Mr. Steinbeck...

Dear Mr. Steinbeck,

I just finished reading your book the Red Pony. I love how you explain everything, I have never read a book who's author explained his characters by their eyes. "It's tense ears were forward and a light of disobedience was in its eyes." In the first five words of that sentence I knew exactly how that horse felt, he was scared and almost wild he was... Uncomfortable and unfamiliar with everybody but when he saw Jody's soft eyes he knew he was different.

"It's coat was rough and thick as an Airedale's fur and it's mane was long and tangled. Jody's throat collapsed on its self and it his breath short." I love that sentence so much!

It is kind of funny I saw a pattern in the book at the beginning Jody was like any other kid he was skipping school, pretending to shoot things with his 22., then he got his first pony and he was actually responsible. He did his chores and took care of his horse, and of course his pony had to die and he was back to decapitating birds and not coming home until after dark. Then Jody figured out that Nellie was pregnant with a colt and he worked his butt of for nothing. But this time I think the pony left and he still had a little adult in him.

Sincerely, Logan

My Best To Steinbeck

Dear Mr. Steinbeck,

My writing teacher, Carolyn, helped me notice some amazing characteristics that make great writers. You are one of these great writers that our writers group got to know through your book The Red Pony.

You write in a way that makes little things impactful on me. For instance, "His mouth worked strenuously," and "Doubletree Mutt watched them [Jody and Billy Buck] over his shoulder; then he dug furiously, growled, sounded little sharp yelps to indicate that the gopher was practically caught."

At times, you take Jody off on a little adventure of his own. It could be three pages, or it could be a paragraph. And it always gives me inspiration on ideas for my own writing. When Jody went hunting with his lunch pail after school made me want to write about small adventures of animals.

The characters that you develop within your book are easy to get to know since you describe their actions and feelings so well. Carl Tiflin was the easiest for me to understand quickly because of his stern, unsympathetic comments: "You come with us after breakfast!" and "A horse isn't any lap-dog kind of thing," and "I'm having a hard enough time keeping this ranch out of the back of Italy without taking on anybody else to feed."

Thank you, Mr. Steinbeck, for writing The Red Pony.

Jacob

My Letter to Mr. John Steinbeck

Dear Mr. Steinbeck,

In my copy of your book, The Red Pony, there is my scribbling handwriting all through the margins; covering the page numbers; words of mine, falling off the page; gobbling up every ounce of blank paper they could find.

Your words and my words intertwine on the pages of your book.

You led me past the plot of your book to one of life’s greatest themes: the intertwining of life and death. Almost everything in your book reflects that theme and almost everything in life is that theme.

Because of your book, I have become more aware of the life-and-death situations in my life: those that have happened, are happening, and probably will happen in the future.

When I think about life and death, I picture some of the people I know who have died—doing something so lively. I think about Maison, who died snowboarding. And JK who died crossing the street after covering an exciting football game for Channel 2. And Mr. Bell, my friend’s grandfather who died after eating lunch with his wife and his granddaughter. And Rebecca Rose who died during childbirth.

It is ironic, but it is the way the world works. It is the truth.

And you, Mr. Steinbeck, you are not afraid to tell the truth.

From you, I know that life and death are intertwined. They come together in the past, in the present, and I know they will in the future. But for now, those future events are things that I do not like to think about. Instead, I will have fun with life like Jody when he marches along with his imaginary army. 

Thank you, Mr. Steinbeck for writing this book.

Sincerely,

Eleanore   

Howdy Pardners!

Yeah, it's a LOT cheesy, but we spent a chunk of our day flaunting our cowboy/cowgirl accents.

First, of course, we poured ideas into each other's writing. 

You are getting SO good at responding to writing! 

 Jacob and Cody, you were especially good at "line editing." 

Logan and Eleanore, you're good at responding to content.

Ellie, you're good at responding to style.

Together we make a very good writer's group!

Enter the cowboys and cowgirls. In honor of The Red Pony, I printed some popular sayings in the cowhand world...including one from our own Billy Buck. You read yours aloud, UNAWARE that these were from the mouths of rustic men and women with particular ACCENTS. I just said, "know what the saying means and apply an accent." I think it's exciting to read someone's writing and IMAGINE what accent belongs to the words!

"No one ever drowned in his own sweat."

