Descriptive

1) A Friendly Clown
On one corner of my dresser sits a smiling toy clown on a tiny unicycle--a gift I
received last Christmas from a close friend. The clown's short yellow hair, made
of yarn, covers its ears but is parted above the eyes. The blue eyes are outlined
in black with thin, dark lashes flowing from the brows. It has cherry-red cheeks,
nose, and lips, and its broad grin disappears into the wide, white ruffle around
its neck. The clown wears a fluffy, two-tone nylon costume. The left side of the
outfit is light blue, and the right side is red. The two colors merge in a dark line
that runs down the center of the small outfit. Surrounding its ankles and
disguising its long black shoes are big pink bows. The white spokes on the
wheels of the unicycle gather in the center and expand to the black tire so that
the wheel somewhat resembles the inner half of a grapefruit. The clown and
unicycle together stand about a foot high. As a cherished gift from my good
friend Tran, this colorful figure greets me with a smile every time I enter my
room.

Here's the final version of the descriptive paragraph that appears in the
exercise Practice in Supporting a Topic Sentence with Specific Details.
Compare this version with the earlier one to see which descriptions have been
retained, what information has been omitted, and how sentences have been
reworded and rearranged.

2) The Blond Guitar

by Jeremy Burden
My most valuable possession is an old, slightly warped blond guitar--the first
instrument I taught myself how to play. It's nothing fancy, just a Madeira folk
guitar, all scuffed and scratched and finger-printed. At the top is a bramble of
copper-wound strings, each one hooked through the eye of a silver tuning key.
The strings are stretched down a long, slim neck, its frets tarnished, the wood
worn by years of fingers pressing chords and picking notes. The body of the
Madeira is shaped like an enormous yellow pear, one that was slightly damaged
in shipping. The blond wood has been chipped and gouged to gray, particularly
where the pick guard fell off years ago. No, it's not a beautiful instrument, but it
still lets me make music, and for that I will always treasure it.

In the next descriptive paragraph, the student writer focuses less on the physical
appearance of her pet than on the cat's habits and actions.

3) Gregory
by Barbara Carter
Gregory is my beautiful gray Persian cat. He walks with pride and grace,
performing a dance of disdain as he slowly lifts and lowers each paw with the
delicacy of a ballet dancer. His pride, however, does not extend to his
appearance, for he spends most of his time indoors watching television and
growing fat. He enjoys TV commercials, especially those for Meow Mix and 9
Lives. His familiarity with cat food commercials has led him to reject generic
brands of cat food in favor of only the most expensive brands. Gregory is as
finicky about visitors as he is about what he eats, befriending some and
repelling others. He may snuggle up against your ankle, begging to be petted, or
he may imitate a skunk and stain your favorite trousers. Gregory does not do
this to establish his territory, as many cat experts think, but to humiliate me
because he is jealous of my friends. After my guests have fled, I look at the old
fleabag snoozing and smiling to himself in front of the television set, and I have
to forgive him for his obnoxious, but endearing, habits.
The following paragraph opens the third chapter of Maxine Hong Kingston's The
Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts (Knopf, 1976), a lyrical
account of a Chinese-American girl growing up in California. Notice how
Kingston integrates informative and descriptive details in this account of "the
metal tube" that holds her mother's diploma from medical school.

4) The Magic Metal Tube

by Maxine Hong Kingston
Once in a long while, four times so far for me, my mother brings out the metal
tube that holds her medical diploma. On the tube are gold circles crossed with
seven red lines each--"joy" ideographs in abstract. There are also little flowers
that look like gears for a gold machine. According to the scraps of labels with
Chinese and American addresses, stamps, and postmarks, the family airmailed
the can from Hong Kong in 1950. It got crushed in the middle, and whoever tried
to peel the labels off stopped because the red and gold paint come off too,
leaving silver scratches that rust. Somebody tried to pry the end off before
discovering that the tube falls apart. When I open it, the smell of China flies out,
a thousand-year-old bat flying heavy-headed out of the Chinese caverns where

bats are as white as dust, a smell that comes from long ago, far back in the
brain.
In this paragraph (originally published in Washington Post Book World and
reprinted in Faith of a Writer: Life, Craft, Art [HarperCollins, 2003]), Joyce Carol
Oates affectionately describes the "single-room schoolhouse" she attended
from first through fifth grades. Notice how she appeals to our sense of smell
before moving on to describe the layout and contents of the room.

