Seraiah's Essay : The Tips Of The Plots

1. What piece of paper did the author’s mother carry for twenty years, and why did she carry it?

Estelle picked it up and flipped through it. Empty page upon empty page looked back at her, her fingers running over the flawlessly smooth cover.

“Who back East or down South could have conceived of a land where the temperature could fall eighteen degrees in just three minutes?” the author stated. (Laskin, 39) This actually occurred in the nation’s history. It is somewhat expected to have some days where one has to bring a light jacket for later in the day because it is predicted to get cooler. “Who would have guessed that farmers and school children could start their days in shirtsleeves, without heavy overcoats, only to experience wind chills that night that were forty degrees below zero?” the author wrote. (Laskin, 39) The people who had to endure the freakish drop of temperature and monster of a blizzard definitely did not predict any of this could ever happen. Had the people been

“I don’t think we’ll find many berries to pick. There is still a lot of snow on the ground.”

I gripped the over-annotated, photocopied packet in my eager fingers so that my sweaty fingers made print marks on the black speckled page. And I read. I cried. And my dream changed.

That was totally out of the question. So, she decided to make photocopies of those pages, which she could afford. After finishing the copies, she went over again to the front desk to return the book and to check out the second book. The person behind the counter with all politeness told her, “Sorry, that book just got checked out by another student.” Traci would have to wait for at least two hours before she could have it. She stood there with her mouth so wide opened, that she could have swallowed the globe. The person behind the counter read her facial expression, and with great sympathy, told her, “We have only one copy of that particular book.” Traci was so disappointed, knowing that she did not have that much time to wait and would not be able to do the assignment for her next class.

Every page seems to, instead of wearing her out, motivate her to continue on to the next one. It is like she has rediscovered the kind of writing she had loved when she was younger, the kind she still often found with a short story or school assignment. Without straining herself, she finishes ten pages, fifteen, twenty, thirty.

Mary sat at her desk, just like she always did. The desk’s varnish had been worn down to the raw wood, and it was covered in scratches made by her own clawing nails. Mary couldn’t remember when she had been locked in there, in the blanched room. The room was vacant except for the debased desk, a plastic chair, and a very shabby Mary.

“Yeah!” He took out his phone and showed me pictures of what Ottawa was like. Everything was just like our town in terms of climate. It wasn’t cold at all at the time he and his father went. In fact, one of the pictures they took was by a giant flame. So everything I was told was a lie. That actually made me happy for a bit.

She continued to tap the tip of the pen against the decaying clipboard resting upon her lap,

The woman fidgeted under his steely gaze, fingers gliding over her keyboard. She began a word document, reminding herself that her client was NOT all that frightening. All that mattered was the housekeeper's corpse retrieved from the sewers.

It was a cold Autumn day. The sun was shining very bright even though it was 14 degrees out. The trees were swaying back and forth and back and forth. Nina and Derek just got out of school and were heading towards the street that Derek's grandmas house. Nina is a very curious girl for her age.

He crams the old paper in his fist, because he likes it pretty with some more wrinkles. With

Holding the said article, I noticed how it was delicately folded, similar to an art of folding an origami. Creasing my brows together, I put away the umbrella with the name plate and proceeded to unfold the parchment, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

There are stacks of paper sitting to the left of the typewriter on his desk. Tissues are scattered across the floor and crumpled up pieces of paper are scattered on his desk. He is speaking out loud as he is typing ever so slowly on his typewriter.)