We talked about what makes us sweat...what kind of hard work we do, mentally or physically. We hip-hop, swim, grapple, train for comps, keep our rooms clean, please our parents, and more. Cody said, "I WANT to work hard when I want something. I beat myself up on the tramp until I got it! And hiking the Palisades, too!" Aren't we lucky our sweat comes from such luxurious endeavors?

"Whoever said a horse was dumb...was dumb." Never underestimate the smarts of animals! Sometimes they can be wiser than we humans are!

"Speak your mind but ride a fast horse." Ooooh, we sure value honesty, don't we? But, if you're saying something you KNOW someone isnt' going to like, well, get on that horse and ride! :)

"No matter how good a man is, 

there's always some horse can pitch him."

(you read it right: no "that." Billy Buck)

This one evoked some really good conversation about our vulnerabilities and weaknesses. What "gets" us, pitches us, eats away at us. 

Cody: no snow gets him; and landing a trick wrong!

Eleanore: older girls in her age group who swim FAST!

Ellie: missing Tae Kwon-do; 

it ruffles her thinking about not having it.

Jacob: When something he looks forward to doesn't materialize.

Logan: being called names and not eating enough protein! 

"Never miss a good chance to shut up" Ahhh, yes, the power of silence. The importance of listening. What's wiser, we asked, listening or talking? Unanimous: listening. But we often miss the chance to be quiet, don't we? :)

Then I cleared the table and set a few boots on that table...not just cowgirl/cowboy boots, but all kinds of boots. I told you to pick a boot and write something.

I challenged you to channel Ellie's amazing ability to start in the middle of a tense moment. 

"Oh no. No. Nooooooo! Here comes master. Run for your life! Darn it! I forgot I can't run unless master's foot is in me and she chooses to run. Humpf! Yes! It must be my lucky day! She chose Grifina! Mwaaa ha ha ha!" Jacob

"Hey, Tocoa! Where you goin'? You just stole that pair a boots! We have hats, too! Hey, come back here! You owe me money. You're wanted, you know. One thousand dollars for arrest now." Cody

"Worn down leather, smelly, powerful sweat. Worn down rubber, scraped wood. Ziiiiiiiip! Clop, clop, creeeeak. Crunch, crunch, crunch........vrooooooooom, vroooooooom, screeeeeeech! Crunch, crunch, crunch, clop, clop, clop. Ziiiiiip." Logan

"Her name is Mia. She is short for her kind but has a big soul. Her soul is all stitched up, though. Solid. Closed. Blocked away. She can't let it go. She can't let it free. It is stitched up to her leather body, trapped forever until she is all worn out and starts to fall apart." Eleanore (SAD AGAIN!!!!)

(the actual name of the kind of shoe is Mia)

"'Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr this floorrrr is so so colddddd!,' I said to the Eleanore kinda boot directly to my left. Why does Miriam have to ppputtt me on the stone cold entry way? Why can't she bring us to her bedroom where she keeps all her heels, flats and 'pretty shoes? She setttts us boots and work shoes here on the stone cccold floor!' The Eleanore kinda boot zipper opened chatteringly and said -- "

Ellie

Good job, guys! 

Our last day is next Friday. 

We'll circle back to The Red Pony by discussing what you WILL write this week and by watching "The Red Pony." The movie!

This week:

Please flip through your book, The Red Pony. 

Even re-read some passages. 

Notice and digest what you underlined and let yourself be moved by what you might NOT have written about before. 

Look through the blog and find what we talked about way back then. 

MOST IMPORTANTLY: 

Please write something meaningful and thoughtful about your experience with The Red Pony. One way to do that is to write to John Steinbeck. Tell him what you remember most; what you admire about a character; what you loved about reading the book; what you wish happened; etc. Honor him by being as detailed as you can be. This doesn't have to be long, just sincere and colorful!

Please post this letter (or however you choose to write) on the blog and if you cannot post it, email it to me and I'll send it to everyone!

Reminder: It is FAR more satisfying to watch a movie coming fresh off the book version! You have much more to think about and compare! 

Thanks!

Carolyn

A Day In The Life Of A Dung Beetle

One day a dung beetle named Bob was scrambling up the for his morning breakfast. He was especially hungry this morning because the call had gone out that there was a fresh batch of ox dung that the night watch had harvested.

So Bob skittered up the hill as fast as his little legs could carry him. After stumbling over many rocks, he finally reached the top where all the dung beetles were gathered for the feast. He scuttled up to the line.