5) Inside District School #7, Niagara County, New York

by Joyce Carol Oates
Inside, the school smelled smartly of varnish and wood smoke from the
potbellied stove. On gloomy days, not unknown in upstate New York in this
region south of Lake Ontario and east of Lake Erie, the windows emitted a
vague, gauzy light, not much reinforced by ceiling lights. We squinted at the
blackboard, that seemed far away since it was on a small platform, where Mrs.
Dietz's desk was also positioned, at the front, left of the room. We sat in rows of
seats, smallest at the front, largest at the rear, attached at their bases by metal
runners, like a toboggan; the wood of these desks seemed beautiful to me,
smooth and of the red-burnished hue of horse chestnuts. The floor was bare
wooden planks. An American flag hung limply at the far left of the blackboard
and above the blackboard, running across the front of the room, designed to
draw our eyes to it avidly, worshipfully, were paper squares showing that
beautifully shaped script known as Parker Penmanship.

descriptive paragraphs
Page historylast edited by PBworks 10 years ago

Descriptive- Rich descripitive words that puts a picture of a person, place, or an

object in a readers mind. When a person is writing a descriptive piece, there should
be very detailed observations, write what you see in your mind. All parts should be
equal. The more detail the better the story. You should start at one point and move
in one direction as not to confuse the audience. Such as clock wise, left to right, top
to bottom. The reader should be able to envision the picture that you had in your
mind as the writer.

Transitional Expressions-

Next to, near, close, far, up, down, between, above, below, left, right, center,
toward, away.
- All of these are used when writing a descriptive paragraph.

An example: I think the way a person dresses can really explain who they are and
what they are about.

Here are some examples of a descriptive paragraph:

Standing on his hind legs, this rare andalucian stallion is fearless. His ears are
turned back while his noble looking head is held high. His all black coat glistens in
the late afternoon sun. His face displays a strong confidence with his nostrils flared,
his veins bulging from his cheek bones, and his fiery black eyes burning holes into
the souls of those who stare into them. His neck muscles are tensed and thickened
with adrenalin. His black main is thrown into the wind like a flag rippling in the
winds of a tornado. His muscular front legs are brought up to his chest displaying his
flashing gray hooves that could crush a man's scull with one blow. His backbone and
underbelly are held almost straight up and his hind quarters are tensed. His back
legs are spread apart for balance. His back hooves are pressed into the earth;
therefore, his hooves cause deep gouges from the weight of his body on the soil. His
black tail is held straight down and every once in a while a burst of wind catches it
and then it floats down back into place like an elegant piece of silk falling from the
sky. His bravery and strength are what made his breed prized as a warhorse.
~ Jamell Wilson, 2005~

This is a really good desciptive paragraph. It is very well developed, stays on the
topic, and has some very descriptive words that happen throughout the paragraph.
This is something that keeps the reader wanting to read more and more.

Snap Shot

Back in 1999 this fearless athlete posed in this football picture. In the far distance
below the cloudless sky stands an off-white stadium. Embedded in the center is
large, cracked, blue, painted, letters that spell out BISON. Beneath the old stadium
are rows of worn-out bleachers which are completely empty. Up in front stands the
competitor down on one knee. As you observe more, the sport player is wearing a
blue Bison jersey sporting the number 60. To the left above the freshly trimmed
green grass that engulfs this players figure lays a football. In the center of the
picture, you see her pale white face and dark brown eyes. Around these features
you can not help but notice the bronzed hair; which appears to be pulled back
around this slender face. Her stern look shows how proud she is; nonetheless, all
the confidence she carries on her padded up shoulders. This unique woman is not
only elegant and brave; she is my sister, Margaret Eva Hoyt.
~ Kayla Marie Anfinson, 2005~

