My First Grade Class - Original Writing

My mum cooked my favourite meal. I felt happy and loved! I had a long day so coming home to my favourite meal, stir-fried tomato and eggs, was so comforting. My mum actually had gotten the tomatoes from a neighbour who had too many. Therefore, she was inspired to make the meal!

There was a sense of impeding doom that turned my stomach. Although I couldn't bear to look at the mask I held outreach to you, my eyes were tempted to look to you. I side-swiped a glance at you before you took the mask. My eyebrow arched as you looked at me, visibly distraught. My eyes did a double take, and my gaze fell curiously back on you. I sensed a feeling of unease from you, and became immediately confused. “Your master never teach you Torture 101, Mr. Ren?” Although I was mocking you, there was a sense of concern in my voice, as I looked over to the Dug and then back at you. “You look like you've seen a ghos-” Holding out the mask in front of you, I watched you intently as your eyes fixated on the item. My eyes narrowed at that reaction, and suddenly, it made sense to me. Perhaps you had seen a ghost. Fully educated in the many various connections within the Force, I wondered if in this moment you had seen anything. If in this moment, his darkness had fallen on you. I pondered the horrors you had witnessed... and if any one of those horrors was my own. I wondered if it was pain you experienced, and even... if that pain was my own.

The first writing assignment helped to wipe the rust off of my writing skills from my undergraduate degree. Even though the length of the paper only spanned 250-500 words, I still treated the assignment as if it were a 15-20 page paper. The longer that I worked on the assignment the more I found that my skills Washington State University were quickly returning. Although the assignment topic was not specifically geared towards my degree,I found enjoyment in learning about something that I never would have. Simply put, I never knew writing in the workplace was such a problem! I cannot help but feel a higher level of sensitivity to finding errros in my own writing after reading the provided

The challenges I mentioned in my first writing assignment were how I handle my emotions, depression, eating habits, and personal motivation. Looking at these issues now with a few months of analysis has given me a new way to see these things. I have come to handle my emotions better, and without the "stop and look" button I so desperately thought I needed. Having a young child has given me the push I needed to really assess a situation to see if there is even a need to be upset at all. Sure you can't change everything overnight, or even in a few months, and I still do have moments of relapse in this matter, but I have managed to regain some control on how I react to the secondhand emotions I spoke of before without the need of a professional. This has truly improved the conditions of my relationships with my family and friends.

Ally and Zoey were taking on middle school. They have been best friends since pre-k and now they are going to middle school together. Ally had blue eyes with brown wavy hair. Zoey had brown eyes with straight dirty blonde hair. “It’s getting late Ally I got to go first day of middle school tomorrow meet me in the library bye.” Zoey exclaimed. “Ok bye.” Ally spoke

Before I could turn my music back on I heard moms light yet aggressive foot step’s approach my room. I turn my head over and glance at her and she immediately says “Your father wants you”. I immediately wash my face with my hands and tell her “ok, on my way”. I stand up and begin drudging through the carpet towards my parent’s room. When I arrive my mom goes back to putting her clothes away and my dad seemed to be folding clothes on his bed. He begins his speech by saying

It was during the fall when it happen . I got a phone call from my father saying that migration got him.I started crying.I ciuld not believe what happen.when i told my mom she started crying. Then i called my aunt santa and told her. My aunt came over. i could not believe what happened. I could not stop crash. he was in jail and i could not believe it , we have to do things during the month’s .My dad would call us often and we had to pay. i was happy when i hear his voice. I cried everytime , My mom and i were to a line , We have our family to rely on. We have to have to have a lawyer. She was a nice lady. She helped us very well. my uncle introduce us her. He did a good thing. My father was finlay hot a court daquan di ws jppy. we have to pay for his pail/ The judge needed to pci k to deport him or we have to pay paul for him.The lawyer said that the judge said she was a hard judge and i was worried about my father. We have to wait until they call my father 's name. We went there with my cousins , my uncle and my dad friend.

The next morning, I was up the earliest and sat bored in my bed. My mom and aunt finally got up and we went to breakfast. They had the usual items. Donuts, bagels, english muffins, cereal, and many more. The most amazing, however, was a waffle iron. I got in line to make my waffle, and after a two minute wait, sat down to enjoy my meal. We brought cereal up to our room, against the hotel rules, so my dad could eat. Then we were ready to hit the road.

As usual she was right, so I ate my food without arguing and let me tell you it was disgusting. I hate when my mom makes really nasty food because she doesn't have the time to make a somewhat decent lunch. But I know she tries so I try not to say anything about it. When I was done eating I stood up, and out of nowhere I heard a loud bang, bang, bang come from the back door and my mom said to me, “ Why don't you go see who it is. ”

It was a peaceful day in a crummy condo. Kade and I were sitting in his room. An hour of AP Social Studies homework and 7th grade English homework in when a gust of wind came through the closed window. How do I put this, there was a noise. A very dim, subtle noise. A ZING,ssive, easygoing way, and the women said to us in a soft, calm voice, “We are your parents, we want to take you home”.

We stirred from our beds that next morning to the birds chirping and the ability to finally shower. I was finally able to wash the bug spray and sweat from my body, feeling a little more civilized. I put on some bum clothes and smelled my breakfast cooking; to my surprise these eggs weren’t made on the stove but in the microwave. It sounds curious, but its how Grandma thought, she never wasted any resources. She didn’t want to dirty a pan, so we used a plastic microwaveable dish. That was how we started every morning while we talked about our plan for the day. While Mom and I were there we were going to work on one room completely. This room has been just plywood, drywall, and lots of mementos in boxes stacked to the ceiling for many years. Before we could work on finishing the room we had to empty it. These boxes were full of random things that my Grandma accumulated throughout her life. We just wanted to donate everything but Grandma wanted to look through each box and tell you the story behind it. It was very frustrating because we had a set plan on what needed to get done and

Come bedtime I was not ready. The lights turned off and fear shot through my whole body. What if there is a balloon in my room and I just can’t see it, I thought. With nothing but paranoia about the balloon on my mind, I started to scream for one of my parents. My dad eventually comes in and begrudgingly lets me sleep with him just to shut me up. I can only imagine what my parents were thinking

The day had started out like any other. I had breakfast, went to school, and came back. That’s when things took a turn for the worse. I had gotten home from school. We had received our report cards, I was excited to show dad. We had a bet that if I got all A’s I would be able to get a 20 inch T.V. in my room. “Dad i’m home,” I exclaimed. He was lying on the couch. I felt weird, dad was being too quiet, I touched his face. Stone Cold. He wasn’t breathing. No pulse. Nothing.

It was three in the morning when my door slammed open. My eyes suddenly opened to see a figure standing tall in my doorway. My dad, looking uneasy and upset, tells me to get up and come with him. Confused, I wobble out of bed and walk toward him. As I come closer I see his eyes

Teaching literature is an exciting time in any classroom. New Zealand Government (n.d.) reports “New Zealand children rank relatively highly on the international literacy scales”. This shows that New Zealanders value their literacy abilities, and work hard to upkeep our reputation. As a teacher, teaching writing can be very difficult, but also very rewarding. With the aid of purpose, audience and form we can guide our students in to knowing what they are writing about and whom it is for. Motivation and planning inspires students to write their very best work every time. And re-crafting gives students the opportunities to perfect their work to a standard that they are proud of.