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Ms.Boos girl
 Hannah-Paper Doll Gang  Sunrise Orientation Bio 1st. January, 2011 Snippits of Sisrandez Hello, Ms. Bouiesgirll and Fellow Sunrisers, To those of you who don't know me, I'm Hannah-Paper Doll Gang , but you may call me, Hannah, if you like. No, that's not my real name, but it is my favorite girl's name.I am taking the Sunrise class, probably for the same reasons a lot of you are; I like to write, but I also recognize I have much to learn. My port is filled with stories, poems, and articles, in many different genres, needing a rewrite. Alas, I tend to bite off more than I can chew, here on WDC, as many of you know, and seldom find the time to get back to my prose/poetry babies. Today is the first day of a brand new year, and, that brings my future writing plans and goals right to the front of my mind. They are begging me to let this be the year that we accomplish things in leaps and bounds: finish your Bus Stop novel, rewrite, rewrite, rewrite those stories, gathering dust in the depths of your port. Bring them out into the light, dust them off, buff, buff, buff them, until they shine like gems in the sun "What are my favorites genres to write in?" you ask. Well, let's see ... I don't have a favorite, I mean if you look at my port, it is filled with everything from, emotional, romance, nature, adventure, political, fantasy, and the list goes on. It would be easier for me to say, I don't write erotica, mystery, or much comedy, though I'd like to try those, also. Reading, I definitely have strong favorites. I am a huge Stephen King, J. R. R. Tolkien fan, so anything in fantasy, or King's, style of horror (I don't like Freddy Kruger type stories), suits me fine. If any of you like fantasy with a political spin, you would love Terry Goodkind's series of books. I was totally bummed, when I read the last one, and nothing else would interest me for a long time. I grew up watching and loving Star Trek, which brings me to my age; I am no longer twenty-nine, nor have I reached fifty-nine! Let's start right in with the weaknesses I have in my writing. My nemesis, THE COMMA! Yikes, no matter how many classes I take, or sites I look at, just when I think I have a handle on the wily punctuation mark, I am proved wrong! Hopefully, (does that go there) I will continue to improve, and get my butt over to my port and apply what I've learned, so far. Switching tenses is something I really have to watch as well. Okay, is this where I get to brag? All right, for what I lack in, I make up for in talent, at least, many people have filled my big head with that thought, until, I now believe it. Are there too many commas in that last sentence? Like the rest of you, I hope to one day publish something. I live in Wisconsin, out in the boonies, in the middle of a forest of trees. It is peaceful, mostly, but rather lonely, too. I grew up in Minnesota, in the suburbs, so I am used to having people around, not just talking to the tress and birds. I graduated high school, then attended a vocational school for ten months in the field of computer programming. I was a single mom of two, working and trying to go to school. My car broke down, and I tried using public transportation, but lugging two toddlers onto a bus, getting back on myself, transferring, and, doing it all over, again, and, again, when it was -20 below zero, slowly eroded my resolve. I've worked blue-collar jobs all my life, and am very proud of my work ethic. The last ten years I have worked in new construction and remodeling with my husband. Last June, a ladder slipped, while I was insulating our porch. It went out from under me, slamming me straight down into the concrete. I have nine pieces of metal in my left arm, and have been in therapy since. I will be having more surgery on January 5th to repair wrist problems. Oh, I am pleased to announce, "I am a girl. I'd hate to be a boy named Hannah!" Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Discussion 1 1st January, 2011 When I was fourteen, my step-father went into my room, read my diary, tore out all the pages I had written about his bad behavior, and posted them on our refrigerator. I used to think of a diary as a best friend, but I have never written a single word in one since then. I have heard many people say they are a great source of inspiration for getting their muse going, but I don't feel comfortable putting it out there for someone to misuse. I am sorry to say, but I have never blogged, nor journal-ed, but I may get up the courage one of these days. I think my approach to writing short stories is to just dive in. I like to be given a prompt, then just write, write, write, and then I will go back and add descriptive language to my characters, setting and dialog. Then make sure the flow is good. Lastly, yes, I procrastinate, on fixing up the punctuation. I have seen character sheets, but I've never used them, though in my novel, I'm into the fourth chapter, and am always having to go back, so I may try using one soon.   ~*~*~* Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 3 Part 1 & 2 18 January, 2011 Lesson 3 Part 1: False Epiphany Mr. Perfect Mike and I were high-school sweethearts. He was gorgeous, popular to the point of being annoying with his following of groupies. They were jealous of me, always competing for his attention. None the less, we were in love, or at least I was. After we graduated, we married, had two children, and lived in suburbia, complete with a dog and large, fenced backyard. All was bliss, until this man, that I thought I knew, changed before my eyes. He drove a fancy big car, while the kid's and I drove around in a run-down bomber, something he was always going to rectify, but never got around to doing. His job as a salesman required him to dress to the nines, while I still had most of my high-school wardrobe, and the kid's wore hand-me-downs from friends and relatives, and excuse he used for us not going to any company events. Our day was always coming. He frequently had to wine and dine his clients, late into the evening, while we ate hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, he feasted on lobster and Dom Perignon. Things came to a head one day, when I returned early. I had planned to spend the day with my mom and the kids, but less than half way there, my car began making a squealing noise. I decided I'd better turn around and make the shorter trip home. As I pulled into our driveway, I pulled up alongside a flashy yellow sport's car. I'd never seen any of his friends driving an expensive car like that. Getting the kids out, we made our way into the house. I called out Mike's name as I walked through the living room. He popped his head out of our partially opened bedroom door. His hair was tangled, his face flushed, his mouth agape. A hand wrapped around his mid-section then, and a strange woman peered over his shoulder. "Let me explain ..." I grabbed his keys from off of the expensive glass-topped coffee table, one he'd often reminded me how much he had paid for, and why were my kids always mucking it up with fingerprints? As we backed out of our driveway for the last time, it occurred to me, I'd never really known this man. I had loved him for his good looks, his bubbly personality, his always being in the lime-light. My epiphany had come crashing down on me. I'd filed for divorce, that very same day. Through the ensuing years as the kid's and I'd struggled, I'd wished I'd been more careful in whom I'd chosen to spend my life with. Good looks and popularity do not, necessarily, a good husband, nor good father, make. *** Lesson 3 Part 2: Pretending to be deaf for one hour Being in construction, we frequently are doing things like cutting metal roofing with a circular saw, which, if you've ever had the pleasure of hearing the ensuing high-pitched scream, when the blade strikes the metal, you'd soon be donning a pair of ear-protectors, the kind that look like those worn by a singer in a sound studio. I'll be using these for my experiment in being deaf, and will be, for the most part, deaf. I am conducting this experiment while my husband is at work and my sister's out with a friend. Keep in mind, I am a city-girl, who now lives out in the boonies, five miles from town, in the middle of the woods, completely isolated. No, this is not a horror story. Ah ... Sweet Solitude ... NOT! 2:00 P.M. So, everyone is gone, it's just me, our two large dogs and our cat. Yes, the doors are locked, and the windows, for good measure, have all been checked too. I've just put on the ear-protectors, and all's peaceful. I only have the use of my right arm, thank You, Lord, as my left is in a cast. Still, it's no excuse to get out of doing the laundry, so I gather up clothes from the bathroom and bedrooms and deposit them in front of the washer. Now, the first thing I notice, though I can't even hear the washer filling, is that I think I hear things. My first reaction is to grab the earphones, snatch them off and listen, but I don't. Certainly, if someone, or something, was outside, or God forbid, inside, the dogs would be barking. I look at them to confirm everything's okay, and it must be as they are both sprawled out on the kitchen linoleum floor.. 2:03 P.M. As I close the washing machine lid, I sneak a peak at the clock hanging on the dining room wall. Only three stinking minutes have passed. It feels more like fifteen. I think about vacuuming, but one of my dogs, Nicky, hates this contraption, and incessantly barks when I use it. I think to myself, if I think he's barking at the vacuum, how will I know, if in reality, he's not actually barking at something else? Scrap that idea. I'll dust the bedroom, instead. Grabbing a couple of rags and the Pledge from under the sink, I grab two large dog biscuits, too, and place it all in one of the rags. Just the one arm, remember. Once in the bedroom, I realize something. It smells really stuffy in here. Funny, I didn't smell it before. In fact, I can smell everything more. The scent of the Pledge is almost overwhelming. I take my time, not just dusting around things, but picking things up and polishing them up. When I'm satisfied there's not a speck of dust left, I sit on the edge of the bed, propping my cast up on some pillows, resting for a few minutes. Both dogs jump up on the bed, demanding some affection I reach for the clicker, which