The Longest Race

As Chad Reed pulled into the pits, you could tell just by looking at him that this had
been a grueling race. His dirt bike was plastered with so much brown, wet, sticky
mud that you couldnt even read the number plates. His boots, resting comfortably
on the foot pegs, were a mess of muddy brown dirt, bright white plastic and black
buckles. His riding pants were soaked and covered with mud on the front, while the
back remained a brilliant white and blue. His chest protector seemed to have kept
most of the mud off of his blue and white jersey, although his sleeves had turned
the same swampy brown color as his bike. His goggles hung looped over the
handlebars of his bike, dripping the ooze it had saved from Chads eyes. His helmet,
still on his head, was a greasy smeary brown, save for the thin line of white and
blue where his goggle strap had been. Although his body looked beaten, his eyes,
peering through the helmet, seemed relaxed and happy. He had just won a very
long and very tiring race.
~ 2005 Kristian Anderson~

The Meteor Show

The much advertised meteor show this summer was a memory ot behold. The air
was crisp and cool. I did not even feel a hint of a breeze on my skin as I lie on my
back in the darkness. The warm temperature of the water against the cooler air
created a drifting airy fog that whispered over the lake. Darkness enveloped the sky
as only a slight curve of the moon shone in the night; consequently, this made the
perfect stage for the breathtaking view of twinkling stars. In the still of the night
many galaxies glittered from the depths of the sky as I felt hypnotically drawn into
the mesmorizing show above me. Broad irregular bands of light from the Milky Way
stretched across the sky while the big and little dipper shined brightly. As predicted,
the meteor show began with various sized meteors cascading to the earth's
atmosphere about every fifteen to thirty seconds. Shots of light, followed by orange
and white mist, describes the presence of the meteors. The panoramic view made it
possible to witness several meteors at a time while marveling at each one. An event
like this may only happen once in a lifetime, so I will cherish this moment and it will
remain as one of my fondest memories.
~ 2005 Leslie Malsam~

The Hot Fudge Sundae

In front of me on the table sat a beautiful pure white bowl, simplistic in design,
hiding a decadent surprise inside. In the bowl was hidden something that was not so
pure, however, the irresistible indulgence was worth every calorie that I knew it
contained. As I looked inside I saw on the bottom of the bowl a hot, tender brownie
loaded with macadamia nuts. I knew from past experience that the nuts had a
creamy and smooth texture, almost like white chocolate. On top of the brownie were
two firmly packed scoops of ice cream, laying side by side, each one a different
flavor. The scoop on the right was a rich vanilla, flecked with dark specks of vanilla
bean. The scoop on the left was a dark, smooth, bittersweet chocolate. The scoops
were just starting to melt tiny rivers of melted cream down the sides of the hot
brownie, pooling on the bottom of the pure white bowl. These scoops of ice cream
were draped with a sumptuous, rich, hot fudge sauce. Topping the luscious sauce
was an ample dollop of whipped cream that was in perfect contrast to the dense,
almost too rich dessert below. The whipped cream was topped with a shower of
chocolate sprinkles and finely chopped walnuts. What finally completed this
wonderful creation was a perfect maraschino cherry, its red juice sending tiny
streams down the whole mountain of dessert delight. The contrast of colors,

textures and flavors in this dessert appealed to every part of my senses. I could not
wait to eat it.
~ 2005 Kelly Cofske~

This is a great descriptive paragraph becuase of the not so ordinary words used to
describe each and every little thing that is in this hot fudg sundae. The way that
it's all put together and compared to a mountain really helps put the image into
your own mind. this paragraph is also focused on just one topic. After reading this I
was craving a hot fudge sunday. So good job Kelly! ~ 2005 Ashleigh Tranmer~

Here is my Descriptive paragraph: I started My description with the most obvious,

while at the same time working my way down from head to toe. His least obvious
traits (personality)are at the end.