Captain Rust called for attention. Then he lifted one of this tiny antennae, starting the feast! Bob and his friends *swarmed the ox dung like the first wave of a wave pool*. It was complete chaos.

I'll continue it, but I just don't want to say, "to be continued..." Well, I just said it, so there.

Jacob

*I need help with this part!

4 more tips

1. Change up the venue. If you've been practicing in the same old dark room ever since you were four, change it up! Pick up your your music stand and move it somewhere else. Anywhere. Practice in the kitchen while your mom is making breakfast; in the office; in the living room; even outside. Once I played in Hawaii on the beach at dusk. Sometimes it can feel embarrassing but just picture yourself being the best violinist in the entire world and be confident with the notes you play.

2. Play while standing on your bed. Now, my bed is the top bunk. It puts me high off the ground, which can be a little creepy. But balancing on your mattress at any height while moving your arms to finger and bow makes you a more athletic violinist. I love to see passion and strength and powerful movement in a lot of things: skiing, swimming, soccer, and a violinist's bowing arm.

3. Play a song backwards. It is kind of an exercise for sight reading only it's a song that you know!  

4. Play in front of a dog or a two-year-old (same thing). For one,  you want to try to keep their attention, which is really hard. You want everyone who watches you play to feel attentive and intrigued. Two, dogs and two-year-olds are naturally loud and rambunctious, so it's a good way to practice concentration and avoid being distracted. The minute I took my violin out of its case for my 2-year-old cousin Eli, he yelled, "AWESOME" my entire practice. I gave him my heavy mute to distract him. The next morning I found it under my pillow.


Those are a few that I thought of this week.
LZ

Gollum (again)

I wonder what Dad is doing. I wonder what time it is in London. He is probably just waking up. I look down at Cody lying in his racecar bed snuggling his favorite Tigger blanket that Grandma . . . Sscccrrraaatttcccchhhh! What was that? A big, black gargoyle is scraping at my window! I hear a slow tap… tap… tap... on the ceiling. Tap, tap, tap. It’s getting faster! I wince every time the rain hits the roof. My jaw clenches, my elbows and knees tighten, and I force my eyes shut to drown out the sirens racing down Mt. Rose Street.

My mouth is thick with saliva and it is hard to swallow. Of all the times to be thirsty! I have to get some water or I will not be able to sleep, but I don’t know if I have the guts. If I jump off my bed Gollum will grab me by the ankles and drag me under. I don’t want to die before my kindergarten Halloween party. Oh, thanks to mom my batman costume is laid out on the couch next to the closet!

Clenching my soft Winnie the Pooh blanket and grabbing a bouncy ball for protection I leap out of bed, soccer slide to my knees and with all my strength I chuck the ball under the bed and sprint for my batman costume, grabbing only my mask and cape. Charging out of the room, I run down the hallway and hop over the creaky spot. I race up the stairs and bust open the door to Mom’s room . . . Finally I’m safe!

I climb under the covers and snuggle next to Mom. Did Gollum get Cody?

Mom? Mom? Cody… he isn’t feeling well and he wants you to bring him up here.

She groans, throws off her covers, and lazily walks downstairs. My throat is still dry. I creep out of bed and slurp some water from the sink then crawl back under the covers with Mom and Cody… I wonder what Dad is doing right now.

PERFECT POWDER (2)

"Dropping!" I call.

I send a small cliff and come to a halt. I traverse over to a more open area of the run. Excitedly, I spot a tree, make some turns, and spray it with a rooster tail, knowing that my mom would not be happy with me if she were here. As I swerve around the tree, a patch of perfect powder awaits my clean arc, churning up the fluff under my skis. I make some luxurious turns, straight line up to a cat track for a 360, and weave through some beginner skiers on my way to the main lodge.

Uchk. I wish I wasn’t in Nicholas' guitar teacher's front yard, shoe-skiing down a 2-foot high dirt mound.

Jacob :)

National Book Awards and You!

First, as usual, we helped each other in true writers' group fashion perfect our blogged stories. Logan, Ellie and Jacob, you need to rewrite yours on the blog. They are SO good, we all want to read the improved versions!!! You have your notes.

Second, I read you an excerpt of the 2011 winner of the National Book Award for YOUNG PEOPLE'S LITERATURE. It is by Thanhha Lai and is called Inside Out & Back Again.