is at the foot of the bed, and turn on a news channel. I can't tell what they're saying, but it's more on the shootings in Arizona. I try and read their lips to no avail, and read the scrolling text on the bottom, instead. As I'm watching, both dogs jump up, tails wagging, and tear out of the bedroom, knocking my arm and pillows as they go. I'm pretty sure it's either my hubby, or my sister, because of the dog's reaction, if it were someone they didn't know the hair on their necks tends to go up, and they hang back, growling. But, still, my heart is pounding, and being deaf is kind of terrifying. Following them into the kitchen, I peak out the door, confirming it's my husband home earlier than usual. I've neglected to inform him of my little experiment, so as I unlock the door and he comes in, he points, and says something like, "What are those for?' I tell him, by showing him the printout I have of Lesson 3. He makes the crazy sign at me, laughs, and heads off to shower of the day's grime. 2:43 Thirteen whole minutes left. It's beginning to feel like a prison sentence, and everything feels like slow-motion. I do up the few dishes left over from lunch, thinking a salad would be really nice with dinner. 2:59 P.M. One minute, and not a minute more. This past, endless hour has seemed like I was detached from the world, Like I was in some sort of silent cocoon. I will tell you, to me it had a claustrophobic feel to it, like you were all alone on the planet. I didn't like it, at all. 3:00 P.M. I whip the ear-protectors off, tossing the foul things on the counter. I rub my ears, and relish in the sound of my dogs, whimpering for attention from my husband. A profound sense of freedom washes over me. Even though this is my closing paragraph on this little experiment, I had an epiphany, not at the climax of this, but right here, at the end. I will never pity deaf people, but I will have a great respect for what they must go through on a day-to-day basis. ~*~*~* Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 4 Part 1 & 2 27th January, 2011 Sight, Sound Smell Taste Touch Part 1 1. As I exit Wall-Mart, the Sub-zero temperatures slam into me, and my teeth are chattering. Touch: Sub-zero temperatures Sound: chattering 2. The relentless howling wind, streaming down from glacial-like Canada tears at the few dwarfed trees on their lonely concrete islands and blasts me toward my car. Sound: howling Sight: wind, streaming down from glacial-like Canada tears at the few dwarfed trees on their lonely concrete islands Touch: blasts 3. I pull up my hood, relishing in its warmth and the softness of the fur as it caresses my face. Touch: warmth, softness 4. Setting down my single shopping bag, while holding a cup of steaming coffee with my left hand, I fumble around for my keys, and, after just a minute of searching, the fingers on my right hand are red and smarting. Sight: single shopping bag, cup of steaming coffee, the fingers on my right hand are red Touch: smarting 5. Clink, as my key enters the icy-looking door lock. Sound: Clink Sight: icy-looking door lock. 6. Jumping in, I shove the key into the ignition, turning it, but the starter protests, groaning, sputtering, then, finally, roaring to life. Sound: groaning, sputtering, roaring 7. Eeeeeh ... not wishing to be out done, the fan-belt, voices its own complaint. Sound: Eeeeeh 8 Rolling my window down a bit, I grit my teeth as sand grinds against the glass. Sound: grinds 9. Flicking my half-finished cigarette out the window, it makes a tiny, soft plop as it lands in the snow stacked up against the nearby cart coral. Sight: half-finished cigarette, it lands in the snow stacked up against the nearby cart coral. Sound: plop 10. Vile, bluish-exhaust, from an old, rusty van parked next to me, makes me nauseous, and leaves a metallic flavor lingering in my mouth. Smell: Vile, bluish-exhaust Sight: old, rusty van parked next to me Touch: nauseous Taste: metallic 11.Sitting, with the car idling, I let the frigid car warm up, and I observe a man in a thin jean jacket racing across the parking lot, his cart skating, more than it is rolling, over the dirty ice. Touch: frigid Sight: a man in a thin jean jacket racing across the parking lot, his cart skating, more than it is rolling, over the dirty ice 12. The cart is bouncing up and down, striking divots and bumps in the arctic-like landscape. Sight: The cart is bouncing up and down, striking divots and bumps in the arctic-like landscape. 