My Son Joshua
My eight year old son, Joshua, stands out in a crowd of children because of his
distinctive appearance and gentle manner. The first thing I notice when I look at him
is his size. He stands at shoulder height next to me; indeed, he is a head taller than
other children his age, and is definitely stronger. His weight is a hefty 113 pounds;
without a doubt, he weighs forty pounds more than other children in his grade level.
Recently, my husband signed him up for flag football, where he was told: It is a
good thing the children arent playing tackle football, because he might
inadvertently hurt the other kids. Also remarkable is his red hair; it is thick, coarse
to touch, and styled in an old-fashioned boy cut. Hardly a person can pass Joshua
without rubbing his head for good luck, and saying Whered ya get that hair?
Joshuas chubby face is fair, with freckles lightly dotting his exceptionally boyish
features. His eyes are pale blue, and his eyebrows blond; in fact, white, in contrast
with his red hair. His lips are full and somewhat feminine, and his newly-grown
permanent teeth, which appear large alongside his remaining baby teeth, have a
wide gap. His shoulders are broad, his chest juts out, and his belly is plump. His
forearms are bulky, and will someday be powerful, yet his wrists retain the same
creases he has had since he was a ten pound newborn. When we hold hands, his

hands feel nearly as large as mine, and are unexpectedly soft. His legs are sturdy
and strong, and his knees are covered with fresh scrapes and purple bruises,
received while skateboarding and biking. His ankles are also solid; consequently, he
cant wear boots. His feet are size 6 and wide; therefore, too wide for slip-on tennis
shoes. Despite his appearance, Joshua is unexpectedly sensitive and caring; in fact,
he still likes to sit on my lap, an awkward feat for me. He likes to open doors for me,
tend his little brother, and help me grocery shop. From head to toe he is a
contradiction; although he is only eight years old, he is big and strong, while loving
and gentle, and that makes him stand out from other children, at least in my eyes.
~ 2005 Kelly Byron~

Honeymoon
My wife and I honeymooned in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico; while there, we visited
the ruins of Tulum. At the entrance of the ruins, large palm frond trees stand lush
and tall with wild life resting on its branches. In the middle of this miniature rain
forest is a dirt path leading towards a hand built stone wall ten feet tall. While
walking through the passage built in the wall, on the right, at the top of the wall sat
a large, brown and green hued iguana. Just past this great wall of protection is a
field of green grass overlooking the ruin's. To the left is a small court yard bordered
by a stone wall leading to the agua blue, warm ocean a few hundred yards away. In
a corner section of this cramped courtyard, is a fresh water hole in a cave like
crevice. As you walk the acres upon acres of grass, the sounds of chirping and
squawking birds permeate the air. Vibrant colored plants and iguanas of all sizes
give you an idea of life as it was two thousand years ago. Enormous square and
rectangular stones capture the eye for the beauty they hold both outside and the
history made inside. Steep staircases rise from the ground to ascend to the top of
these world treasures; in fact, a few of these temples were built atop the cliffs of the
Yucatan Peninsula. The beach below is blinding white, soft coral sand, crushed to a
fine powder by swift ocean currents.
~ 2005 Chad Lewis~

December Beach Days in Hawaii

A beach in Hawaii on a December day is like a day at a lake in mid August. The
beach smells fresh, almost like a new ocean breeze air freshener. The sand is hot
and looks like gold blended in with little white specks; it sparkles like the water
running off the swimmers back and feels like walking on coals from a burning grill.
Not far from the shore, you can see the coral sitting still in the wild and shallow
water. Trutles drift in to see all the people. The plam trees sway in the air from the
forceful wind. In a distance, a house is beutifully placed right by the water, so it can
look across the ocean each and every day. People are laughing and playing in the
burning sand, and others are relaxing on the beach bronzing their skin while
enjoying the bright rays of light coming from the sun. From a far distance the ocean
is a deep navy blue; waves come in like a bulldozer from all the wind. At night
everything is still. Waves are still coming in but not as hard, while the beach is
cleared from all the people. All you can hear is the waves of the ocean and the light
breeze coming from the giant palm trees. The beach is a spectacular place. Leaving
it is excruciating and difficult to do.
~ 2005 Ashleigh Tranmer~

