “favorite radio station”
with sufficient “spirit,” as Michael T. put it. The third time the four of us shouted, “WOPS!” The third
recording was the one they aired.
The editors at the station made our uncomfortable conversation sound happy and light. I listened
to the rest of the interview with the winning band, The Split. They sounded like friends. But what I
heard behind the façade—me, an actual member of The Split—well, that was a different tune.
Breaking the Surface
I walked out to silence in the pool area and sat down on the bench, which looked as though it was
about to collapse. Our swim team always sat here before practice—at least the people who arrived
first did. There wasn’t enough room for everyone.
I drummed my fingers impatiently on the rough wood. I was antsy for practice to start; I had
missed it on Tuesday because of a cold, and I wanted to start up again. There was a meet on
Saturday. The white tile was freezing under my bare feet, so I lifted them onto the bench and
wrapped my arms around my knees. Finally people began to trickle in. When I saw my friend
Sarah coming out of the locker room, I waved to her to come sit next to me.
“Hey,” Sarah said. “What’s up?”
“Not much since the end of school,” I said. “What happened in practice on Tuesday?”
“Not much; we did the usual,” she said. “But there is a new girl, Laura. Didn’t I tell you about her?” I
shook my head.
“Well, she’s really fast.”
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I was the fastest on the team. She couldn’t be faster than I was. I
realized what I was thinking, and I tried to push the thought away. I knew it didn’t matter if I were
the fastest or not—the team’s score was what was important—but the knot in my stomach stayed.
Sarah and I talked about our day and the classes we shared. When more swimmers joined us on
the bench, we started to discuss Saturday’s meet. I noticed Laura right away at the edge of the
group. She had blue eyes and light brown hair, like mine. She was listening, but she wasn’t saying
anything.
~132~
“I’m a little nervous,” one girl said.
Most everyone, including Sarah and Laura, said, “Me, too.”
“I’m not,” I said, and it was true. I never got nervous before meets. I was fast, and I almost always
came in first.
Kathy walked over. She had been the coach of the swim team longer than I had been on it, which
was a long time, since second grade. We quieted down. She watched us for a second, then started
into her usual speech about how it didn’t matter what place we came in, and that we should be
proud of whatever place we earned. I didn’t listen to it anymore; I practically knew this pep talk by
heart. I glanced over at Laura a couple times; she was listening carefully to what Kathy was saying. I
thought she looked nice.
After what seemed like forever, Kathy finally said, “Let’s start swimming.” As everyone trooped to
the starting blocks, I went over to say hi to Laura. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Maggie.”
She smiled. “I’m Laura.” There was an awkward silence. Then she said, “You’re not nervous about
the meet? That’s amazing. I always get nervous.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it. Besides, I’m a pretty strong swimmer.”
We got in line. When it was my turn, six of us climbed onto the starting blocks. I pulled my goggles
over my eyes and adjusted them until they were perfect. Laura definitely seemed nice.
I heard the sound of Kathy’s whistle and dived in. I swam as fast as I could, even though Kathy
always told me to save my energy for meets. I loved going fast; it was one of my favorite things about
swimming. I didn’t know how much further I had to go. I didn’t care. I swam, breathing every few
strokes.
Before I knew it, I had touched the cool tile at the end of the pool. I pulled my goggles to the top of
my head and looked around, positive that I was first, but I always liked to make sure.
I was amazed to see Laura already climbing out of the pool and heading down to the starting blocks
again. My feelings instantly became a jumble of annoyance and admiration, but annoyance
definitely outweighed admiration. How could she have beaten me? I was the fastest. I climbed out
of the pool and walked as quickly as I could, without running, to the other end. I needed to beat
Laura. She was just about to climb up on the starting block and smiled when she saw me. I didn’t.
She walked over.
“You have an amazing freestyle,” she said. “You could beat me in a second if I wasn’t doing the
backstroke.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, not sure what else to say. She had beaten me, but she still thought I was a great
swimmer. It didn’t make sense.
As we headed back towards the lines, Laura talked to me about how she was, speed-wise, in all the
different strokes. She sounded confident. I didn’t add any details about myself; I just listened.
~133~
I got in line for starting block three, and Laura lined up for block four. We would be swimming next
to each other, and I was sure that I would beat her this time. I told myself that I hadn’t been trying
to swim my fastest, and that if I did, I would beat her. By the time I climbed onto the block, I had
thought of every possible excuse as to why she had beaten me. I waited for the whistle.
I dived in at the sound of it and swam as fast as I could make myself go. I felt as though I were
flying through the water. I put my head up more than usual this time. I wanted to see where Laura
was. I never could tell though. Suddenly, I felt my hand grip the end of the pool. When I stood up,
Laura was climbing out. She had beaten me again.
I was in shock. I heaved myself out of the pool slowly, then waited for Sarah, who was climbing out
behind me.
“She beat me,” I said, trying to hide my anger and frustration. “Twice!” “So?” Sarah said. “You beat
me all the time.”
I clenched my teeth and marched angrily to the other side. I was fuming.
On Saturday morning I found myself awake at 5:30, with no hope of falling back asleep. I was
nervous about the meet, which was extraordinary. I climbed out of bed, wide awake, and went
downstairs in my pajamas. I walked into the quiet kitchen. I didn’t like being awake this early. I
wasn’t hungry, but I cut a bagel in half and put it in the toaster oven anyway. I poured myself a glass
of orange juice and didn’t bother to put the container away. I wished it were six o’clock p.m. The
meet would be over then. I told myself there was nothing to worry about. It was only a meet. But
Laura had shaken my confidence.
The toaster dinged, and I took my bagel out. I spread cream cheese on both halves. Why was I so
nervous? I couldn’t understand it. I started pacing and eating. I focused my thoughts on swimming
and winning. Suddenly Daniel, my little brother, was in the kitchen with me.
“Did I wake you up?” I asked. “Nope,” he said, and yawned.
I was barely finished with the first half of my bagel, and I was full. “Do you want it?” I asked,
offering him the other half.
“Thanks,” he said and sat down at the table to eat it.
I left the kitchen and walked to the family room, where I turned on the TV. Everything on every
channel was stupid, but I watched a cartoon anyway. It took my mind off the meet.
Our team walked out to the pool. I felt sick to my stomach, and I was ten times more nervous than
I’d been that morning. Sarah was walking next to me. She was biting her thumbnail. She only did
that when she was tense.
“Are you nervous?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. She stopped biting her nail. “Yeah.”
“Me, too”
~134~
Sarah laughed. “You, nervous? You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope,” I said.
She looked shocked.
We sat down on the bench. I was jittery. I bounced my knee impatiently. I wanted to get this over
with. I would be doing two freestyle races, a backstroke, and a breaststroke. I wasn’t that nervous
about the front crawl; it was my best stroke. For some reason I was terrified about the backstroke.
I didn’t know why. I was perfectly good at it. I glanced over at Laura. She looked okay, not terrified,
like I felt. I knew that she would be swimming in backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke, and a medley.
“Are you feeling okay?” I looked up to see Kathy staring down at me with a concerned expression.
Not really, I thought, but I said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” She nodded but didn’t look convinced.
Before I knew it, before I wanted it to happen, somebody called out my backstroke event. I stood up
and walked over to the starting blocks. My knees were shaking. I was happy that I wasn’t
swimming against Laura, but I was still terrified. I climbed onto the starting block and dived in
when the whistle sounded.
I didn’t think while I swam. I focused on the ceiling. I went as fast as I could, but I always did that.
It was automatic. Left arm, right arm, over and over again. Finally, I was finished. I was thrilled just
to have made it through the race, and when I looked up, I saw that I had come in second. A
swimmer from two towns over had beaten me. I heaved myself out of the pool. I couldn’t believe it. I
walked back to our bench. Sarah was smiling.
“You came in second,” she said. “That’s great!” “Yeah, great,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m lucky if I ever place,” Sarah said. “Second is great. Even if you don’t think so.” I frowned.
I placed first in my other races, but I was still unhappy with the second. On the bus ride home,
everyone was talking about their events. I said I had won three and lost one. They nodded and said