This is the beginning of the excerpt I read to you...

Black and White and Yellow and Red

The bell rings.

Everyone stands. 

I stand.

They line up;

so do I.

Down a hall.

Turn left.

Take a tray.

Receive food.

Sit.

On one side 

of the bright, noisy room

light skin.

Other side, 

dark skin.

Both laughing, chewing,

as if it never occurred 

to them

someone medium 

would show up.

I don't know where to sit 

any more than

I know how to eat

the pink sausage

snuggled inside bread

shaped like a corncob,

smeared with sauces

yellow and red.

I think

they are making fun 

of the Vietnamese flag

until I remember

no one here likely knows

that flag's colors.

I put down the tray 

and wait

in the hallway.

You wrote your own sparse, concrete pieces:

Jacob:

FISHING

blue background

white aerodynamic,

oblong shape.

steering wheel 

and tan seat.

dark green pole

and clear string.

A jerk, a jump,

and a net.

Dinner for everyone. 

Cody:

SKIING

My skis wait.

One pair out-

side, one inside.

I've already 

built a jump.

But it melted.

There's not

much snow

left. I can't 

wait for ski

team to start.
It's so close

now I can

feel it.

December 3rd 

it's on. I'm 

ready.

Logan:

TOAST

I ate

cinnamon toast

and a 

hard boiled

egg.

Cody puts his 

hex bug on the

table. It

makes a high

pitched farting

noise. Otto and 

my mom laugh.

I put my 

finger in some

cinnamon sugar

and suck on 

it. My aunt 

walks down 

stairs with her 

hair sticking 

up like an 

afro. "Otto...

tell Aunt Jess 

thank you for

breakfast."

"Thank you 

Aunt Jess!" 

he says while 

he stuffs 

his toast in his

mouth. 

Ellie:

CHICKEN

My brother eats his chicken

using his fork to spear the meat.

Piling mounds in before chewing.

I watch.

Seeing his teeth open and close.

Stopping to transfer to some potatotes.

String beans.

Wipe his mouth.

And sip his water.

Moving everything to one side of his mouth.

To avoid the fat, swollen lip

He had on his face from days earlier.

He drops his fork on his plate.

Stands.

Grabs his plate.

And leaves. 

Eleanore:

HURRICANE

"Starting tomorrow

everyone needs

to leave the house."

Our small house

I have lived in forever.

The house that is by the river that mixes with the sea.

Why must I go?

Why must WE go?

Why? Because of that hurricane.

The hurricane that killed:

Father

Uncle Joseph

Aunt Layla

Grandpa Richard

Sister Haylee.

There is no TV 

So Mr. Crawford, the weather man, came

to our house.

More storms are coming

He said.

That is why we must leave.

Mine: 

NIKON

(or JK)

My flash is dead

Dead flashes blur human forms.

Sitting, smiling, posing

people

tremble

and leave 

contrails behind them.

Color bleeds too.

What is pale

turns red

or maroon 

or rust.

Dead flashes, 

for a few hundred dollars, 

are replaceable.

Fathers

are 

not.

Great exploring powerful, sparse writing! 

Have a fun Thanksgiving!

Tip #5 of my book

#5

I forget the tune of songs pretty easily if they are new to my ears. So for example, when my violin teacher, Liz Glattly, gives me a new piece to work on, I usually forget the melody once I get home.  That's a problem when you need to learn a song correctly. But, just in the last few months, I have found a solution for this: My mom's iPhone. Yes. You heard me correctly. During the lesson, my mom records Liz playing the song. This is a perfect way to capture the tune of the song and keep it. Sometimes I even play along with the recording.

Any recording device works, for me it just happens to be an iPhone. 

I am still working on it. I am really just writing 1st drafts for all of my tips right now. I will refine them later. And, I drew a picture for this but I just didn't post it.

LZ

Gollum

I lie down in bed thinking about Dad. I wonder what time it is in London. He is probably just waking up. I look down at Cody lying in his racecar bed snuggling his favorite Tigger blanket that Grandma . . . Sscccrrraaatttcccchhhh! What was that? A big, black gargoyle is scraping at my window! I hear a slow tap… tap… tap... on the ceiling. Tap, tap, tap. It’s getting faster! I wince every time the rain hits the roof. My jaw clenches, my elbows and knees tighten, and I force my eyes shut to drown out the sirens racing down Mt. Rose Street.