The Old Car

The old car slowly chugged down the street like the caboose of a steam engine
train. The car goes up the hill it goes Ka boom , kachunk. The car is old and
weathered with rust covering the entire body like cancer consuming its victim.
Wheels and tires wobble like a drunk bum on his way home from the bar. Hub caps
are gone along with all the mirrors and extras on the car. Black smoke flows out the
rotten tail pips like the smoke out of and old cobb pipe. The local junk yard had seen
better cars then this. The interior was a dusty brown with holes covering almost
every square inch of the seat covers. The ceiling was hanging down and the rust
had eaten through the roof like a Billy goat through a tin can. This old car is my old
car and it is as faithful as a good old dog by always starting and getting me from
were I need to go.
~ Jace Oeleis 2005~

Narrative parr

A Narrative Paragraph must:

Have a topic sentence that grabs the readers attention

Be built around one main event, adventure, scene or happening

Be written in time order. This means you must write about the
event in the order the events occurred.

Contain plenty of interesting details. (Remember your

hamburger?)

Here is an example of a narrative paragraph:

This past weekend I had the time of my life. First, Friday night, I had
my best friend over and we made a delicious, mouth-watering pizza.
After we ate, we had a friendly video game competition. On Saturday,
my dad took us out on the boat. The weather was perfect and the water
was warm. It was a great day to go for a swim. Later that night, we
went to the movies. We saw an action packed thriller and ate a lot of
popcorn. Finally, on Sunday, we rode our bikes all over town. By the
end of the day, my legs were very tired. I only hope that next weekend
can be as fun as this one.
Notice the transition words that were used to move the paragraph
along. Everything is in the correct order.
The paragraph provides details and stays on topic.

Time4Writing provides practice in this area. Sign up for our Middle

School Paragraph Writing course or browse other related courses
below to find a course thats right for you.

narrative paragraphs
Page historylast edited by PBworks 10 years ago

Narration: A story that is written to explain what, when, and who. It reveals
what a reader should learn. Narration paragraphs are usually written in
chronological order.

It should make a clear point: it should bring to life a moral, lesson, or idea.

While it is true a narrative is a story, there is more in the telling of the story. The
narrative, or story, needs to make the reader feel involved, teach a lesson, help get
an idea across, or feel emotionally about it. The narrative needs to explain who is in
the story, tell what is happening, and when it happened. The topic sentence needs
to be clear so the reader knows they are going to learn something from the story.
The story itself is written in time, or chronological order, as the events occured.~
Mary M.
Common Transitional expressions used in a narrative paragraph are after,
finally, soon, as (soon as), later, then, before, meanwhile, upon, during, next, when,
first, now, and while.

A good way to plan for a well developed paragraph is to write out a topic sentence,
then write events in chronological order and then write a conclusion. This is a good
way to make sure you stay on topic and that all the events are in the correct order.

Here are some examples of a Narrative Paragraph:

Peddling On My Own
Learning how to ride a bike for the first time was a nerve racking independent
moment. I was about five years old when my sister informed me that I was too old
to still be riding a bike with training wheels. That was the time I decided not to
depend on them anymore. Even though I had some doubt, my sister and I went
outside and started to take the little wheels off my bike. After my bike went through
the transformation, I was now ready for the big moment. With butterflies in my
stomach, I slowly got on the bike, and with my shaky hands, I gripped the handles
tightly. Meanwhile my sister was holding on to me to help keep my balance. I was so
afraid the she would let go, yet I was determined to ride this bike on my own. Next

with a little push from her, I started to peddle. The faster my bike went the faster
my heart raced. Finally I looked back nervously and noticed that my sister let go of
my bike a long time ago. I was so excited that I accomplished freedom on my bike
that I forgot to peddle. The next step I remember, I was lying on the ground, yet I
did not care because of the adrenaline rush. I will never forget the exhilarating
moment and growing up stage of riding a bike without training wheels.
~ Fallon Fauque 2005~

