Prologue Of Morgan's Narrative

When I heard Jessica crying and saw the dog looking into my face I told him “Georgie go see why Jessica is crying”. Next thing I knew he went off running and she was quiet so I went to check on her and there they were in the bed sleeping, he comfort her. Even though a snow storm was coming, she decided to go on her winter camping trip anyway. It was like something was calling her out there. But in the event of her wilderness trip she was starting to feel better. There was a positivity her in her life that was growing and the depression had started to fade by the activities she is doing. Her experience of sleeping in below freezing caves, digging out of a snow barricades with the help of Jackson and Hailey. She was doing things her and her dogs would never have dreamed of. She admits that her very cold and freezing adventure has helped her appreciate the beauty of life and her winter wilderness experience. She was starting to feel like she belong and was appreciating the value of her life and her surroundings. “A Blizzard under blue sky” gave her a new lease on life and a spark of rejuvenation.

At last, the bell finally rung, and I was headed home to get my gear. Hastily packing because lessons began at approximately 4:30, with about an hour drive. I hopped in the car next to Carolyn with minimal excitement. My nerves began to set in. I sat back and attempted to relax while we traveled past Delaware onto Earlville. Watching cars and fields pass by aided me to relieve some stress. I quickly forgot where I was going and why. Time flew by in that red Ford Escape. The trip from Manchester to Asbury seemed to only take fifteen minutes instead of forty five. We arrived far too soon, yet we were still late.

The Article “A Stranger in Strange Lands” written by Lucille P. McCarthy is an examination of the writing process. This article follows a college student through a twenty-one month study to determine how the students writing ability is affected as he transitions from one classroom to another. Focusing on specific writing processes in different types of classrooms,this article hopes to uncover the importance and effect of writing towards a specific audience within a particular genre and to offer a better understanding to how students continue to learn to write throughout college.

Ex: The maelstrom of snow-filled wind made her face feel as if it were frozen solid.

“Don’t look down” the wind whispers tenderly as it blows through my golden trusses. Trifling detailed fragments of snow fall from the skies above, meeting the horizon. They are the calmness in this storm. My storm. The jagged icy glaciers, sharp as a knife, smooth as silk, tower overhead. Every breath I take is a battle, every thought is a war and every step is one closer to the end.

The wind is harsh and piercing as the gusts reach up to 50 mph. Even layers upon layers of clothing do very little to protect people from the harshness of the cold unrelenting wind. The snow on the ground would blind them as they trekked across the barren wastelands of snow and wind. As they all began to peal back their layers of masks to speak, the pain of the fierce wind immediately ran across their faces. It felt as if a stroke of lightning had ran across their faces and down their throats with every breath of the icy wind. Each one speaks with the same raspy bark from the brutal cold ravaging their vocal chords. The wind laced its way through their clothes like it was not even there and chilled them all to the bones.

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

Maya shivered. No, more like trembled. She was soaked. With cold water. Freezing cold water. And the wind blew, snow drifted down. In an almost serene way. If only Maya was in the mood to appreciate it.

In this first chapter, Lamott emphasizes the importance of writing within literature of her former students. She tells about how her students enjoy writing and would constantly seek her advice for finding people who would publish their works. In the beginning, Lamott states that she herself loves to write and gives vivid explanations about her own experiences with writing.

The morning mom and I were parked in front of the tall, green morning has one description word. Cold. Cold all the way down to the bone. The car had just gotten warm, I thought about all of the people who didn't have cars. They had to walk in the icy weather, while I was here in my car warm as a freshly made pancake. I bet they felt cold. Cold all the way down to the bone. My cold was different though, i was warm but cold.

The air was sharp and chilly when he stepped outside, just as he expected it to be in November. He had outgrown his jacket from last year and his father had told him that he couldn't afford another one, so to make up for it Cody wore not one, but two hoodies over top of his only winter sweater. He was uncomfortable and his arms felt stiff, but at least he didn't feel much of the cold.

Jonas felt the runners of the sled glide effortlessly through the soft powdered snow. He felt the warmth of little Gabriel in his arms with his chubby fingers grasping the rope. The twinkling lights became clearer and he thought he could catch a glimpse of small figures moving through the windows. The thought of warmth and food made Jonas push even harder to get there. His heart was pounding and he barely felt it when a piece of ice scraped by his face, but Gabriel did and he let out a huge wail, jolting Jonas out of his dreamlike state. He blinked a few times, not yet losing his perseverance. Facing himself back towards the town ahead, he saw… nothing. The town was gone, replaced by an endless expanse of freezing snow and ice. Gabriel let

Geoffrey Chaucer’s poem, The General Prologue, presents a character whom is a Prioresse. Because of the culture during the medieval times the description of the Prioresse that is given is interestingly contradicting. The juxtaposition that exists throughout the entire description of the Prioresse builds a tone of doubt. While it is expected that the Prioresse be pious and fully devoted to the monastery the text doesn’t prove her loyalty, in fact, it discredits it. Although the Prioresse’s portrayal in the text is full of delicacy and well-mannered behavior, the juxtaposition following the delicate description nulls her goodness. This contradiction exposes the Prioresse’s true nature which does not meet the expectations, creating a critical tone of leadership positions in the church during this time.

Cutting through the empty, snow covered streets resembling a shark’s fin through water; reflections from street lights and the slick, wet road bounced off the midnight black car. Dark tinted windows hid the identity of the occupant to passersby, blending with the exterior to provide a picture of a sleek dark bullet speeding by. Dahlia longed to open the car up to hear the engine roar and echo off the building fronts, but reined in the temptation. Listening to the dirty, deep sound of her finely tuned engine always gave her a powerful feeling of satisfaction. Sadly with the snow storm that had blew in, best to keep it at a low purr, disappointedly musing to herself.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of