13. I'm laughing, now, at the absurdity, which is life in Wisconsin, in winter, ha, ha! Sound: ha, ha 14. The stubborn, salt-streaked window is fighting me as I push hard to crank it back up, hurting my wrist. Sight: salt-streaked, window Touch: hurting 15. A lone, lethargic fly, who's taken up residence on my dashboard, attempts to escape through the windshield, in vain. Sight: A lone, lethargic fly, who's taken up residence on my dashboard, attempts to escape through the windshield, in vain 16. Fresh-brewed coffee wafts up at me, and I reach for it, wrapping both of my numb hands around it for a moment, then, as I shift into reverse, I slosh the hot brew on my leg, ouch! Smell: Fresh-brewed coffee Touch: numb Sound: ouch 17. The steering wheel squeaks, and its coolness seeps through my light driving gloves. Sound: squeaks Touch: coolness 18. My stomach growls, as I daydream about sampling a slice of scrumptious lemon pie, which is waiting for me when I get home. Sound: growls Taste: scrumptious lemon pie 19. An angry horn is blasting, somewhere off to my left, incessantly beep, beep, beeeeping! Sound: blasting, beep, beep, beeeeping 20. Three miles down the road, as I sip my now-cold, but still delicious coffee, the heater, at last, whooshes out some stale, but thankfully, slightly-warm air! Touch: now-cold, slightly-warm Taste: but still delicious coffee: Sound: whooshes Smell: stale Part 2 Observing my grand daughter as if I were a sensory camera: Turning of a doorknob, the door creaks, then ... slam. Little feet stomp, stomp, stomping. Snow dripping from little pink Dora the Explorer boots, drip, drip, drip. Puddles forming, spreading. "Hi gramma," Backpack unzipping, plopping as it misses the bench. Papers rustling. Bright red cheeks, smiling face, dark hair all-a-tangle. Brown, bright eyes twinkling. Snow pants, mittens thrown aside. "Look what I made!" Lopsided snowman, colors bleeding from getting wet. Little face beaming with pride. Sweet aroma of hot cocoa. Marshmallows plucked from cup. Little sticky fingers. Tongue savoring the gooey treats. Milk mustaches. Smiles Snuggling, wrapped in blankets, a roaring fire blazes. Soft scent of soap, crayons, and sweat. Flames leaping and crackling, toasty warm. Sweet, innocent laughter ~*~*~*~ Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 5 Part 1 & 2 January, 2011 Part 1 Developing your unique voice I don't know why I remember with such clarity, this one certain childhood incident, any more than all the other bad things that happened to me as a kid. There were, certainly, other events in my childhood, that were far worse. I grew up with a mixed-bag of experiences as a child; some parts were great, others, not so good. I've managed to shove most of these bad memories into the back of my brain, seldom allowing them out, except for a few, like the one I'm about to tell you of, which comes marching into my mind every so often. It's my tenth summer, and we're visiting my aunt's house in a small rural town. My mom has eight sisters, but Auntie Phil is one of my favorites as she's always smiling, laughing, giving hugs, and saying nice things to me, something I never get at home. Anyway, I remember this one summer day, perfectly. It's extra-hot, sizzling, in fact, by mid-afternoon. My aunt's Lilac bushes, that run the full-length of one side of her yard, are perfuming the humid air. My matching blue short-set is clinging to my clammy skin. My sisters each have the same outfit, only in different colors; my mom liked to do that a lot. My mom isn't with us, or at least my memory doesn't place her there. It's just me, and Deb, my sister, who's a year older than me, and our stepfather, oh, and of course, the Brat, that's what I call my little sister, who's five years younger than me. She's not a stepchild like we are, but I don't know I am either, at the time, and won't find out until I'm fifteen, which explains a whole-heck-of-a-lot in my mind, later on. But, back to this story. So, we kids are playing outside with our younger cousins, Kenny, Carrie and Kevin. There's not much to do as they're really poor and haven't any good toys to play with. I spot an old-time stroller, lying on its side in the sparse grass of their tiny front yard. It's one of those heavy-duty kinds with the removable wooden trays on the front, which is now cracked and dried out from lying in the sun too long. I set the filthy thing upright, attempting to brush some of the dirt off of it, and I roll it over to the cracked, narrow sidewalk. I swipe the dirt from my hands on to my new outfit, and now, I pretty-well match the dilapidated stroller. I can't tell you how many times I got into trouble for getting dirty, before we made it to where we were going. Generally, my mom made me sit in my socks, shoes, underwear and tee-shirt on the couch, until it was almost time to go out the door. I offer to push the youngest cousin, Kevin, who's three, up and down the block. Even in the present, his small, boyish-face is very vivid to me, though I haven't seen him in many years; dark-brown hair, smiling matching-brown eyes that twinkle, when he gives you one of his heart-melting smiles. Deb, and I, take turns, giving each cousin, and my younger sister, a turn, but after awhile, I'm bored of it, and decide to try something else. I loved to run as a child, so, naturally, I decide we should have some kind of race with this stroller. Deb's too big to get all the way into it, so she just plops in with her legs bent at the knees, her feet hanging over the tray. She counts, while I pump my legs as fast as I can down the block, turning around at Miller's General Store, and flying back to where I started. She hollers, "39 seconds!" "I say, "beat that!" and flop down in it, similar to her. She races me down and back. "51 seconds!" I announce with satisfaction at having beat her. Deb never was much of a runner, and she preferred sewing to physical activities, which I