“good job,” without much enthusiasm. They knew my usual pattern: first place after first place,
with an occasional second. Even though they knew my pattern, I took satisfaction in the fact that I
had done better than any of them.
But then somebody asked Laura how she did.
“I won firsts in all four of mine,” she said. Then she blushed.
She had won all four? I was supposed to be the best. I slumped down in my seat, furious.
In the background I heard everyone congratulating Laura on her wins. I pulled out my book and
got ready to ignore the world. I opened it and began to read. It was hard to focus; the bus was
bumpy and everyone was talking loudly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Laura coming towards
me. Great, I thought.
~135~
She sat down next to me. “You did great!” she said. “You were awesome doing freestyle.” “Gee,
thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Why do you care how I did?”
“I was just trying to be nice,” she said, obviously hurt.
I kept reading. I wanted her to go away, but she didn’t. She sat there. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Just leave me alone!” I said, trying not to yell.
“What?”
“I said, leave me alone!” “But . . . ” Laura started. “Go away!”
I could hardly believe what I had said. Laura stood up. She looked confused and sad. She walked
back to sit with Sarah. I didn’t care. I went back to my book.
After another fifteen minutes on the bumpy bus, we finally arrived at our Y. From the window I
could see Mom waiting for me in the car. She usually came to meets, but tonight she had to stay with
Daniel because Dad had to work late. I grabbed up my stuff and bolted off the bus and into my
mom’s car before Sarah or Laura could catch up with me. “How was the meet?” Mom asked.
“Okay,” I said, pulling the car door shut and buckling my seat belt. “Only okay? Maggie, what
happened?” Mom said.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
“What place did you come in?” Daniel asked from the backseat.
That was the one question I didn’t want to hear. I was trying to put the backstroke race out of my
mind.
“Three firsts and a second,” I said quickly, to get it over with. Mom’s face lit up. “That’s great!” “Mmhmm,” I said, and we didn’t talk about it for the rest of the car trip.
The next day, I was feeling a little better. I decided to call Sarah, to see if she wanted to go to the
movies or come over or do something—anything but swimming. I picked up the portable phone
from its cradle and carried it up to my room. I dialed Sarah’s number, and after two rings her
mother picked it up.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Maggie. Is Sarah there?”
“Sorry, Maggie. Sarah went rollerblading with a friend a little while ago,” her mom said. “Do you
want me to tell her you called?”
“That’s okay,” I said, and we hung up.
I wondered who Sarah was with. She and I always hung out together. Who could it be? Since I
didn’t have anything better to do, I started my homework. But as I took my books out of my
backpack, a nagging question formed in the back of my mind: was Sarah with Laura?
~136~
On Monday, when I got to school, I couldn’t find Sarah anywhere. We usually met by her locker, but
she didn’t show up. When I heard the bell, I guessed she was sick. Maybe I’d given her my cold. I
rushed off to class. But when I got to homeroom, I saw Sarah sitting in the front row. Maybe she just
forgot? There wasn’t a seat near her, only one in the back. As I walked to it, I tried to catch her eye.
She didn’t look my way. She was talking and laughing with another girl.
When I looked to see who it was, I saw Laura. Why was Sarah hanging out with her instead of me?
I was her best friend. I sat down at my desk and ripped a piece of paper from my notebook.
Sarah,
Where were you? I waited until bell!!
Maggie
I folded up the note and acted like I was going to sharpen my pencil. On the way, I dropped the note
on Sarah’s desk. She didn’t even look at it. I “sharpened” my pencil and started back to my seat. The
note lay unopened on the floor. What was going on?
As I sat down, our teacher, Ms. Anderson, took roll call. I barely noticed when she called my name.
The girl next to me, Anna, had to nudge me to say “present,” like the rest of the class. I was lost in
my thoughts. Sarah hadn’t read my note, and she wouldn’t catch my eye. Was she mad at me?
When the bell rang, I jumped up and ran after her. “Sarah! Wait up!” I called.
She didn’t look back. She and Laura kept walking down the hall. I ran after them, not looking to see
if there was a teacher nearby who could get me in trouble.
“Sarah, wait,” I said, grabbing her by the arm.
“What is it?” she said. She ripped her arm away. She sounded angry.
“You didn’t meet me before school, and you didn’t read my note. What’s going on?” I felt like
screaming.
Sarah bit her thumbnail. She was nervous. “Don’t you know?” she said. Her voice was soft, but it was
shaking with anger.
“No!” I said. “Tell me. You’re my friend. I need to know.” She was my friend. Pretty much my only
friend. I needed her.
“You won’t understand.”
“Sarah, tell me!” This time I yelled.
Laura had been looking uncomfortable through this whole thing. I could tell that she didn’t want to
get in the middle of it. She said, “I, uh, have to go. See you later, Sarah,” and rushed down the hall.
I watched her go, then asked, as calmly as I could, “What won’t I understand?”
Sarah took a deep breath. She looked like she wanted to run away or bite her thumbnail some
more.
~137~
Instead she blurted out, “You’ve been acting like such a snob.” She looked relieved to have said it but
terrified to see my reaction. “Sorry.”
“A snob?” I asked. I thought back; when had I been a snob? Sarah saw the confused look on my face.
“During swimming?” she supplied. “On the bus? Don’t you realize how horrible you’ve been? To
Laura and to me. It’s not easy being your friend.” Her voice was cold.
My heart sank. “Sarah, it’s just that—”
“All you think about is winning and being better than everyone. You’ve never asked me, or
congratulated me, on how I did in a meet. You’re always too obsessed with what YOU are doing,
with whether YOU are number one.” I could tell she was furious and that she had been planning
this speech all weekend.
“But Laura always wins,” I pointed out desperately.
“She doesn’t care. She doesn’t take it that seriously. She just likes to swim. She’s nice.”
The bell rang, and Sarah bolted off. I stood there in shock. My classmates rushed past me to their
classes, but it didn’t occur to me to go to mine. Sarah didn’t want to be my friend anymore. The
realization hit me, and I ran to the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and sobbed. I was so
confused, and I had no clue what to do about Sarah. I sat down on the seat and tried to control my
crying. It felt terrible to realize that nobody wanted to be my friend.
Sarah had always been there for me. We had been friends since kindergarten. Why had she decided
to end our friendship now? I was crying less hard as Sarah’s words echoed in my head. Don’t you
realize how horrible you’ve been? I thought back over the past couple of days: the practice, the meet,
the bus. I had been horrible. I felt helpless and small. What was I going to do? I could try and talk to
Sarah and Laura, but would they listen? I knew they didn’t have any reason to.
I decided I’d head to class and deal with it from there. I had missed almost half the period already. I
stood up, unlocked the stall, and walked out to the sinks. I saw how blotchy and red my face looked
in the mirror. I wasn’t sure I could go to class like this. Behind me, I heard the door creak open. I
turned around to see who it was. It was Laura.
She looked surprised to see me.
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh, hi,” I said lamely.
“Hi,” she said. For a second she looked concerned, but I was positive that she was just as furious
with me as Sarah was. I knew I had to say something to Laura. I didn’t want her to think I was
horrible. I wanted to apologize, to say something, but what?
I took a deep breath. “Laura, look, I’m sorry. I acted like an idiot.”
Laura looked surprised, as if she weren’t expecting me to say something like that. I knew what she
was probably expecting was more rudeness.
“It’s just that you were faster than me, and I was mad,” I said. “I know. I figured that out,” she said.
~138~
She didn’t sound angry.
“Laura, what am I going to do?’ I said. I felt like crying again. “Sarah’s so mad at me.”
“I know,” Laura said as the bell rang. “Come with me.” She grabbed my arm hard. “What?” I was
shocked.
“Come with me,” she urged.
I gathered up my books from the sink and followed her out the door. She led me through the halls
towards the cafeteria. People glanced at us uncertainly. I didn’t mind. I knew that I would have
done the same if it were someone else with red eyes being dragged through the halls.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re going to talk to Sarah,” she said.
I stopped in my tracks. “Are you kidding? She won’t listen to me.”
“She will,” Laura said, as she took my arm again and started half dragging me toward the cafeteria.
Part of me wanted to talk to Sarah and beg her to be my friend again. I needed her. The other part
of me dreaded another confrontation. What if she wouldn’t listen?
Before I could work out an answer, we were in the crowded cafeteria, headed straight towards the
table where Sarah was sitting, obviously waiting for Laura. She looked up at Laura and smiled
