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I have decided that my mentor text unit will be for second grade using the author Shirley Hughes. Shirley Hughes has an easy, flowing writing style. She adds descriptions and narrative in a simple manner. Sometimes you don’t even feel the story building up until SURPRISE there’s a problem that must be solved. Her stories usually deal with matters of the heart, especially for children – the lost stone, the misplaced stuffed animal, the child who is mean, being left out of the fun, or being alone. When doing this lesson I would probably do an author study of her, reading to the class all of my favorite Shirley Hughes books such as Dogger, Alfie Gives a Hand, Annie Rose is my Little Sister, Bonting, Here Comes the Bridesmaid, and Abel’s Moon. These are all picture books that exemplify her sweet, touching style. But all of her writing is not that simple. I might even read aloud some of the stories she wrote intended for older audiences, such as Angel Mae, Sea Singing, Enchantment in the Garden, It’s Too Frightening For Me!, The Bird Child or her version of Cinderella. Many of the stories for older students have interesting twists and are mind puzzlers.

 

But the book that I would use for the students to model this writing piece after (the mentor text) is the book entitled, Lucy and Tom at the Seaside. It’s a descriptive story about a day at the seaside.

To model for the students what I expect for them to write, not only will I read Lucy and Tom at the Seaside but I will also share with the students a story of my own writing, based upon my memories of going to the ocean on family vacations when I was a kid. So, in preparation of that, I am going to rework my fore-mentioned memory into a simple story. It will not be an on-going story, year after year, but a snapshot of one year. I cannot tell you exactly what year because the one-year-snapshot will be a compilation of the memories I build over a number of years.

Here goes:

(Note to self: Remember, second grade language!)

Summer had finally arrived. School is out. D and Sandra pack bags of things to do in the car during the long car ride from Texas to South Carolina. They pack books to read, cards to play games, and dolls to dress and comb. Mom is filling up a cooler with snacks while Dad is packing the car top carrier with suitcases.

The car ride seems to take forever. D keeps asking, “How many more hours until we get there?“ Dad gives D a map so that she can follow along – through the states – Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia. They drive all night. The kids lay down in the backseats and fall asleep. Finally, the next morning, they arrive in South Carolina.

Granny is so happy. She rushes out the front door even before they knock.

“Hug my neck,” she tells them, tears streaming down her face. Papa and Uncle Eddie follow behind Granny. For a moment it is just a big mixture of everyone taking turns hugging.

“We’re sure glad you’re here,” Papa tells them.

“Well, come on inside.” Granny says as she takes hold of Dad’s arm and pulls him in the direction of the house.

(some sort of transitional paragraph)

They walk the beach on Harbor Island. It’s more beautiful than D or Sandra had remembered from last year. They find a comfortable spot on the wet sand to build sandcastles. Mom sets up her lawn chair closer to the dunes, where the sand is dry and hot. As the girls build their castle, the warm water rushes up to them in rhythmic splashes, gently covering their toes, then their feet, then their ankles as the tide comes in.

The mother book of memories that I am using to spark my writing ideas asked what my most cherished item was when I was a child. This is an important question because in this writing class I was thinking about using a book called Dogger by Shirley Hughes as my mentor text for a writing unit I am going to do with second graders. The premise of the book is that a boy looses a special toy and his sister is self-sacrificing in a way that gets it back to him. I was thinking that if I used that book I could write about a cherished item of mine and when I lost/misplaced it. But, unfortunately, I cannot think of an item.

I am not too worried because Shirley Hughes writes another awesome book called Lucy and Tom at the Seaside and I can turn my summer vacation at the beach memory into a similar story.

A cherished item?

* Maybe the gold beads that my grandmother gave me – they were hollow and unfortunately I would put them in my mouth and “nibble” on them so now they are very dented gold beads on a chain.

* Maybe my Barbies, which I played with much longer than all of my peers. While I was not great at the imagination part – making up stories, I did use barbies to act out normal life situations. Plus, I thought they were fun to dress up and do their hair.