My Most Embarrassing Moment

The most embarrassing moment of my sophomore year was how I earned my nick
name, Crash. It all started right after school when I turned on to the busiest street
by the school. First I pulled up right behind this truck at a stop sign. After a second,
a fellow older student told me that I was really close and that I was going to hit the
truck in front of me. At the moment I was trying to tell the kid that I was giving a
ride to to get back in the car because he was hanging out the window. Since I was
distracted, I thought the long line of traffic had started to move, but it hadnt. In the
blink of an eye I hit the back of the truck in front of me. The devastation sunk in. I
was so worried that I damaged the truck, but all that I did was scratch his bumper.
Lucky for him! Then it came time to look at my car. My car was ruined. The hood
was buckled, the front end was pushed back, and my headlights were broken.
Humiliated and scared, I still had to drive my totaled care home. During School that
year, I never did hear the end of what had happened that day.
~ Tiffany Haggerty~

My Favorite Family Experience

One of my favorite family experiences was when I went to see Anne Franks (a
Jewish victim of the Nazi persecution during World War II) hideout in Amsterdam,
Holland. I had read Annes published diary when I was younger, so I was extremely
thrilled to actually have the chance to see where she and her family hid from the
Germans for so many months. I walked up the stairs of an apartment building and
into a room with only a bookshelf in it. From what I remembered from reading the
diary, there was a doorknob behind the books. I found the doorknob and turned it

and there was the secret annex. When I stepped into the room behind the
bookshelf, I felt as if I had stepped back into history. I found Annes room still with
pictures of her favorite celebrities on her walls. The Frank familys furniture was still
placed where they had left them in the rooms, everything just as described in the
diary. I toured each room in awe of actually seeing how they had lived, yet with
sadness to know how it all ended. Annes diary was no longer just a book to me, but
true heart-felt, emotional life story written by a girl I felt I almost knew.
~ Denise Rafferty~

Here is my narrative paragraph, "Kaleb Likes To Mop" My transitional phrases

are then, immediately, meanwhile, later, and last summer. This paragraph was
based on a true story about my 5 yr old. I wrote this so I could always remember
the funny and sweet things kids do. I revised this slightly according to Ms. Carters
comments when the paper was returned. The sentence towards the end, "My heart
warmed, and I wished that moments like those could remain in my heart forever;
but sadly, memories fade and little boys grow up.", expresses my emotional
response to the interaction, but I think it could be worded better. If you would like
to give me any suggestions or comments, please do.

Kaleb likes to Mop

Recently, I held an amusing and memorable conversation with my son, who began
kindergarten this year, on the subject of mopping. My 5 year old son, Kaleb, claimed
my Swiffer mop as his own, and he enjoys mopping my kitchen and hardwood
floors. Last summer, while I was watching him eagerly mop my floors, he suddenly
exclaimed, Im just like a janitor! Amused, and somewhat surprised at his
thoughtful comparison, I smiled and answered, Yes, you are like the school janitor
Mr. Bruce. Immediately, a bright smile came to his face, and he agreed with
obvious pride and delight, Yes, I am like Mr. Bruce. Then I told him that maybe
someday, when he was a bigger boy like his brother, he could help Mr. Bruce mop
the floors at school. Upon hearing that, he told me excitedly, Im going to help Mr.
Bruce at school; I could be the one to mop the hallways. Meanwhile, Kaleb put his
mop away and moved on to his next activity. I assumed he would forget about our
conversation. Later, on the first day of kindergarten, I was listening to Kalebs
brother help him prepare his backpack, making sure he had the pencils, erasers,
and supplies he needed on his first day of school, when I overheard Kaleb say
earnestly, Should I take my mop? My older son and I refrained from laughing so
we wouldnt embarrass him, and told him gently that no; he wouldnt be needing his

mop today. My heart warmed, and I wished that moments like those could remain in
my heart forever; but sadly, memories fade and little boys grow up. Maybe someday
when he is a bigger boy, Kaleb will help Mr. Bruce mop the school hallways, but in
the meanwhile he'll have to be satisfied with helping his Mom mop floors at home.
~ 2005 Kelly Byron~