when she saw her. Then she noticed me, cowering behind Laura, and she looked angry.
“Why did you bring her?” Sarah practically spat the words at Laura when we reached the table.
“Because she needs to talk to you,” Laura said.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
I felt like running to the bathroom again so I could cry some more. Sarah didn’t want to be my
friend anymore. I was positive she wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. Laura seemed to sense
my need to run, so she gripped my arm even tighter. I was stuck.
“You have to listen to her, Sarah. You guys are friends. You’ve been friends forever,” Laura insisted.
She pushed me forward. “Talk to her.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure what to say. Sarah glared at me.
“Sarah, I’m sorry,” I said to my shoes. “I know I was an idiot. I never even considered that you might
have feelings about your races. I was too absorbed in my own record and where I placed. I have
been a snob. Please, don’t be mad anymore. You’re my best friend. I need you.”
I was scared to see her reaction, but as I looked up at her face, she was smiling. A feeling of relief
~139~
rushed through me.
Suddenly I remembered a game Sarah and I had played when we were eight and had competed to
see who could stay underwater longer. I thought of how I’d watched her through the aqua pool
water, fearing that I would surface before her. Even then I’d wanted so badly to win. Then, after a
while, when I wasn’t sure I could hold my breath a second longer, just as I was about to give up
and declare her the winner, Sarah would break the surface. I concentrated hard on staying under
another two seconds, so I could beat her soundly. Then I broke the surface, and my lungs had filled
with fresh, crisp air.
Now I had broken another surface. I loved this feeling of pure, fresh air in my lungs better than any
victory over Sarah or Laura or anyone.
~140~
Historical Fiction: Offshoot Propagation
“All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had
really happened and after you are finished reading one, you will
feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs
to you; the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow,
the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can
get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.”
~ Ernest Hemingway
“To write is to carve a new path through the terrain of the imagination,
or to point out new features on a familiar route. To read is to travel through
that terrain with the author as a guide-- a guide one might not always agree
with or trust, but who can at least be counted on to take one somewhere.”
~ Rebecca Solnit
~141~
Traveling Back: Historical Fiction
Below is a series of statements about readers and writers, along with tables for planning or
charting the historical fiction genre.
Readers make connections between the main problem in a story and the setting so that they can
see how the time in history affected the characters.
Main Problem
Setting
How Setting Affects Characters
Writers consider the types of problems people faced during a certain time in history so that they
can develop a problem in their story.
Brainstorm a list of problems people faced during the historical time period for your historical
fiction setting. Consider geography, transportation, food sources, political climate, physical
climate, social class, income, family structure, and the like.
Writers create a narrator in historical fiction so that they can tell the story from one point of view.
Character Traits
Point of View
Narrator
Writers identify their audience so that they can determine what kind of background knowledge
they need to include in their historical fiction story.
Audience
Background Knowledge of Historic Period
~142~
Readers notice key words that identify specific times in history so that they can draw conclusions
about what life was like.
Brainstorm a list of vocabulary, key words that illustrate what life was like in that time. For
example, during the time of the American Revolution, some key words might be as follows:
musket, patriot, loyalist, minutemen, tankard, lobsterback, redcoat, taxation, colony, etc.
Writers double check that events in their historical fiction stories are accurate so that their
writing can be believed by their readers.
Record the research you might need to do, where you might find that information, and how you
will check the accuracy of the facts. When doing research, be sure to keep a list of where you
found information. Do not simply write “Google.” Google is a search engine not site providing
detailed information about history.
Necessary Research
Sources
Fact Checking Strategies
Writers add elements of culture to the setting, characters, and events in a historical fiction so that
readers can have a deep understanding of that culture.
Specific Elements of Culture
Social Organization
Customs and Traditions
Religion
Language (sayings/vocabulary)
Arts and Literature
Forms of Government
Economic Systems
~143~
Readers/writers determine which information is factual and which is fictional in historical fiction.
Factual Components
Fictional Elements
~144~
Calling on Past Knowledge to Collect Ideas
As with any genre, you’ll want to offer students at least a couple of different ways to gather
ideas, knowing that different strategies will resonate with different writers—and knowing that
to truly internalize a skill, your students need to develop a repertoire of strategies to practice
that skill. Whenever possible, you’ll also want to build transference and independence by
reminding students to draw on everything they already know as writers. Toward both of those
ends, you might say to students, “Today I want to teach you that another way historical fiction
writers collect possible story ideas is by using strategies that already work well for them as
fiction writers. Writers often look back through their notebooks and at charts and use strategies
they know for writing any kind of fiction, such as starting with character or plot.”
You might use a mid-workshop teaching point to teach your historical fiction writers not only to
collect ideas for stories, but also to test out those ideas by drawing on all they know about the
era and about the genre. To test a story idea against knowledge of the era, a writer might reread
his entries and ask, “Does this make sense for the time period? Does it ring true? What is a
different way it could go?” For example, a student may have jotted in her notebook that she
could write a story about a boy in the Civil War who wants to spend time with his older brother
but he is working all the time, so they drive together to Florida on vacation. After asking herself
if the story makes sense for the period and rings true, the writer could revise the story blurb to
say, “I could write a story about a boy in the Civil War who wants to spend time with his older
brother but their family is divided and he is on the Confederate side, so . . . ” Help students to
consider details right at the start, such as naming the character with a time-appropriate name
and thinking about period-based motivations.
Some writers will seem more wedded to historical facts than to story ideas. You might use your
conferring and small-group work to remind students that they are, first and foremost, story
writers. You could say, “Writers, when I collect ideas for historical fiction writing, I want to
make sure that I am still writing about people and issues that feel true to me. Remember that
when we wrote realistic fiction, we learned that we can take the real struggles of our own lives
and give those struggles to a character. You can still do that when writing historical fiction.” You
could then show your students that for you, one of the biggest challenges to this day is, say,
getting along with your older brother. You could teach students that people in history struggled
with the same issues, and we can think about how those struggles may have looked if set in
another time and place: “Okay, so now let me see . . . I want to set my story in the Revolutionary
War—and I want to make it a story about a boy who gets into an argument with his brother. Oh,
I know, I learned that young boys weren’t supposed to go to war but some lied about their age
and got in anyway, so maybe this boy wants to fight, but his older brother knows the boy is too
young. Maybe they have an argument and . . .”
~145~
Developing Character Traits that Intersect with the Time Period and Plot
As historical fiction writers develop characters for their stories, they consider how the time
period and plot intersect with the character’s internal and external traits. In this session, teach
your writers, “Historical fiction writers often craft their characters by considering what issues
existed during the time period and then asking themselves, ‘What kinds of traits could add
tension during this time period?’ For example, during the Great Depression many people felt
nervous and uncertain about the future. Maybe a character that is almost always positive and
hopeful would run into challenges. Maybe on the inside that character feels optimistic, at least
initially, and on the outside he keeps looking for but failing to find work until he begins to feel
more downtrodden.”
To develop strong historical fiction characters, students create character T-charts, with a list of
the main character’s traits on one side and a list of traits common to those living in the time