* Maybe the pillow I had when I was a baby. I was never really attached to it, however. In fact, I so un-attached to it that my mother used it as the stuffing for my sister’s baby pillow. My sister was VERY attached to that pillow. I remember one time when my sister and I were having a fight and to get back at her I said, “Fine, you can have your pillow, but I want my pillow.” And I took my pillow out of her pillowcase and went to my room, leaving her will a flat, limp pillowcase. She was so upset. And when I got to my room I remember asking myself, “why does this pillow mean so much to her and so little to me? Why aren’t I attached to something like this?” Of course, about that time my mom came into my room to make peace between us. I conceded that my sister could have the pillow. I don’t know how the rest of it played out, I only remember the part about the pillow, not because of my attachment, but because of my lack of attachment. (Doe Valley)

Maybe because I am an Army brat, I don’t quite feel an attachment to things (or even places) like a lot of people have. Instead, I am the kind of person with a strong attachment to ideas/ideals like faith in God, patriotism in my country, my family’s southern heritage. Having strong family bonds is very important to me.

I guess that does not lend well to the Dogger story.

Although, Dogger is also a story about a sister who does something very kind for her brother. Have I done anything really kind for my sister? Did I when I was a kid? I guess I would have to ask her. I can’t think of anything.

* When she was in middle school, and I already had my driver’s license in high school I would go to her school during her lunch period and take her out to lunch using the money I earned in my job (at the video shop). (Skipcha)

* When my sister was preschool and Kindergarten aged I would play school in her bedroom. I would get worksheets from the neighbor next door and have a classroom for my sister. I would try to teach her to read. I remember one time when she memorized a book because my parents and I read it to her so many time and I thought she was reading it and so I took her to my mom and said, “Mom, Mom, look, She can read!” But my mom said, “No, she just memorized the book.” Sure enough, my mom closed the book and my sister could still recite it. My poor sister, I don’t know if all those classes were as fun for her as they were for me. I enjoyed them a lot. (Montclair)

Maybe I should send my sister an e-mail and ask her what she remembers. That would be interesting to know! But I am kind of scared to know what she remembers. Maybe she remembers something horrible that I did that I have blocked out of my memory.

* When I was in high school my sister would come into my room at night and talk. It was a fun bonding time. Unfortunately, I am a morning person and she is a night owl, so by evening I was wearing down just trying not to fall asleep and she was just revving up, her body clock ready to get going. I would eventually tell her, “I just have to go to sleep. You have to go to your room.” Of course, now, as we are not close friends I kick myself for ever cutting her off – wishing that I could go back in time and bond some more with her. But at the time I was going to an early morning religious class at 6am ever school day before high school, so I had to wake up at 5a and by 11pm I just couldn’t stay up any longer.

Maybe I won’t use Dogger as my mentor story. I will use a different Shirley Hughes story. And by the way, if you have not read Shirley Hughes – check her out. AWESOME children’s writer. She even has some adolescent stories that are superb, too!

The campout -

Well, we had a campout last night and it went, and it went well, but it didn’t go as planned.  We grilled out – hamburgers and hotdogs then smores over a fire built of kinling we collected ourselves.  We put up the tent and all, but laying in the tent, under the 5000 watt lights of the parking light behind us; listening to the airplanes flying into National Airport as well as the cars, trucks and motorcycles on the nearby highway and the electric buzz of the bright lights overhead, we decide to move out camp-out in. And that’s what we did.  We slept in the tent, in the kitchen. It was a great time.  Little man loved all of the stick collecting, fire, marshmallows and EATING! And the princess loved the new experience!

Also, we hosted a “Princess Teaparty” today.  Four little princesses dressed to the hilt in their sweet frocks.  They ate dainty food on delicate plates and sipped their beverage of choice. As I write they are playing happily and quietly upstairs while Master B is (hopefully) asleep for his midday nap.  It was a grand success!

Friday, April 4, 20089:32-10:02More revision of my Granny B’s straw hat story.My father sent me an e-mail with lots of ideas of minor improvements that I can make in the story.  I am taking those ideas and carefully combing through my story making my initial changes.  Then, if I still have time, I will use ideas from the Revision Toolbox to make more changes.  After having such a hard time getting started with revision with my other story, I am actually now finding that as I get used to the idea of rethinking a story and doing the revision exercises, I am beginning to like it.  I look forward to discovering the story and I am anxious to see the new and improved version as it unfolds.  I wonder if the same thing happens to students.  I wonder if they start to like a task or skill that they once hated after they get used to doing it.  That is a concept that I can use in my future classroom. . ..Anyway, back to my story. My revisions are in blue, but in green I included a sentence or two that came expressly from my father, in his own words.  (I enjoyed consulting my dad on this project because he said that I captured my great grandparent’s as well as he thinks anyone could have – which I owe to my grandmother who related this story to me.) Mama put Molly’s breakfast on the table and sat with Molly as she ate her morning meal, both of them talking gaily, not mentioning another word about the hat. 