A Once In a Life Time Experience

The one day I spent in Morocco, Africa was an experience of a lifetime. When I
finally reached Morocco and got off the bus, there were four little girls standing
shoeless in the hot sun. After I swallowed my tears, I could not even try to picture
this in America as it is not something you often see in the U.S. Meanwhile my tourist
guide instructed me not to give them money as it encouraged the children to beg;
however, I was wearing four silver bracelets. As I walked over to the girls, their eyes
watched my every move. Then I kneeled down to their level while I gave each girl a
bracelet. They stood there gleaming at me, for they were pleased. I felt completely
in disbelief that this tiny gesture could mean so much. Though this experience was
upsetting, and a huge culture shock, it will stay with me forever.
~ Kayla Marie Anfinson 2005~

Worst Day
My fathers name is Robert Oeleis, he died on Aug 28th 2003 of a heart attack. It
was about six in the morning I was sleeping restlessly and the phone rang and I
missed it then it rang again. I saw it was my fathers house calling to get me up for
the first day of school. To my surprise it was my stepmother crying on the other line.
This was the start of the worst day of my life in the short seventeen years I had
been alive. She proceeded to tell me that my father has had a heart attack and the
ambulance had came and got him. Then the horror began I asked hes ok right hes
going to be ok . With sorrow in her voice she said Jace hes dead. Know I started
crying and disbelief and ran to my moms room screaming and yelling. Later my
family gathered and remembered the day that I recall as the worst day of my life.
~ Jace Oeleis~

My First Time In The Emergency Room

I went to the Emergency Room for the first time when I was thirteen years old. It all
came about when I was skateboarding in front of my grandma's house and I tried to
do a trick. I almost pulled it of, but I messed it up in the end and headed to the
ground with my hands down. My right wrist was twisted the wrong way in the air
when I landed hard on the ground, it just broke it. At first it did not hurt at all, but
when I looked down at my warped and twisted wrist , all of a sudden excruciating
pain rushed through my wrist and I came unglued. Rolling around on the ground
yelling and cussing in pain, my parents saw what happened and came running to
my aid. My dad started moving it around saying, "it's not broken," as my mom was
saying over and over again we need to go to the emergency room to get the real
diiagnosis. After about fifteen minutes of yelling and screaming, I finally got up and
held my wrist as I walked to the car. The whole way to the ER the pain got worse
and worse. Later I foound out the increase in pain was due to massive swelling
against the broken bone. I had to sit in the waiting room for almost and hour which
seemed loke forever. After waiting impatiently, I finally got into the doctor's office
where I got an X-Ray and found out my wrist was truley broken.
~Copyright 2005 Zach Younggren~

Cost of making people proud

Sometimes the cost of making people proud can be nerve racking, but it is usually
worth it. After two and a half months of planning and three days of beautiful
weather, I finished my boy scout Eagle project. It was the biggest project I had ever
taken on; by myself I was in charge of getting a hold of permits, donations of food
and paint, and organizing volunteers so that the underpass on first avenue north
could be repainted. I sat on an old couch in an even older building waiting outside
an office filled with a council of people that had the authority to say this project
wasnt good enough or you didnt show enough leadership. Needless to say, it
was a little intimidating. The environment alone had me stressing. There was a
clock above the doors that separated me from the council, and every time I looked
at it, I could hear it stealing the precious time I needed to do last minute
preparations, click after click after click. My heart was racing as tried to think of
everything they could possibly ask in hopes of anticipating what was going to
happen. Finally when the man opened the doors and told me that they were ready
for me, I thought I was going to faint. I felt like I was a blind man entering a room I

have never been in. I did not know what to think. When I got inside it wasnt what I
thought. I had imagined in all my worrying that I was going to be interrogated. I
would sit at the end of a long generic table with the only light in the room pointed at
me while countless people threw questions at me all at once. I found myself instead
in a formal setting. I was asked to sit down, and the questioning began. They didnt
throw the questions at me, but gave them to me one at a time. During the session I
realize that I had prepared well. To this day the only thing that made all the stressful
anticipation worth it was the day of my award ceremony. All the people that helped
me along the way were there to congratulate me. As I stood in front of them I could
tell what they were thinking they were proud of me. No matter how old a person is,
there is always someone that they want to make proud, and the sacrifices that are
necessary are almost always worth the reward.
by Andrew White