period on the other side. Then, students brainstorm to explore the ways the main character’s
traits fit in with or are in conflict with the prevailing characteristics of the time.
~146~
Crafting Meaningful Endings
As students roll up their sleeves and dig into the challenging work of revision, remind them that
any work they do should be in the service of deepening and conveying meaning, including
historical accuracy. With that end goal in mind, teach students ways to rethink and rewrite their
endings. Historical fiction often has more of a sense of being unsettled or lacking resolution
than other types of fiction, perhaps because it so closely resembles true historical events. True,
one character could potentially work to overcome and might even have great influence within a
particular struggle, but usually one character, especially a fictitious character, will most likely
not defeat the entire British army, give women the right to vote, or solve the stock market crisis.
Often historical fiction, such as Number the Stars, by Lois Lowry, or Rose Blanche, by Roberto
Innocenti, is less about resolving the historical struggle and more about bearing witness.
Your teaching point might sound like, “Historical fiction writers are careful to revise their
endings, making certain they write the kinds of endings their stories deserve. There are
different ways a character’s story can end, but the historical context needs to remain true—
meaning that usually the historical issue is not fully resolved. Sometimes at the end of a
historical fiction story we see how characters are affected, or affect, the struggle. They might be
a silent witness—or perhaps they take some sort of small action. Or they might be a victim and
learn something about themselves through their struggle.”
To exemplify your teaching, you might show your students how, as you think hard about
revising your final scene, you decide whether your story will be one that celebrates overcoming
adversity or one in which the character bravely bears witness to suffering to call humanity to
learn from the past and take action in the future. When you send students off to write, you’ll
probably want to encourage them to try several different endings before settling upon the one
that best conveys what they want to get across to readers.
During the conferring and small-group work, you might teach certain students to be wary of
Superman- type endings. For example, you might coach a student who is considering an ending
like this, “So maybe in the end Jason can be so worried about his brother that he tells Abraham
Lincoln that he needs to free the slaves,” and suggest that he instead consider something the
character discovers about himself or about his brother that was hiding there all along. He might
try out something like, “Maybe Jason learns that while he cannot change what happens to his
brother, Jason will still always remember his brother as the one who believed in him. Or maybe .
. .”
Invite students to share their possible endings with each other at the end of the session and to
offer each other thoughts on which ending works best.
~147~
Writers’ Tips: Two Techniques for Adding Historical Authenticity
Layering Essential Details about Time and Place in Opening Scenes
In today’s lesson, encourage students to revisit their opening scenes, making sure they orient
their readers to the setting of their stories. This is particularly important in historical fiction,
where setting is so central to the story. You might say, “Today I want to teach you that writers
look closely at how other writers give clues about when and where their stories take place.
Some writers, for instance, give headings: ‘Boston, 1776.’ Others include details that help the
reader picture the place. Details about transportation, housing, technology, food, clothes, help
the reader locate the setting. Sometimes the writer has the narrator tell the setting; the narrator
might simply say, for example, that she lives in a small town in France and the war is on.” Then,
send your writers off to work saying, “Writers, you can try several different opening scenes for
your story, and then choose the one that works best, perhaps even with some feedback from
your writing partner.”
Contextualizing Stories with Prefaces and Endnotes
As students near the final stages of their revision work, you might invite them to look back to
the informational sections they wrote before drafting and decide if an informational preface or
endnote is appropriate for their story. In some instances, authors choose to supply their readers
with key information up front, so readers enter the world of the story fully aware of the major
events to come. In other cases, authors prefer to have their readers experience events as if for
the first time right alongside the protagonists, and then they supply an endnote that
contextualizes the events in the story. You might say to students, “Historical fiction writers
sometimes supply their readers with a preface or endnote. They decide the purpose they would
like these to fulfill. Will they help readers understand what is true and what is fabricated in the
narrative? Will they emphasize a human struggle? Will they provide the back story or afterevents that the narrative did not? It helps to study how other authors have used prefaces and
endnotes and then to try out a few forms ourselves, perhaps even revising entries we’ve already
written about the time period.”
During independent writing time, invite your students to study examples, such as the preface to
Freedom Summer, by Deborah Wiles, or the endnote to The Yellow Star, by Carmen Deedy.
~148~
Annotated Student Historical Fiction Samples
Historical Fiction samples were few and far between. The best samples available, despite the
fact that over time, we aspire to even stronger writing from our own fifth and sixth grade
writers, came from the website, achievethecore.org. All samples are annotated, and save for
one, the samples are responses to “write on demand” prompts.
File Name: N8R Deadly Ink
Narrative
Grade 8
Range of Writing
Deadly Ink
Queen Elizabeth I
One tiny black leg gracefully sweeps forward. Then five
more identical legs immediately follow. The distance covered is
just slightly over a mere quarter of an inch. Carried on its face is no
discernible expression. The same face carried from the first
introduction to oxygen. To freedom. To life. The little bug pauses
Engages and orients the
reader by establishing a
context for narrative. The
key conflict / focus in the
story, “to freedom, to life” (or
not) is introduced, though not
yet fully developed
shortly from its purposeful stride.
Yes indeed, there is much happening outside in the country of
England. The year is 1587, and the month February. Everyone still
wishes me to be married, but I do not think it a wise idea. Should I
hand my country over to someone else who will recklessly run
England? No. I owe it to my subjects to keep them safe as long as
Engages and orients the
reader by establishing a
context and point of view
and introducing a narrator,
Queen Elizabeth, in the first
person.
possible, and for as long as I am alive. I also at the moment need to
keep
my country safe from France and Spain who seem to be plotting
against me, planning to take over this country.
However, my attention is focused on the bug. Such a frail,
helpless looking character.
The task at hand requires only a signature from me. My name,
written identically countless times before. The consequence of signing this
paper are far bigger than any paper put forth in my past existence,
~149~
Uses a variety of transition
words, phrases, and clauses
to convey sequence, signal
shifts from one setting to
another, and show the
relationships among
experiences and events, as
attention shifts back to the
bug.
unfortunately. This time my signature means the death of a fellow
human being. My cousin, Mary, the Scottish queen.
The bug continues its deliberate march forward, this time
coming closer to the figure standing across from me, the woman
reading the paper. It seems to glance upward at my huge figure
looming over it. Threatening, but at the moment sitting still.
There is no question about what I must do. Mary has been kept
in many different prisons here after being accused of plotting her
husband’s murder and after escaping prison in Scotland to come asking
for my help. I had no choice but to keep her here. I have kept her here
for over twenty years. I could not leave her helpless.
Now, however, Mary is guilty of high treason. She was found to
be communicating with France and Spain. She has been devising plans
with them to take over England. To let her live would be wrong.
Nevertheless, she is a relative of mine. In addition, she is a queen. How
can I put to death royalty? The hand belonging to none other than me
has to sign the paper for her death. Is there a special term for me giving
approval to Mary to be killed? Regret? Shame? Murder?
A hand seemingly unnoticed by the bug raises into the air.
My signature is the task at hand. My signature is Mary’s death.
The tip of my quill pen finds its way to the paper. My heart beat finds
its rate speeding up.
I look up just in time to see the hand of one of my guards
falling, slicing through the air. A foot away from the table. Half a foot.
Two inches.
The little bug looks upward at the hand falling above its back. It
panics. The frail legs start to move as fast, and almost faster, than the
bug knew it could. Not fast enough.
A cold chill runs down my back, causing my hand to shake at