My mouth is thick with saliva and it is hard to swallow. Of all the times to be thirsty! I have to get some water or I will not be able to sleep, but I don’t know if I have the guts. If I jump off my bed Gollum will grab me by the ankles and drag me under. I don’t want to die before my kindergarten Halloween party. Oh, thanks to mom my batman costume is laid out on the couch next to the closet!

Clenching my soft Winnie the Pooh blanket and grabbing a bouncy ball for protection I take a leap of faith. With all my strength I chuck the ball under the bed and sprint for my batman costume, grabbing only my mask and cape. Charging out of the room, I run down the hallway and hop over the creaky spot. I race up the stairs and bust open the door to Mom’s room . . . Finally I’m safe!

I climb under the covers and snuggle next to Mom. Did Gollum get Cody? Mom, Mom Cody… he isn’t feeling well and he wants you to bring him up here. She groans, throws off her covers, and lazily walks downstairs. My throat is still dry. I creep out of bed and slurp some water from the sink then crawl back under the covers with Mom and Cody… I wonder what Dad is doing right now.

LOGAN

Perfect Powder

"Dropping!" I call.

I send a small cliff and come to a halt. I traverse over to a more open area of the run. Excitedly, I spot a tree, make some turns, and spray it with a rooster tail, knowing that my mom would not be happy with me if she were here. Swerving around it, a patch of perfect powder awaits my clean arc, churning up the now disturbed fluff. I make some luxurious turns, straight line up to a cat track for a 360, and weave through some beginner skiers on my way to the main lodge.

I am in Nicholas' guitar teacher's front yard, shoe-skiing down a 2-foot high dirt mound, wishing that I was in real snow.

Jacob

Continued... Autobiography of a Pine Cone

Hello, my name is Spike. I am a pine cone. What I am going to tell you is my autobiography. When Josephine (my mom, the pine tree), gave birth to our batch of brothers and sisters, we little ones had high hopes of winning our little war against the evil squirrels that were sure to come.

Once I grew up and was a middle-aged pine cone, mom announced that there was an army of three squirrels attacking. Our first battle! One of the squirrels went for my branch! He ran ready to leap over me and attack my riper sister, Point. The squirrel jumped. I stretched my little talons as high as I could, and caught onto the squirrel's foot. He squeaked and ran away. I had saved my sister, Point!

I saw old Grandpa Tip from the tree next door, drop from his tree and land on a squirrel's tail. "Nice one!" I called to Grandpa. He winked at me and I smiled. My mom called up her old ally, Wind, and he came and blew one of Mom's branches into the last squirrel. We had won the battle!

Unfortunately, we had gotten the squirrels mad, so when I was older, they attacked again in greater numbers. Five squirrels attacked that day, marching slowly up to the tree. Right then, I had this prickly feeling that told me to launch myself from the tree.

Continued...

So I did. I landed in the midst of the squirrels, frightening them. I saw my branch of brothers and sisters, hurtling down from the tree to help. They all landed in a pokey heap on the squirrels. Two of the squirrels escaped, but the other three ran away in mild pain and fright. The remaining squirrels posed a half-hearted attack, but with over half of their numbers gone, we defeated them easily. Our war was over. We had conquered the squirrels. Or had we?

Well, our generation of pine cones had won, but the seeds fell out of me and I slowly grew into a tree. I sprouted younglings and my second war started. The squirrels had new feisty youngsters too, so of course, a fight began!

THE END

Jacob

RE:BEGINNING OF COLOR OF THE SKY

"None of them new the color of the sky" "None of them, and you just killed them, all of them!" she screamed at me with crackling baritone. "You monster!" she yelled at me yet again, "You killer!". I know what your thinking I'm a psycho but truth is I'm just misunderstood, by well everyone, "Oh shut up Mary" I said hoping she would shut it, but she didn't so I shut it for her, "You....." she blurted blood in her word, because I shoved it in silencing her rude yammering tongue. "Do you know the color of the sky Mary?" then I yanked out the bloody projectile.

Ellie

Introduction to my violin book

I love the violin. Ever since I was five I have practiced almost every day (but not quite). 

I have some good days, some bad days, some relaxed days, some intense days. I have had all kinds of days, really. 