Over the next few days Mama worked carefully soaking and pressing and trying to bring the new, crisp life back to the smashed straw hat.  Neither Molly or her mother said a word about the hat, not even to each other.  Late Saturday night, Mama hung the hat back in its original location, then affectionately kissed Molly goodnight. 

Easter Sunday finally arrived.  Brilliant sunlight streamed into Molly’s room through the lace covered window. She could hear her parents moving about in their bedroom next to her own.  Eventually she got up and donned her new beautiful Easter dress.  She combed her bobbed hair and carefully placed a bow on one side.  When she walked into the kitchen both of her parents were smartly dressed in their Sunday best, ready to go to church.  She joined her parents at the table.  Mama served Molly and her daddy first, then made a plate for herself just before she sat down to the table.  Conversation flowed freely at the kitchen table and Molly‘s mama was never at a loss for words. 

Finally as they were all ready to walk out the door, Molly’s dad remembered, “I nearly forgot my hat.  Excuse me while I go get it.”  He walked half-hurriedly to Molly’s door, as not to make the family late.  Without even stepping into her room he reached his hand around her door and carefully grasped the straw hat.  As he brought the hat to his head he paused for a moment and stared at it.  The hat looked almost like new, but not quite.  He couldn’t quite tell what was the matter.  Something about the hat just didn’t seem right.“What’s wrong with my hat?”  he asked.Molly quickly inhaled and silently held her breath. “Howard, what are you talkin about?”  Mama asked in a sweet southern voice.“There’s something wrong with my hat.  It doesn’t look right.” “Howard, we’ll soon be late.  Please put on your hat so that we can go.”  Mother answered.“Pauline, look at this hat.  Something’s different.  I think it looks like it’s been bent and then someone tried to straighten it back out.  See, look at these creases.  They are flat, but they’re still there.”  Daddy was getting angry.  That was easy to see.  Molly felt guilty.  Her eyes were growing as big as half dollars watching her parents talk about the situation she knew she had caused.  However, her mother remained calm and never led on that anything was the matter.“Fires alive, Pauline.  I can’t wear this hat.  I would rather not wear any hat than to wear a hat that looks like it was mangled and then straightened out.”“Suit yourself, Howard, but I do believe it is time for us to leave.”  Mama retorted with finality.Frustrated, Daddy determined he would rather destroy the offending straw hat than leave it at home to mock him upon his return.  He threw the hat on the floor, crushed it with his floor.  He tried to rip it, stomp it, tear it into pieces, but he the hat would not be destroyed.  He then tried to put his foot through the top of the hat, but the strong straw would not give him the satisfaction.  Daddy was a man who could put the fear into most men in Houston Country and yet, here he was stymied by a simple straw hat.  As the minutes passed, Mama remained calm, still standing by the door as if she they would all walk out on their way to church any minute.  Molly on the other hand had to cover her mouth to refrain from laughing.  Her father, in his anger, was actually quite humorous to watch.  Finally, determined that nothing he could do would demolish the hat, yet still sputtering expletives out of his mouth, he opened the wood burning stove’s door and threw the hat inside.  The hat quickly went up in flames and he stood back to watch in utter satisfaction.  Then, he regained his composure, straightened out his suit and calmly walked over to his loving wife and daughter.  With feinted chivalry, he opened the front door for them, waited for them to exit the house, then held out his arms on either side.  Mama romantically slid her slender arm through one of his arms while Molly eagerly grabbed the other and they headed off to church, with Sunday-dinner afterwards.  Even without the hat they still had a fine time.  Granddaddy Glass played the fiddle.  Mae Fannie and Mother played the organ.  Everyone sang songs, danced and had a grand time. 

I smile whenever I read this story.  It makes me laugh. This is my favorite fun story that my Granny B tells me.  I would like to actually write a few stories about this time period in her life and then couple them together with the final story (chapter) as her account of the death of her mother when she was this age.  I would love to one day be able to capture this girl’s intimate closeness with her mother and then sudden loss. I think that if done right it could be quite compelling.  Wish me luck. .  .

Thursday, April 3, 2008
9: 15 – 9:31, 10:56-11:12
I can’t do anymore to the Joyce story. I am out of ideas, for the last 3-4 days of revision. Therefore, I am going to put in the story of my granny B and the straw hat. I am now going to edit/revise that story.
Today I am going to take suggestions that my father gave me a while ago and work them into the story. He is a good writer and I always appreciates what he adds or thinks about my stories. The one suggestion that I don’t think I am going to change is the names used of the mother and father. I am writing my story in third person, but I am going to call them mama and daddy in the story to add intimacy. The only time I will use their real names is when they are talking to each other. I think that in a way by doing this it brings a third person story close to first person while still being written in third person. Tell me if it makes it confusing, but I hope is that it makes it personal and intimate. Changes I make will be made in blue. The original story can be found on my blog somewhere around Feb 17th or 18th.

Revised Story:
The sun rose early over the south Alabama farm early Wednesday morning, spreading its light into Molly‘s window. Molly hopped out of bed and ran excitedly into the kitchen to see what her mama was doing. Mama was always up early getting a head start on the day. There was never a lack of work to do in the house or in the fields. This morning Mama was busy in the kitchen chipping off the scraps of ham left on the hambone from last night‘s meal. For tonight’s supper Mama was making a delicious ham pot pie, one of Molly’s favorites.
Mama turned and greeted her. “Good morning, Molly. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Mama.” Molly responded as she walked happily over to her mother. Mama bent down and Molly gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
“Sweetheart, I’m makin’ you some biscuits and eggs this morn’en for breakfast. Now go back to your room and get dressed for school while I finish fixin‘ your breakfast.”
“Yes, Mama” Molly replied as she joyfully waltzed back to her room. Molly’s mother was a happy-go-lucky woman who was full of fun and her personality rubbed off on Molly. As Molly entered her room she noticed a the morning breeze had closed her bedroom door. In a hurry to get dressed she swung open her door wide open. To her surprise it swung back at her. Something was wedged between her door and the wall that did not allow her door to open fully.
“Wonder what’s back there,” Molly thought to herself. Cocking her head to the side, she gingerly peeked her head around the door to see what was causing the problem. To her horror she found her father’s brand new straw hat.

In preparation for Easter Sunday her father purchased a new, expensive straw hat to wear to the large family gathering. He was one who liked fine things but could not often afford them. He had looked all over the house for a place to put his new hat until Sunday. On the back of Molly’s door was an unused hook, so he hung the hat there for safe keeping. Molly had simply forgotten. Now his new had was ruined. She knew that he would be upset and she was worried what she should do.

Molly knew that her father had already left the house for the day to work on the farm. Spring’s arrival caused a great amount of work to be done to get the land ready for this year’s crops. America had entered the Second World War just four short months earlier and there was already talk in the air about gas and food rationing. Her father knew that he could help the war effort by growing abundant crops of much needed food and ensuring the food arrives to the local farmers markets throughout the season.

Often one to dawdle, Molly quickly put on her flowered school dress and sheepishly walked back into the kitchen. Immediately her mother knew that something was wrong.
“What’s wrong, Baby?” Her mother questioned.
From behind her back the eight year old girl slowly pulled a crushed and rather sorry looking straw hat.
“Mama, It was an accident. I didn’t mean to mash it. I forgot that it was hangin on the back of my door and. . .” Before Molly could even finish the sentence, her mother scooped the hat from her and quietly hushed, “Don’t worry about it.”
“But Mama, it cost so much money and now it’s ruined. I’m so sorry.” Molly protested in a soft voice.
Her mother answered, “I’ll take care of it, but until then we must hide it so your father does not find it.” Then, Mama quickly opened the fitted kitchen cupboards and laid the hat among her pots and pans.
“He’ll never find it here.” They both softly chuckled.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

10:38-10:48, 1:58-2:03, 4:00-4:14

O.K. So everyday I say that I am done revising my story and everyday I revise it some more. Pathetic isn’t it. Just when I think that I can’t do anything different some idea just falls out of the sky and BHAM I change my story.

My dad read my story aloud to me yesterday on Skype. It was weird hearing my story without looking at the words. No one has ever read my story to me before. It sounds different than it is in my head and I can better hear critiques that I feel need to be made.

I am going to take out the children’s names. I think that it hinders the flow of the story.

I also would like to add some details. I will do so in teal color.