the impact of the other hand hitting the table. Of the other hand hitting
the bug. I look down at my signature. Elizabeth. In the middle of the
~150~
Uses precise words and
phrases, relevant
descriptive details, and
sensory language to capture
the action and convey
events: The writer uses
details to develop suspense
of the internal conflict the
Queen is struggling with, her
character, and the events of
the story
Uses narrative techniques
of pacing, reflection, and
description to develop the
character of Queen, the
events of the story, and
the internal conflict she
faces.
Uses a bug as a metaphor for
Mary
Shifts perspective back and
forth between the bug and
the Queen to help create
dramatic tension
Uses description and
reflection to sequence
events so that they build on
one another to create a
coherent whole and build
toward a particular tone
and outcome, focusing the
reader on what is about to
happen, both to the bug and
to Mary
Provides a conclusion of the
bug’s death and Mary’s death
that follows from events of
the story. The lack of
reflection on Elizabeth’s part
indicates that the time for
reflecting is over and she has
taken action.
“z”, there is a tiny fault where my hand slipped. The bump is hardly noticeable to those who
would glance at my signature in the future. However, engraved in my mind is my name holding
the mistake in the “z”, holding the bug’s death, and holding Mary’s death.
For this narrative from an eighth-grade social studies class, the student was asked to write a narrative
showing a moment of critical importance in the life of a historical character the class had studied. This writer
effectively introduces a character, Queen Elizabeth I, and tells the story of her decision to execute her cousin
Mary. The writer uses the bug as a narrative device to build the dramatic tension as Elizabeth tries to come to
her decision.
The writer develops a structure in which the focus shifts back and forth between Elizabeth’s ruminations on
her cousin’s fate and that of the bug that symbolically represents her cousin, a use of metaphor that is not
stated in the Standards at this grade level. The event sequences unfold naturally and logically. The writer
uses precise words and phrases and sensory details to tell the story and to develop Elizabeth as a character.
She sequences events so that they build inexorably to the outcome of the death of both the bug and Mary, an
aspect of narrative writing not stated in the Standards at this grade level.
The narrative concludes almost abruptly, as the bug is killed and Elizabeth arrives at her decision that Mary
must be executed. It seems to reflect the firmness with which she finally decides, after having struggled
mightily with the decision.
File Name: N6P Black Mountains of Dust
Narrative
Grade 6
On-Demand Writing- Uniform Prompt
Black Mountains of Dust
I was sitting at a park bench when I saw the endless black heading
towards me. "Mom look!" I screamed. My mom turned around and faced
me. A look of pure horror was painted across her face.
"Margaret come on we need to go now!"
~151~
Engages and orients the
reader by establishing a
context for the narrative
that follows and introduces
a narrator and
characters. The narrator
and her mother needing to
escape the storm becomes
the central focus /conflict
in the narrative.
The need to escape the
storm becomes the focus /
central problem of the
narrative
She shouted. We ran across roads and dried up cropt fields. We did not
dare look back. Suddenly I wasn't running away from the black cloud.
Instead I was face down in the dirt. Oh no I had tripped over my
shoelace! I slowly looked up where was my mom? The cloud loomed
closer and closer. I choked feeling the gritty dust in my throat. I tryed to
Uses narrative technique
of dialogue to develop
events. Event sequence to
follow unfolds naturally
and logically.
Uses transitional phrase
to signal shift from one
setting to another
crawl forward but needles shot through my legs. Oh great in a time like
this my legs fall asleep! A whiff of dust blew toward me, burning my
eyes and making everything blury.
"Mom!" I screamed. "Mom!"
I tryed to yell again but was choked by more dust. "Mom" I whined.
Where was she. I started coughing from all of the dust in my lungs and
throat.
"Margaret! Darling come on!" My mom motioned me to get up but I
Uses precise words and
phrases, relevant
descriptive details, and
sensory language to
convey events and
develop characters
Uses the narrative technique
of dialogue to develop
events and characters;
controls pacing by slowing
down the action
shook my head.
My Mom flung me into her arms and ran, soaring farther away from the
storm. After what seemed forever, my mom stopped running. Screams
and yells echoed off walls. I covered my ears.
Uses transitional clause
to signal shift from one
time frame to another
A person right in front of us said:
"Get inside quickly!"
My mom answered "okay" and then I was carried into a building, that
looked like the town hall.
My mom set me down n a corner, in the town hall and sat next to me.
"Mom?" I croaked.
"Yes Sweetie?" She said in a sweet voice, almost like honey.
~152~
Provides a conclusion
which follows from and
then reflects on the
events and focus / conflict
of the narrative, the dust
storm of the Dust Bowl
days
"Is this going to happen ever again, this storm?" I asked my voice still thick with
dust. She did not answer and I knew that she knew this wouldn't be the the last
time the black mountains of dust attacked the plain states.
In this on-demand narrative, the writer tells the story of a girl and her mother being caught in a dust
storm during the days of the Dust Bowl. She focuses the narrative around the central conflict of trying
to escape the storm. The protagonist/narrator is a girl who is terrified by the storm as she is caught up
in it.
The writer organizes an event sequence that unfolds naturally and logically. Some development of the
events and characters is done through dialogue. Some precise words and phrases, descriptive details,
and sensory language are used as well. At times in the narrative, it would have been helpful to have
had a bit more description along with the dialogue, but, in general, the writer controls plot and
character development adequately.
Although not required by the Standards, the narrative concludes with reflection / foreshadowing
about future dust storms, which follows effectively from the story line.
Overall, this writer has done a good job creating a story line focused around the dust storm and
developing the characters and events in an effective narrative.
File Name: N7P Dust Storm
Narrative
Grade 7
On-Demand Writing- Uniform Prompt
Dust Storm
My family thought our lives were absolutely perfect. My twelve
year old mind thought so, too, until our Sunday paper arrived. I heard
the clunk of the mail slot, and sprinted to get the first peek of the
paper. People on the first page were being interviewed by frantic news
reporters, wanting to know reasons for our year long hot weather. I
thought they were crazy, until they were right.
~153~
Engages and orients the
reader by establishing a
context for the narrative
to follow, and by
introducing a narrator and
characters: The arrival of
the storm becomes the
focus/conflict of the
narrative, which is told
from the perspective /
point of view of a first
person narrator
Uses the narrative
technique of foreshadowing
to develop events
Days went by, and the hot temperatures got worse. Hot baths
were long gone, replaced with iced cold water. We had all ate the cold
foods we could eat, no more ovens or fires, if you were rich enough. Our
Uses a transitional
clause to convey
sequence and signal a
shift from one time
frame to another
family had a fire, and a pan. We stopped doing that yesterday. I slipped
out of my thoughts as my younger sister, Leesh, yelled out names.
"Mom! Dad! Mary! Come see this!"
Uses the narrative
technique of dialogue to
develop events and
characters
The yell was far distance, followed by a scream so high pitch, I
sprinted outside, into the woods to find Leesh. Mom and Dad followed,
pale with panic and worry. I smelled my own blood, from all the thorns
in our woods. I felt the trickling on my legs, my bare legs, and arms,
Uses precise descriptive
sensory language to
convey experience
lucky my sundress hasn't yet ripped. "Leesh! Leesh - where are you?" I saw our
fallen treehouse, and something a little beyond the trees.
"Mom, Dad, get Leesh down. I think I see something beyond the trees!"
They opened there mouths to say something, but they were lost for
words, as I ran. Tree branches, sticks, thorn bushes, and stumps were
my obsticales. I noticed the animals all ran the oppisite way, with
Uses precise descriptive
sensory language to convey
events
fear and shock in their faces and eyes. I got to the end, staring in shock at the
terrifying sight in front of me.
Over the hills, rather then sun and clouds, I saw it. A big, pitch
black cloud, thousands and thousands of feet tall, making any tree look
like action figures. It moved with the wind blowing its way towards
Uses precise descriptive
sensory language to
convey experience;
language captures the
action going on here, as the
dust swallows the narrator
me. It came up the last hill, the one I stood on. The dust cloud
swallowed me, and it whipped me in the face, stinging me like needles piercing
every inch of my helpless body. I still sprinted, as fast as my legs could take me,
~154~