Yesterday's practice was typical: I did some scales, arpeggios, a few review pieces; I worked through a couple of trouble sections on the 3rd movement of Seitz's Concerto No. 5  and then I pulled out The Nutcracker for our holiday recital. 1 hour of practice. Check. Sounds pretty dull, right?

As I put my music back in my red bag, I thought about all the other kids out there who might be upset or unmotivated with their practicing, too. I decided that there could be a way to inspire all these kids. And then it came to me! A book! It would be perfect! A book of 100 ways to make violin practice more exciting. And look, it is in your hands now. Enjoy!

                                                                             * * *                                                                                                                                                              

So that is just my second draft. I FOR SURE have to work on it more. Can you tell!!?? :) It is getting there. 

LZ

Gargoyle

I lie down in bed thinking about Dad. I wonder what time it is in London. He is probably just waking up. Suddenly, I hear a jaw clenching sscccrrraaatttcccchhhhhh! It sounds like a big black gargoyle scraping at my window as if he wants to come in, uninvited. I hear a slow tapping on the ceiling, it gets faster and faster. Next thing I know I’m wincing every time the rain hits the roof. I clench my jaw, tighten my elbows and knees, and force my eyes shut. I hear sirens racing down Mt. Rose Street.

Suddenly, I realize I am really thirsty. I don’t know if I have the guts to get up to go get some water. I don’t want to die before my kindergarten Halloween party. I finally decide if Gollum is waiting for me under my bed, I will make a run for it. I clench my soft Winnie the Pooh blanket and jump off my bed. Desperately, I grab my batman mask and cape and run down the hallway, hopping over the creaky spot. I race up the stairs and bust open the door to my Mom’s room . . . Finally I’m safe! I slurp some water out of the sink and lie down on Dad’s side of the bed. I wonder what Dad is doing . . . . .

Writing Galore

 SNOW = STUFF!

We spent most of our day today responding to work posted on the blog over the last week. 

You all spoke your minds and really helped your fellow writers! 

Ellie, congratulations on being able to inhabit the body and mind of a character so unlike herself. So unlike herself that it scares her to write. Your job this week is to re-write, for clarity, your first section. 

Logan, we talked about sadness and how some people do not see their lives as happy enough, even though we see them as charmed lives. If you're sad, it doesn't matter that you work in Willy Wonka's factory or one of the better restaurants in Reno. You just don't see it.

Eleanore, we talked about the power of your story's terror. It wasn't fueled by "Red Bull;" more like "a small up of coffee." Sophisticated terror--not as bloody as you can get it; instead, a former friend, encircling a dying man, within the circle of decaying buildings, under a full moon. Chilling!

Jacob, your ability to find a way to write--something to inspire you--inspired us. It's so good and HARD to inspire YOURSELF to write.  Your pine cone autobiography reminds us anything can be a good subject! I told you, "You successfully PLAYED with language." It's so good to play. Like when you practice guitar, you need to spend some time just jamming, fiddling, hanging out with your strings. Same with words.

Cody, you've been loving up your dad! Yay for you! We look forward to reading something this week!

Some of you have ideas to pursue this week. 

Eleanore, your book.

Logan, your scary hour before sleep.

Cody, your 100 ways to do tricks on skis--something like that!

Ellie, your chicken.

 You all picked scenarios out of a bowl. 

A subject, a scene, an object.

None of you knew you all picked the same scenarios! 

Ha! I tricked you:

A 12-year-old boy

A river

A backpack

I told you to write this scenario in 3rd person.

 Most of you would have rather been outside playing, but here you all were, working hard on writing. 

Off you went to private parts of the house to write.

We came back together, read aloud the stories, laughed at how DIFFERENT they were...and then

began again, this time from 1st person point of view.

 Logan, Jacob and Cody re-writing their scenarios. 

How different these stories were from each other AND how different they were as we switched perspectives.

 Ellie and Cody re-writing their scenario from 3rd person to 1st person. We really connected with Ellie's character in the first person. "I" has a certain power, doesn't it!

 Eleanore, writing her scenario in first person. It's sooooo sad, given both perspectives. Wow. How powerful it is for the reader to know what will happen to a character.

Assignment:

Write 10 minutes a day on your new or favorite project

DO NOT POST UNTIL YOU EDIT YOUR PIECE for spelling, clarity. 

This means:

1. Read it aloud to yourself and be your best editor

2. As Eleanore says, have another pair of eyes read it.