WRITE IN ENGLISH
Lesson Twelve:
narrative paragraphs
A narrative paragraph tells a story. Something happens first, second,
third, etc. Of course, narrative paragraphs are used in fiction as a
writer describes the unfolding of events, but they are also found
when describing any actual sequence of activity.
Because narrative paragraphs resemble fiction (an untrue story),
you have a little more freedom to write the story in the style you
prefer. This is known as artistic freedom or artistic license. You can
use the first person narrative style and include words that clearly
refer to you (I, me, my, mine, etc.), or you can try to tell the story
from a purely objective point of view that is not personal, but gives a
straight-forward, factual account of what happened.
If your teacher asks you to write about a personal experience, try to
tell it by using the first person. This is the easiest style in which to
write something. You might choose something that you remember
well, or something that changed you life. Teachers who work with a

large number of foreign-born students often ask them to write about

the time they first arrived in the United States. That's a good
assignment because it allows you to write in the first person and the
details in this kind of paragraph are likely to be very vivid. Here's an
example:
I remember when I first arrived in the United States. Even
before the plane landed, the little windows in the airplane
revealed snow and ice-covered houses and buildings. As I
walked off the plane, cold air crept though the corrugated ramp
that led to the airport terminal. Some people inside the airport
were wearing big coats and hats, which I had seen on
television, but never up close. I felt a little dizzy and needed to
sit down, and then my cell phone rang. It was my Aunt Sophia.
She was waiting for me outside in the passenger pick-up area,
so I walked quickly to the exit, forgetting all about my luggage.
When the sliding glass door opened to the outside, there was
my aunt--a woman I hadn't seen in over ten years--wearing a
parka and waving her arms frantically in my direction.
The topic sentence in this paragraph is the first sentence, I
remember when I first arrived in the United States. The
supporting sentences that follow should be about this experience
and how it is still remembered. The concluding sentence in this kind
of a paragraph would lead to the action in the next paragraph--if
there is one.
The sequence of activity can be implied or reassembled by the
reader as demonstrated in this paragraph:
Those of us who found out early that our teacher would be
Mr. Fine shuddered to think of having to spend an entire year in
his classroom, trapped and subjected to months of unending
terror. We'd heard stories. We knew. Then a month before
school was to begin, a list mysteriously surfaced showing the
names of all the sixth grade students at Fairmont Elementary,
their teachers, and their classrooms. Normally such information
wasn't known until the first week of classes, but John Patrick's
mother was a secretary at the school, and somehow this list

appeared. It didn't matter how it was found, or who exactly

leaked the information. It was that cold list of names that would
cause a couple dozen eleven-year olds to panic. But as it turns
out, we were all wrong about Mr. Fine.
Or the activity can be clearly sequenced so that there's no mistake
about what happens first, second, third, and so on:
Theo's day began with a shock. As soon as he arrived at the
office that morning, he learned that his best friend was dead.
Wasn't it just twelve hours ago that they were eating chicken
wings and tipping back beer in front of a baseball game at the
Cooper's Bar and Grill? After a long day of crunching numbers
at the office, they stopped at a bar for a Thursday afternoon
happy hour. They saw a few coworkers there, and before they
knew it, it was closing time. Bill got in a car with someone he
met just that evening and that was the last time Theo saw him.
When you do the prewriting for a narrative paragraph, list the
sequence of activity. When you are ready to write, you can use this
information in plotting out the events. It is not necessary to always
go directly in order. An event that happens last can appear first in the
paragraph. In fact, this is a good way to arouse interest in the
reader. As long as the paragraph seems fairly logical, you have a lot
of creative freedom in writing this kind of a paragraph.
You could also just start writing the paragraph in a stream-ofconsciousness sort of way and let the ideas and action flow freely
from your mind as you remember them.
If you want to send me an example of a narrative paragraph that you
have written, I'd like to post some student work here on this page so
that students can learn from each other. Email your paragraph to
your teacher: