Eight Ways To Write A Hook Analysis

Once they got out of the airport and onto the highway, the roads were less abound with cars and taxis. Tim couldn't help but think that Floridians must have a replete of orange juice in their refridgerators if the amount of orange trees in the area was any indication. Their subdivision was about 45 minutes from the airport. Everyone in Tim's family had seen the house only in pictures except for Tim's father who had made two trips to Florida since the purchasing of the home. When the taxi pulled up in front of 3567 North Lake Dr., Tim was still shocked at how magnificent the house was. The house was enormous. It was a weird green tinge; it reminded Tim of throwup. He had no idea why his mom would pick such a disgusting color. The house was two stories with a balcony occupying the second floor and through the front door, you could see a beautiful crystal chanderlier. To the right of the home was a three car garage attached to the house; to the left was a pool house. The mansion had way more rooms than their small home in China.

A good hook is what, best, brings a reader into any form of writing. If not, then all could be lost, unless it is mentally forced upon. This is especially true for a novice, or introductory, reader getting into the finer aspects of literature or composition. Such as, Paul Rankin’s (2005) essay, on Hemingway’s “Hills like White Elephants,” lacks a motivated lead. The opening transition word could throw a reader in the opposite direction Rankin would have hoped for. The beginning paragraphs poor lead could cause one to become lost before the revelation of thesis which makes a poor asset to novice readers.

Mr. Ells room 476. I walk in and see only two students in the room, a very tall kid in a trench coat, and a average sized kid also wearing a trench coat. I awkwardly sit down in the closest seat I could find avoiding any contact with those boys. Time passes by and the rest of the kids come in and sit down. Last of all to come in was the teacher. "Keith and Riley, please take the sunglasses off in class, I am 110% sure there is no sun in here" The class laughs as they take them off. I glance at the tall one who I think is Riley, he looks at me back with a terrifying but somewhat friendly smile. An hour passes and I am off to my second class. While I'm looking at my schedule in the hallway, Riley and Keith approach me. "Hey kid, are you new?" asks Riley. "Yeah, I just moved here from Jefferson" Keith chimed in saying "Jefferson? Really? That school sucks ass dude, sorry you had to go there". Before I could even get a word in Riley followed up with "I'm sure you know our names already, but I'm Riley Watters and that is Keith Johnson, my brother from another mother" I quickly reply. "Nice to meet you guys, gotta go" and I speed down the hallway into the void of

It had white aluminum siding with black trim around the windows and black shingles on the roof. I walked the three wooden steps leading to a six by six storm shed. I removed my boots in the shed and opened the oak door, painted white on the outside. It led into a short hallway, which formed a T with the kitchen on one side and the dining room on the other.

The subject grew up in Laconia, NH which is a suburb and houses are extremely dispersed. The house was a 4 bedroom single family with a lot of yard space for recreational activities. It was painted in yellow with white windows and doors. For his dad, he

Monday came a little too fast for Billy. He was at the cafeteria, smashing his green peas as he avoided his friend's gaze. His best friend Freddy was harrasing him for an answer. The question? Who would he pick to fuck. The embarrassing question had made Billy's face turn twenty different shades of red and cause a bunch of stutters. Oh the glories of being in the ninth grade.

The central room called the ‘Atrium’ had an open roof top allowing for sunshine and air circulation and a ‘Impluvium’ which was a built in drain system was built into the floor. Small rooms were built inside it and attached to the outside were the single storey houses, there was also a courtyard and garden for socialising. It reminds me of condominiums, a shared space for communal living yet, separate apartments. Townhouses were more than just functional, they were also pleasing to the eye, some had coloured plastered walls, or mosaics depending on one’s budget (Trueman,

“It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of

I glanced at the dilapidated inn and it looked just like it had fifteen years ago only better. There were twelve windows. A beautiful garden surrounded the house.

There were many bright interior images. The generous sized carpeted living room had paneled walls, a brick fireplace, and benched seating with storage below the windows. The spacious eat-in kitchen that opened to the dining area and family room had plenty of white cabinetry, neutral flooring, and a slider that gave access to the deck, showing a slight view of the in-ground pool. In addition, a lot of the cabinets were left open and with the angel of the image, it was hard to tell what other features were being highlighted. There was a long-paneled hallway that gave access to corner views of two bedrooms, and an incomplete view of the bathroom. One of the bedroom images appeared to be somewhat out-of-focus and the bathroom cabinets were left opened. Another image showed a long room/closet that was out-of-focus. In general, the home appeared to be in fair condition.

Having four bedrooms and two bathrooms the layout of the summer house was interesting. On the upper floor had the kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom that connected in the middle. There was a dining room that led out into a balcony that over looked the beach and ocean. Down a flight of windless stairs was the open basement.

A property like ours needed a prosperous buyer who had an interest in restoring those subtle elements that constitute grandeur in a completed project. A brand new house with all the modern conveniences is what many people identify as being the ultimate, but it takes imagination to see the beauty in something less than shiny new.

When I arrived at the building it looked very official, it had its own bookstore (with extremely overpriced items might I add) and a pond out back. It was so beautiful with a large balcony and 3 floors. It didn't look as though it was built in 1908, in fact it looked like a modern house, but that is probably due to the restoration it has had over the years. But my favorite part was that the house had a beautiful front door with a gorgeous stained glass design. The design was of a large tree in various colors. There was lots of stained glass items on the

“Hello sweetie we can talk tomorrow, right now we have to leave, your room is on the top floor first room to the right.” Her grandmother said in a rush. “We love you.” Her grandfather said frantically as if he was in a hurry to leave. The car drove off as specks of dirt flew in the air. The opened the car door and skipped inside the house.

I whirled around and peered through the sheeting rain to the Victorian mansion across the street, but all I could see was a vague outline. The dark blue sky had somehow shrouded my view. In all six years living in the town of Eastbay, I had never really paid much attention to the mansion. To me, it was just the house across the street. To the neighbors, however, it was the ghastly old house next to the dark forest that was never remodeled. My eyes darted to the condensed group of pine trees guarding the south side of my fence. A wind blew, and I quickly looked away.