Old:

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

New:

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. When Joyce was just a young girl her family made a big to Texas, then a few years later Joyce’s mother abandoned the family. Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There in that white washed farmhouse Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce became very close to her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

O.K. Today is my final day of revision.

I sincerely cannot think of anything else to do. Tell me what you think of this story.

Final Story

On August 20, 1921 a little baby girl entered the world on a small rural farm in Martha, Oklahoma. The first child of Barney and Beaulah Sublett, she was born into a world with no televisions or computers. Her home did not have a bathroom, a telephone or electricity. She was also born into a world where women in Oklahoma had only recently gained the right to vote. But Joyce would one day accomplish much more than what was expected of a women in her day.

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. When Joyce was just a young girl her family made a big to Texas, then a few years later Joyce’s mother abandoned the family. Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There in that white washed farmhouse Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce became very close to her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new challenges.

Over time little Joyce blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. As their family began to grow with the addition of two baby girls, John obtained a crucial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter when John was shipped off to France. Joyce decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

Joyce seemed to have a natural knack for driving. “Your husband must have already showed you how to drive this bus because I am amazed you caught on so fast.” Said the instructor who taught her how to maneuver the vehicle.

Driving a big bus could be challenging, as Joyce discovered one bright Spring morning when she drove the large bus out of the bus barn where the buses were stored overnight. In those days, milk was delivered to a person‘s house in glass jars by a fleet of delivery trucks. As Joyce approached an intersection one of these milk delivery trucks raced to try to make it through the intersection and he was directly in her path. Joyce tried to bring the big behemoth of a bus to a halt, but she couldn’t. As the two vehicles collided, glass milk bottles crashed onto the pavement and a beautiful white river of milk flowed down the street.

One chilly Autumn day a few years later Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in the dusty downtown of Dallas. At one designated stop, amid towering buildings, a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce stated frankly. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

Still, the disheveled man did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained in her sweet southern voice, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and, holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

By the 1950’s John and Joyce had long since changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead of city buses. The sun was high in the big Texas sky one scorching hot Summer day. Air conditioners were rare in dump trucks back then, so after carefully dumping the contents of her truck off a small platform that overhung boxcars down below Joyce parked her vehicle and stood by the refreshment stand with the other drivers in hopes a gentle breeze would whisk away the heat. She and the men sipped ice cold Coca-Colas before heading back for another load. After a few minutes a thin, bearded guy wearing denim overalls and a smirk joined to the group.“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leeway on each side of the tires. As she dumped the load all of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. After the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

Afterward:

In 1953 John and Joyce decided to go into business for themselves. They bought two green dumps trucks of their own and started a business called J. L. D*** Asphalt and Paving. Joyce ran the business by collecting money and doing the paperwork while John and their employees paved airplane runways, driveways and roads, built bomb shelters, put in swimming pools and much more. The business would expand and they added five red trucks. Their family would also expand. The whole time Joyce was running this business she had three more children, two boys and a girl.

Side note/deleted portion of story:

One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

April Fool’s Day.

11:18-26, 12:05-12:13, 1:36-1:51

What a fun day, I used to love this day when I was a kid to play jokes on people and have a blast. Oh well, you grow up and can’t think of any good jokes. So, back to seriousness.

O.k. So today I was about to say that I was finished editing this story. I was about to say that I cannot think of ANY MORE to revise, even though my friend said that I need more description. I felt like I couldn’t give any more to this story. Well, today I read yet another chapter out of The Revision Toolbox by Georgia Heard and I now think that I could do more. She gave an idea of have someone read the story outloud to me or me read it into a tape and then listen to it played back to myself without looking at the words. Listen to what the story needs from a more removed position. Second idea, as I listen to the story read outloud, try to draw the scene. Compare my “vision” of the scene with what the words actually say. Are my words as descriptive as what is in my mind? What can I add to the story to make it better?

I think that these activities will help me in my revision because maybe I can better see how I can add descriptive detail to the scenes. Here we go. . . I must go find an old cassette tape. Or can I record it on my computer? I bet I could . . .

Old ending:

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. One cold grey morning, Joyce drove just outside of Dallas to Copelle, a small town with a train depot, where carefully, without tipping the truck over, she backed her truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. After Joyce finished dumping her truck she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.