swallowing the dust in my mouth, nose, and burning eyes. I wheezed, coughed,
and barely breathed. I felt myself suffocating, rembering my name, will
myself I would make it. You can do this Mary, you can get out of this. I
opened my mouth to scream, instead filling myself with gallons of dust
in my throat and lungs. I realized I was finally back in the woods,
Provides a conclusion
which follows from the
events and focus / conflict
of the narrative, the dust
storm of the Dust Bowl
days
almost reaching my terrified family. I took huge rock, and wrote with siliva and
dust. My vision blurred and I tripped over tree branches, rocks, and anything in
my way. I tumbled, over my head, crashing on the ground. I felt myself suffocate
before my head hit the rock, never seeing light or dust, as my body shut down.
In this on-demand narrative, the writer tells the story of a girl and her family caught in a dust storm
during the days of the Dust Bowl. She focuses it around the narrator’s conflict with the huge storm.
The protagonist/narrator is a girl who is terrified by the storm as she is caught up in it.
The writer organizes an event sequence that unfolds naturally and logically, including a bit of
effective foreshadowing at the beginning of the narrative, which strengthens the piece. The writer
uses minimal dialogue; most of the detail is provided through description. There is a significant
amount of precise words and phrases, relevant descriptive detail, and sensory language used to
portray events. The narrative concludes with the narrator falling and losing consciousness—perhaps
a bit overly dramatic for an ending but reasonable for this grade level. Because the narrator is losing
consciousness, she understandably cannot reflect on the experience (as the Standards require).
File Name: N8P Daydreams of A Migrant Mother
Narrative
Grade 8
On-Demand Writing - Uniform Prompt
Daydreams of A Migrant Mother
The cool afternoon wind brushed against my face. I watched as
the kids played with a rabbit they had found in the woods. All around
me the sounds of the camp faded in my mind. The sounds of babies
crying turned to a soft wail. The yelling of the kids turned to quiet
murmurs as I drifted into my mind.
~155~
Engages and orients the
reader by establishing a
context for the narrative
to follow and introducing a
narrator and characters:
The struggle to live at a
migrant camp is the central
conflict of the narrative,
which is told from the
perspective / point of view
of a first person narrator
For the past few weeks since we left Oklahoma, I've been
worried. It's been really rough living on the road without a proper
home and I just really want the best for my family. The kids have
been going to a public school just two miles from where we'd been
Uses transitional clauses
to convey sequence, signal
shifts from one time
frame or setting to
another, and show the
relationships among events
camping. They've told me that the kids have given them ugly looks and said awful
things about them calling them "Okies" or saying they were retarded. I
couldn't stand any of my kids having to go through this misfortune. I
focused my vision on my two kids Annie and Joey. They were laughing
Uses the narrative
technique of reflection to
develop events, as well as
the character of the
narrator
and shoving some grass in the rabbit's mouth. I didn't want them living like this
but there was nothing I could do. I felt useless and weak.
The wind blew again and I went back to my daydreaming. My
husband had been out for three days looking for any job available. We
had planned to be at least in a home that put a roof over our heads but
we accomplished nothing. Most of our close friends that had traveled
with us already had a job and housing. The feeling bothered me. I
looked around and saw some of the families huddled under their tents.
I don't want to be like this anymore I thought. But yet again there was
nothing I could do. Sometimes I felt angry with myself. As if I wasn't
Uses precise words and
phrases, relevant
descriptive details, and
sensory language to
convey events
Uses transitional clauses
to convey sequence,
signal shifts from one
time frame or setting to
another, and show the
relationships among
events
Uses the narrative
technique of reflection to
develop events, as well as
the character of the
narrator
trying my hardest, but eventually it would just turn to sorrow.
My thoughts were disrupted by Annie and Joey running up to me smiling. I
looked down on them and smiled, wondering how lovely childhood
must be with no worries.
"Ma, when are we going to eat, I'm starving?" asked Joey.
~156~
Provides a conclusion
that follows from and
reflects on the narrated
events, the struggle to
survive at the migrant
camp
Even I didn't know the answer to that question, we had completely run out
of food. I pondered on how I would say this to them. I gave up and just said, "I
don't know Joey."
In this on-demand narrative, the writer tells the story of a mother watching her children in a migrant
camp during the days of the Dust Bowl. She focuses it around the narrator’s internal and external
conflicts as she struggles with helping her family survive in the camp. The protagonist/narrator is the
mother.
This narrative lacks a real sequence of events, but it still unfolds naturally and logically. The writer
uses minimal dialogue; most of the detail is provided through the narrator’s reflection as she watches
her young children playing. The mother’s character—caring and overwhelmed—is captured through
this reflective detail. The narrative concludes with the mother unable to find a solution to her
situation, unable even to find her children something to eat. The lack of tidy resolution is appropriate
to this narrative and suggests the maturity of the writer.
~157~
Appendices
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
~ Anaïs Nin
“I think of writing as a ball of clay. When you are writing a rough draft,
you are taking a lump of clay and giving it shape. As you revise and polish,
you continue to refine the clay’s form. Finally, at the end of the process,
you fine-tune the sculpture, giving it the finishing details and bringing it
to completion, just as when you bring a piece of writing to final draft form.”
~ Allie Willis, sixth grade student
~158~
Appendix A: Job Charts
Write a Personal Narrative that
Has an introduction that makes the topic clear, while
engaging the reader with a known strategy
Has paragraphs organized by time and manipulates pacing
Uses strong descriptive language and visual imagery (uses
vivid verbs, strong adjectives, alliteration, onomatopoeia,
personification, etc.)
Uses metaphors and similes to give details
Uses a strong reflective close
Has all no excuse words and conventions correct
Has exemplary presentation (neat writing that is pleasant to
read)
~159~
Appendix A: Job Charts
Write a Historical Fiction Narrative that
 Is placed in a historical context that may include real or
imagined events and characters and engages the reader with a
known strategy
 Develops believable characters and setting through dialogue,
description, and actions
 Has a narrative structure that manipulates pacing and
includes these:
 conflict reflective of the historical context
 rising action that creates suspense
 climax
 falling action leading to resolution that is not abrupt
 resolution (denouement)
 Uses precise descriptive language (e.g., vivid verbs, strong
adjectives) and figurative language (e.g., metaphors, similes,
personification, alliteration, onomatopoeia) details and add
voice
 Has all no excuse words and conventions correct and has
exemplary presentation (neat writing that is pleasant to read)
~160~
Appendix B: Historical Fiction Student Checklist
DIRECTIONS: Use this checklist to guide you as you write an historical fiction narrative.
□
□
□
Ideas/Content
I write a historical fiction narrative.
I include an original and engaging title.
□ I correctly indent to indicate new paragraphs.
I include historically based and accurate:
□ settings reflective of geography and
natural resources
□ characters
□ plot
□ point of view
Organization
Beginning
□ I engage the reader by writing an exciting and
attention-getting narrative beginning.
□ I describe my main character and setting.
□ I include a central conflict.
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
Middle
I organize paragraphs in a logical sequence and
manipulate pacing.
I create suspense in the rising action.
The climax puts the reader on the edge of his
seat.
I use a variety of transitional words and
phrases to convey sequence and to signal time
and setting shifts to make my writing flow.
End
I include a falling action.
My conclusion resolves the central conflict.
My conclusion answers questions a reader
might have about what happened.
My conclusion reflects on the significance of
the events.
My narrative moves to a powerful conclusion
and is not abrupt.
Voice
I know why I am writing (purpose).
I know for whom I am writing (audience).
My voice is appropriate to my topic and is
expressive and engaging.
I include purposeful dialogue.
~161~
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
□
Sentence Fluency
I write complete sentences so there are
no fragments.
I have no run-on sentences.
My sentences begin in different ways.
I vary my sentence length, structure, and
complexity.
Word Choice
I use figurative language, such as simile,
metaphor, personification, hyperbole,
alliteration, and onomatopoeia to engage
my reader in the details of my narrative.
I use precise nouns, verbs, adjectives,
