Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Chapter 1: In which Strange Talk is Heard

by Caleb R. Thoburn, Grade 6

The man slowly walked through fog so dense and black that it seemed an evil, cold blanket. The night was quiet; not even the crickets sang their sweet lullaby. He walked so slowly, he seemed to threaten everything. The mean eyes he wore pierced all as they traveled through the gloomy night. Even the moon seemed to shun him. Coolly, he walked down the pitch black street and up to the porch of 381 Venus Street. His menacing steps echoed off the walls. Opening the door at the end of the hall, he strode in.

"Who are you? a quaking voice asked.
 "You know who I am, Geoffrey," the man replied. "And you know what I can do," he said as he pointed his cane at Geoffrey. The cane was smooth with a jet black stone at the end. Geoffrey said nothing but instead watched the end of the man's cane. "Where is it?" the man asked.
"I don't know," Geoffrey said.
"Where is it?" the man asked again. Geoffrey said nothing. The man's anger began to build. "Where is it?" the man repeated, a little fiercer this time.
"I never had it."
 Kicking the table, the man shouted furiously, "You lie!"
Geoffrey flinched as the table flew across the room. Geoffrey knew what happened next; the man raised the cane, and CRACK!

James woke with a start, shaking with fear. Many nights he woke sweating, trying to rid his memory of the many horrible murders all committed by the same sinister man with the dark cane, always raising it just before James awoke. He always seemed to feel as if he had some connection with the people who were killed.

Pushing his warm comforter aside, he walked from his bed to the bathroom, dragging his hand along the peeling, green and white striped wallpaper. Flicking the handle to open the door, he sang quietly to himself. He filled his cup and gulped it down in an instant. James tripped over some oddment that his younger sister had left out as he walked from the bathroom. He winced as his skinny torso made contact with a small red Lego car on the floor which he had "forgotten" to pick up. He began to get up, then stopped.

"He's too young," his mother said.
"It's now or never," his father replied.
Tip-toeing over to his parents' room, James made sure not to step on any of the many creaky floorboards.
"That's not what the prophet foretold," his mother said.
James crept closer, being careful not to lean upon the door which hung on one hinge.
"The old prophet said when James is expectantly listening . . . "

James's mother didn't finish her sentence, for James, who had been caught by surprise by his mother's words, fell onto the old red door. It gave way with a crash and a cloud of dust.

When the dust cleared, his father raised his eyes and said, "This settles it." James's mother began to cry.
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Saturday, March 02, 2019

Everyone's a Writer, Whether He Wants to Be or Not

Whether or not you want to be, you are a writer. Everyone is a writer. As a student, you write answers to questions and tests practically every day. And it's better to be good at something, even if you do it because you have to.

The Inklets is a group that meets after school. They read, they write, and they try to get better at writing. One thing that has been practiced in this small group is the use of literary devices, techniques used within writing to help make words more than just words on a page.

Here's one: personification (the attribution of human nature or character to animals, inanimate objects, or abstract notions, especially as a rhetorical figure). Definition from dictionary.com

Have a look at what some of the students have done with this literary device.


Chair, by Essy, 7th Grade

The sad chair was tired. He was tired of people sitting on him. He was tired of hearing all the students do their lessons. He was tired of always being squashed and spilled on. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why am I here?"


Philip's Story, by Caleb, 6th Grade

Plop . . . plop . . . plop. Philip awoke as the raindrops from the previous night's rain dripped lazily from the towering treetops above onto his twitching whiskers. Few things bothered him more than waking up before the sun, but still, he was up, so he got up and stretched his four paws. Skurrrumph. He stopped period. Slowly turning his head he sniffed into the dark night. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, "It's only you."
"Wake up," his father replied.
"What?"
"Philip, wake up."

Slowly Peter awoke and realized it had been a dream. Muttering to himself about breakfast, he got up and shook the leaves from his fur. He looked around for breakfast, but then groaned; today was the day that the hired fox hunter took his vacation. Impatiently he waited as his father went hunting. Two minutes later his father arrived with about a dozen squabs. "What is this?" Philip asked.
"The best," said his father.
"Yuck," and pushing it away he left for his tree.


My iPad, by Adharrsh, 2nd Grade


One day my iPad was waiting for me on its hard lonely, bed. It wasn't actually fully charged. It was just at 89%. It waited for two days, but I didn't unplug it. It waited for 48 hours, but I didn't come. It felt lonely, smelled fish, saw the ceiling and saw me come towards it. I took it to my bedroom and it felt like being in a mansion. I used its power until it was at 0%. Then I got the charger and it felt sad. But I did something different. I charged it to the outlet next to my bed. Now it felt comfortable and warm.


Big Bear, Lucas, 2nd Grade

Big bear came out of the tub; the faucet dripped every second. Pwup, pwup, pwup. The bathtub was wet, but everything else was damp. There was a knock on the door. Knock, knock, knock. "Come in," bear said. It was Mousey. Bear came downstairs. "You ready to go to the airport?" asked Big Bear. "Yes," said Mousey. The airport brought good and bad memories. When someone left, it was sad. When someones came, it felt good. But this time is was Mousey leaving. When he left, it was a bit lonely. But they always had the heart of an angel towards each other.
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