“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

New Ending

The sun was high in the big Texas sky one scorching hot Summer day. By the 1950’s John and Joyce had long since changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead of city buses. Air conditioners were rare in dump trucks back then, so after carefully dumping the contents of her truck off a small platform that overhung boxcars down below Joyce parked her vehicle and stood by the refreshment stand with the other drivers in hopes a gentle breeze would whisk away the heat. She and the men sipped ice cold Coca-Colas before heading back for another load. After a few minutes a thin, bearded guy wearing denim overalls and a smirk joined to the group.

“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. As she dumped the load all of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. After the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

Final Story

On August 20, 1921 a little baby girl entered the world on a small rural farm in Martha, Oklahoma. The first child of Barney and Beaulah S, she was born into a world with no televisions or computers. Her home did not have a bathroom, a telephone or even electricity. She was also born into a world where women in Oklahoma had only recently gained the right to vote. But Joyce would one day accomplish much more than what was expected of a women in her day.

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. As their family began to grow with the addition of two baby girls, Alice and Barbara, John obtained a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Joyce then decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

“Your husband must have already showed you how to drive this bus because I am amazed you caught on so fast.” Said the instructor who taught her how to maneuver the vehicle.

Driving a big bus could be challenging, as Joyce discovered one bright Spring morning when she drove the large bus out of the bus barn where the buses were stored overnight. In those days, milk was delivered to a person‘s house in glass jars by a fleet of delivery trucks. As Joyce approached an intersection one of these milk delivery trucks raced to try to make it through the intersection and he was directly in her path. Joyce tried to bring the big behemoth of a bus to a halt, but she couldn’t. As the two vehicles collided, glass milk bottles crashed onto the pavement and a beautiful white river of milk flowed down the street.

Another time, on a chilly Autumn day amid towering buildings Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in the dusty downtown of Dallas. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce stated frankly. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

The disheveled man still did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and, holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

The sun was high in the big Texas sky one scorching hot Summer day. By the 1950’s John and Joyce had long since changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead of city buses. Air conditioners were rare in dump trucks back then, so after carefully dumping the contents of her truck off a small platform that overhung boxcars down below Joyce parked her vehicle and stood by the refreshment stand with the other drivers in hopes a gentle breeze would whisk away the heat. She and the men sipped ice cold Coca-Colas before heading back for another load. After a few minutes a thin, bearded guy wearing denim overalls and a smirk joined to the group.“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. As she dumped the load all of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. After the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

Monday, March 31, 2008

10:52 – 11:00, 12:23-12:40, 12:49-55

Today I am still in the word choice chapter of The Revision Toolbox. Today I am going to focus on verbs and nouns. First of all, the textbook says that sentences are the engines of sentences so they should be strong, powerful and specific. I will look over my story and my goal is to change 5 verbs from dull, mundane ones to strong, specific words.

Here goes:

Came into (The world) = entered the world

Grew and matured = blossomed

Landed = obtained

Told him frankly = stated frankly

tease and taught – harass

The chapter also states that nouns are the wheels on which the engine rides, therefore, one should use specific nouns to help the sentence flow.

I will try to pick out five general nouns and replace them with more specific ones. Here goes again:

Tall = towering

I am having a problem with this one. I can’t find too many very general nouns. Even the one I replaced was a adjective.

I read this story to a friend of mine and she says that I need to add a little more description to the scenes. I will try that. . . . . . . Those additions are in the final story in green font. I only added a little bit of description to one scene. I either don’t really know how to do this or I don’t think that it needs that much more description. Please tell me as you read it, do I need more description? And Where?

Other than that, I actually think that I am pretty satisfied with my story now. The only thing that I haven’t done to it is the proofreading. I need to make sure that all of my verbs are in agreement and then I think I will be satisfied with it, at least for my purpose, which was to have a story to share with my daughter. Anyway, I will edit the verbs and then next week I think that I will work on the hat story about my Granny. I know my assignment was to work on one story, but I feel pretty done. I am going to refer back to my mentor text and see how that author handles verb tense. I know that the whole story is in the past, but the way I have arranged it (from sweeping through time, then stopping at specific instances, focusing on them then sweeping again.) I want to make sure that the sweeping and stopping are the same tense. I know in Spanish they are not, but I think in English they will be.

Final Story

On August 20, 1921 a little baby girl entered the world on a small rural farm in Martha, Oklahoma. The first child of Barney and Beaulah S, she was born into a world with no televisions or computers. Her home did not have a bathroom, a telephone or even electricity. She was also born into a world where women in Oklahoma had only recently gained the right to vote. But Joyce would one day accomplish much more than what was expected of a women in her day.