adverbs and sensory details to describe
my setting, characters, and events.
My dialogue moves the plot forward and
my tags include precise verbs. (He
replied, stated, sighed, exclaimed)
I revise my writing, using resources, to
ensure that I have used precise words.
Conventions
I spell all words correctly. I use the
dictionary for words I don’t know how to
spell.
I keep a consistent 1st or 3rd person
point of view throughout my paper.
I end my sentences with correct
punctuation and use commas and
semicolons where I should.
I punctuate dialogue correctly.
I capitalize appropriate letters.
My sentences make sense and do not
have grammatical errors.
My writing is legible and my paper is
neat. I pay attention to the right and left
margins.
Appendix C: Rubrics
Personal Narrative Teaching Rubric
4
3
2
*Has an introduction
that makes the topic
clear while engaging the
reader with a known
strategy.
Wow! Used the
engaging the reader
strategy in a creative,
masterful way and
made the topic
completely clear,
sticking to the topic
throughout the entire
personal narrative.
Used a strategy well
and made the topic
clear in the introduction
and throughout the
personal narrative.
Tried a strategy, but it
didn’t quite work. I
think I know what this
narrative is about, but
there is some confusion
as to the main topic.
Yikes! No strategy and
no clear topic.
*Has paragraphs
organized by time and
manipulates pacing.
Woo-hoo! Three or
more time organized
paragraphs that sped
through the slow parts
& got to the real story.
At least three time
organized paragraphs
that focused on the best
events of the story.
Two or more
paragraphs have
events mixed up and
include the “boring”
details.
One big blob of writing
that may be out of
order.
*Uses strong descriptive
language and visual
imagery (using vivid
verbs, strong
adjectives, alliteration,
onomatopoeia,
personification, etc. ).
Has eight or more
examples of vivid
language and/or visual
imagery.
Has five or six
examples of vivid
language and/or visual
imagery.
Has three or fewer
examples of vivid
language and/or visual
imagery.
What is visual imagery?
What is vivid language?
*Uses metaphors and
similes to give details.
Uses both masterfully
written metaphors and
masterfully written
similes correctly to give
details. (Uses more
than one of each of
these.)
Uses at least one wellwritten simile and one
well-written metaphor to
give details.
Uses either a metaphor
or a simile to give
details.
*Uses a strong reflective
close.
Terrific ending. Full
paragraph with a
powerful conclusion.
Readers say, “Awwww.”
A full paragraph
conclusion that nicely
wraps up the narrative.
Only a one or two
sentence conclusion.
What’s a conclusion?
The narrative just ends
abruptly.
Has only one or two, if
any, grammar or
spelling errors.
Has two to five spelling
or grammar errors that
do not confuse the
meaning of the writing.
Contains more than five
grammar or spelling
errors and some of the
meaning is confused.
Has so many grammar
or spelling errors that
the writing is difficult to
follow.
Exemplary penmanship
and neatness.
Clear penmanship and
neatness.
Writing is legible.
Writing is difficult to
read.
*Has no excuse words
and conventions
correct.
*Has exemplary
presentation.
~162~
1
Uses neither a
metaphor nor a simile.
Appendix C: Rubrics
~163~
Appendix C: Rubrics
Historical
Fiction
Performance Factors
Points/Description
Ideas/Content and Organization
Title
Include original title.
2—Extremely original; sophisticated
1—Title provided
0—Missing a title
Beginning
Orient the reader by establishing a
situation; create an interesting
and attention-getting beginning;
introduce setting and character;
state central conflict.
3—Exceptionally interesting and engaging beginning; setting and main
character clearly introduced without too much detail; very clear central
conflict orients the reader to the situation; sophisticated
2—Adequately interesting and engaging beginning; setting and main
character adequately introduced; central conflict stated to somewhat
orient the reader
1—Not interesting or missing engaging beginning; setting and main
character not introduced or poorly introduced; no central conflict
Middle/Logical
Sequence/Suspenseful
Organize an event sequence that
unfolds naturally; develop plot;
attempt suspense.
6—Thoroughly developed, organized, and logical sequence of
significant events; clearly identified suspense
4—Adequately developed and organized sequence of events; logically
sequenced; attempts suspense
2—Weak or no development of events; hard-to-follow sequence
Conclusion
Provide a conclusion that follows
from the narrated experiences or
events; answer questions a reader
might have; not abrupt.
3—Narrated events resolved completely; sophisticated
2—Narrated events mostly resolved
1—Weak or abrupt ending
Word Choice
Historical Accuracy
Historical setting, events, and
characters are factually accurate
and sufficient enough to evoke the
chosen time period
6—Historical aspect of story (setting, character, events) is factually
accurate; sufficiently and creatively transports reader into the time
period; sophisticated
4— Historical aspect of story (setting, character, events) is factually
accurate; sufficiently transports reader into the time period
2—Minimal historical references; some factual inaccuracies
Descriptive Details
Use description to develop
experiences and events or show
the responses of characters to
situations; use concrete words and
phrases, figurative language, and
sensory details to convey
experiences and events precisely
and for setting.
8—Consistent, sophisticated use of descriptive words, figurative
language, and sensory details to write about experiences/events,
setting, and character
6—Clear use of descriptive words, figurative language, and sensory
details to write about experiences/events, setting, and character
4—Some use of descriptive words, figurative language, and sensory
details to write about experiences/events, setting, and character
2—Limited or no use of descriptive words, figurative language, and
sensory details to write about experiences/events, setting, and/or
character
Dialogue
Use dialogue to develop
experiences and events or show
the responses of characters to
situations.
3—Entirely meaningful dialogue moves plot forward by helping to
develop events and/or show characters’ responses to situations;
dialogue tags use precise verbs
2—Dialogue somewhat meaningful and adequately moves plot forward
1—Unnecessary dialogue, too much dialogue, or dialogue missing or
not meaningful; hardly or doesn’t moves the plot forward
~164~
Sentence Fluency and
Organization
Transitions between Sentences and
Paragraphs
Use a variety of transitional words
and phrases to manage the sequence
of events.
Run-Ons and Complete Sentences
Produce complete sentences,
recognizing and correcting
inappropriate fragments and run-ons.
Point of View
Use consistent point of view
throughout paper (first or third
person).
Voice
Audience/Purpose
Be aware of task, purpose, and
audience.
Sentence Variety
Include a variety of sentence
structures—simple, compound,
complex.
Presentation
Presentation
If handwritten, use legible
penmanship, proper margins and
heading; if typed, adhere to proper
formatting; all papers neat.
Grammar
Demonstrate command of the
conventions of standard English
grammar and usage.
Conventions
Capitalization
Use correct capitalization.
Spelling/Punctuation
Use commas and quotation marks to
mark direct speech; use comma
before a coordinating conjunction in a
compound sentence; punctuate
sentences correctly; spell correctly,
consulting references.
3—Thoughtful use of transitional words and phrases from
sentence to sentence and from paragraph to paragraph to help
the story sequence; sophisticated
2—Adequate use of transitions to sequence events; story still
flows even if some transitions are missing or somewhat
inadequate
1—Weak use of transitions or many are missing; very choppy
3—Mostly all complete sentences devoid of run-ons
2—A few run-ons or fragments
1—More than two run-ons or fragments
3—Maintains consistent first- or third-person point of view
throughout paper; no second-person point of view
2—Might get off track occasionally but seems to mostly
understand point of view
1—Inconsistent point of view
3—Clearly aware of task, purpose, and audience
2—Generally aware
1—Little or no awareness
3—Thoughtful use of sentence variety; includes compoundcomplex sentences
2—Sometimes uses sentence variety
1—Most sentences similar in structure
5—Very neat paper; complete adherence to proper formatting
and even uses sophisticated formatting
4—Neat paper and adherence to proper formatting
3—Somewhat neat and adherence to proper formatting
2—Messy; haphazard formatting
1—Unacceptably messy; proper formatting ignored
3—Few or no errors
2—Many errors
1—Serious errors; hinders understanding
3—Few or no errors
2—Many errors
1—Serious errors; hinders understanding
3—Few or no errors
2—Many errors
1—Serious errors; hinders understanding
Student: ________________________________________
Highest Possible Points: 61
Total Points Attained: _________ Letter Grade: _________
Comments:
~165~
Appendix D: Historical Fiction Mentor Texts
Possible Mentor Texts for Historical Fiction
The following texts are some possible references as learning tools in the study of the historical
fiction genre. These are illustrated short stories, and do not reflect the specific historic settings
included in the historical fiction writing assessment. Nevertheless, these may provide strong
examples of the genre.

The Scarlet Stockings Spy by Trinka Hakes Noble

The Last Brother by Trinka Hakes Noble

The Listeners by Gloria Whelan

The Yankee at the Seder by Elka Weber

Rebekkah’s Journey by Ann E. Burg

Fishing Day by Shane W. Evans

A Sweet Smell of Roses by Angela Johnson

Squirrel and John Muir by Emily Arnold McCully

Kisses on the Wind by Lisa Moser

Sisters of the Scituate Light by Stephen Krensky

Boxes for Katje by Candace Flemin

The Carpenter’s Gift by David Rubel

The Royal Bee by Frances Park and Ginger Park

The Firekeeper’s Son by Linda Sue Park

Terrible Storm by Carol Otis Hurst

Ruby’s Wish by Shirin Yim Bridges

Heroes of the Surf by Elisa Carbone

Cheyenne Again by Eve Bunting

The Wall by Eve Bunting

These Hands by Margaret H. Mason
~166~
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues
~167~
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues
~168~
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues
~169~
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues
~170~
Appendix E: Lessons from Colleagues
~171~
Resources
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Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1998.
---. Lessons That Change Writers. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2002.
---. Systems to Transform Your Classroom and School. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2013.
Calkins, Lucy. Units of Study in Opinion, Information, and Narrative Writing, Grade 5: A Common
Core Workshop Curriculum. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2013.
---. Units of Study in Argument, Information, and Narrative Writing, Grade 6: A Common
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---. Units of Study in Argument, Information, and Narrative Writing, Grade 7: A Common
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Calkins, Lucy; Ehrenworth, Mary; and Lehman, Christopher. Pathways to the Common Core:
Accelerating Achievement. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2012.
Cappelli, Rose and Dorfman, Lynne R. Mentor Texts: Teaching Writing Through Children’s
Literature, K-6. Portland, ME: Stenhouse Publishers, 2007.
Common Core State Standards Initiative team. English Language Arts Standards.
commoncore.org: July, 2014.
Fletcher, Ralph. A Writer’s Notebook: Unlocking the Writer Within You. New York, NY:
HarperCollins, 2003.
---. How Writers Work: Finding a Process That Works for You. New York, NY: HarperCollins,
2000.
---. Live Writing: Breathing Life into Your Words. New York, NY: HarperCollins, 1999.
Fletcher, Ralph and Portalupi, JoAnn. Craft Lessons: Teaching Writing K-8, Second Edition.
Portland, ME: Stenhouse Publishers, 2007.
---. Writing Workshop: The Essential Guide. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2001.
Glass, Kathy Tuchman. Mapping Comprehensive Units to the ELA Common Core Standards, K–5.
Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press, 2012.
---. Mapping Comprehensive Units to the ELA Common Core Standards, 6–12. Thousand Oaks, CA:
Corwin Press, 2013.
Graves, Donald. Build a Literate Classroom. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1991.
~172~
Heard, Georgia. Awakening the Heart: Exploring Poetry in Elementary and Middle School.
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