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. As their family began to grow with the addition of two baby girls, Alice and Barbara, John obtained a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Joyce then decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

“Your husband must have already showed you how to drive this bus because I am amazed you caught on so fast.” Said the instructor who taught her how to maneuver the vehicle.

Driving a big bus could be challenging, as Joyce discovered one bright Spring morning when she drove the large bus out of the bus barn where the buses were stored overnight. In those days, milk was delivered to a person‘s house in glass jars by a fleet of delivery trucks. As Joyce approached an intersection one of these milk delivery trucks raced to try to make it through the intersection and he was directly in her path. Joyce tried to bring the big behemoth of a bus to a halt, but she couldn’t. As the two vehicles collided, glass milk bottles crashed onto the pavement and a beautiful white river of milk flowed down the street.

Another time, on a chilly Autumn day amid towering buildings Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in the dusty downtown of Dallas. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce stated frankly. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

The disheveled man still did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and, holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. One cold grey morning, Joyce drove just outside of Dallas to Copelle, a small town with a train depot, where carefully, without tipping the truck over, she backed her truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. After Joyce finished dumping her truck she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.

“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

Afterword:

In 1953 John and Joyce decided to go into business for themselves. They bought two green dumps trucks of their own and started a business called J. L. D*** Asphalt and Paving. Joyce ran the business by collecting money and doing the paperwork while John and their employees paved airplane runways, driveways and roads, built bomb shelters, put in swimming pools and much more. The business would expand and they added five red trucks. Their family would also expand. The whole time Joyce was running this business she had three more children, two boys and a girl.

Side note/deleted portion of story:

One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

Friday, March 28, 2008

1:34-2:04

I am going to resume where I left off yesterday, trying to edit out any excess or distracting or unneeded parts of my story. Here is what I worked on today:

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. One cold grey morning, Joyce often, drivers drove just outside of Dallas to Copelle, a small town with a train depot where to unloaded their heavy dump trucks into boxcars at a train depot outside of Dallas in a little town called Copelle. carefully, without tipping the truck over, each person she backed their her truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. But one cold grey morning After Joyce finished dumping her truck into the boxcar below she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared. “It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to tease and taught the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on none of those men doubted her skills again . what a good driver a woman could be.

During the rest of my time today I would like to try to create dialogue for the part of the story where the man doesn’t quite get on the bus, but doesn’t quite get off. Here goes:

Old sentences:

Then, another day, Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in 1940’s dusty Dallas amid tall buildings. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. As the moments passed he stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver. Joyce told him frankly he had to either get on or off of the bus. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

Joyce informed him that she had to close the bus doors and that he needed to find a seat. The disheveled man still did not move. While he stood frozen, Joyce explained that the bus had to continue the route and he couldn’t hold it up any longer. Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

New Sentences:

Another day, amid tall buildings Joyce made the rounds of her Dallas bus route in the 1940’s dusty city. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce told him frankly.

The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

The disheveled man still did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

8:15-29, 4:51-55, 5:15-29

Today the textbook talks about replacing tired words with more descriptive words. I will work on that today.

I noticed that I use born a lot in the first paragraph so I decided to change the first one to “came into the world.”

O.K. As I am reading my story trying to look for the boring, overused, tired words, I admit that it is very hard. The book recommends replacing words like “thing” with more interesting and descriptive words. I am having a hard time. . . My editions are in green (and yesterday‘s in blue). I am learning that revising takes more time than composing – or maybe I just need more practice at it.

I am not sure if I did a good job at this, but for the remaining amount of my time today I am going to do is another activity from The Revision Toolbox. I am going to try to cut out things that do not go. The textbook states that up to half of what people write can be edited out. I will try to cut out the things that get the story out of focus or are frivoulous or unneeded. I will cut out everything I think is unneeded and if I need to add a little to make it more clear I will add it in purple.

I did the strikeouts until Joyce landed the job as a city bus driver, but now my time is up. I will have to return tomorrow and do more. This is what I worked on today:

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry again and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce grew and matured into a beautiful young woman. One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. After Joyce and John married, As their family began to grow with the addition of as they had two baby girls, Alice and Barbara, John landed a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Also around that time Joyce then decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.