loved. Just then, the front screen-door slams open, hitting the peeling gray boards of my aunt's house with a thwaaap! The Giant, that's my nickname for my step-dad, in my head, at least, on account of him standing 6' 4'', and weighing 240 lbs., anyways, he comes tearing down the front steps, a scowl on his face, which is turning an angrier-shade of red with every step." "What in the Sam-Hell do you think you're doing!" he screams directly at me. "Does that belong to you? Are you a baby?" he asks, his voice softer, but menacing. "Maybe you'd like to be a baby, again, hmm ...? GET IN!" I see my sister Deb backing away, she's already crying, which she does a lot, even though she's not the object of this particular wrath. I start to sit down in it, like before, but he says, "NO! Get all the way in it." I make several attempts to get my legs in, with little success, so he reaches down and fumbles with the rusty mechanism holding the tray on, finally unsnapping it, and lifting it off, he points his over-sized finger at it. Once I'm in, my knees scrunched under the tray, I feel like Baby Huey as he reattaches the tray." "Oh, look at the cute lil' baby," "he says to my cousins, who are really shy kids, so they just stare back at him, with looks of terror etched on their little faces. The youngest, Kevin, turns and runs to my aunt as she's coming out the front door, hiding behind her skirt, but peeking his head around her hip. I can feel the heat crawling up my own neck and face, now, and I fight the urge to cry, stubbornly sticking my bottom lip out, which I do a lot. But I lose, and big crocodile tears roll down my dirty, tanned face. I lick their salty-wetness from my trembling lips. I can feel my aunt's, sisters' and cousins' eyes watching, but I can't look at them, and stare down at my scuffed blue tennis-shoes, instead." "Here we go, baaa-by," "he says as he begins pushing me down the block. "Is the baby having fun?" "An elderly couple is approaching us from Miller's market, the old man has a small brown sack clutched to his chest, and his wife is holding a leash with a tiny Wiener-dog trotting along behind. I am mortified by their quizzical expressions, and turn away, looking out into the deserted street, instead. I hear my stepfather offer a greeting, and the couple replying, but it's as if I am in some dark tunnel far away. Tears are streaming down, now, like twin waterfalls, over my smeared faced. I wish I were somewhere else, any place but here. I barely remember the ride back, but then we're there, and he's hollering, again, "Get in the car!" and he slaps the back of my head, hard, shoving me toward our new station-wagon. "And, you're grounded, too!" I sit in the vehicle, inhaling the aroma of new leather as my heart thumps against my chest. The Giant, and my sisters, say their goodbyes, and get into the car. I avoid looking at any of them. As we're leaving, I lift my hand up to wave at my cousins, who are all huddled around my aunt. They look scared, but they offer timid little waves, back. As we roll down the street, I stare after them for as long as I can. They're poor, but they're happy, and I wish, with all my heart, that I lived there. As an adult, thinking back on this, the slap in the head didn't bother me, nearly as much, as the shame of that ride, of being called a baby in front of my beloved aunt, cousins, and sisters. That feeling of total-humiliation haunts me to this day. *************************** Part 2 Write the same story from three different people's view point. I t must be written in First person, giving each character their own voice. The scene is a bank robbery by three masked gunmen, at a crowed intersection, at a cafe, which is directly across from the bank. 1st Interview: Detective Jack Archer interviews witness, Veda Chin This has been one lousy day! First, I oversleep, then, when I get to the precinct, my desk is overflowing with papers needing to be signed and filed, and my phone hasn't stopped ringing. Then, as I'm finally making some headway, and I'm thinking of grabbing some lunch, the boss is in my face, telling me, and my partner Kenny, to get down to 3rd and Simpson, pronto. "Bank's been robbed by armed gunmen," is all the Captain tells us. That area's always congested, and lunchtime will be a nightmare. The beat-boys are holding the eyewitnesses at La Fair, a crappy lil' cafe on the corner, across from the bank. We arrive on a chaotic scene of people complaining about being detained, and after many hours, we manage to interview all twenty-three witnesses. Then, my partner and I, re-interview three each, whose statements are conflicting: "So, let's start at the beginning, again," I say to the witness, a young Asian girl named Veda Chin. We both look up from the cheap plastic table we're sitting at, outside the cafe. The owner has strove for a Parisian-feel, complete with a checked tablecloth and a wine bottle with a stub of a candle, the remaining wax,having run down its sides to puddle at the base. An irate cab driver is laying on his horn. Beeeep! The crazy traffic, and hoards of people, reminds me of a colony of busy ants, running Helter-Skelter; people dart between the cars, from both sides of the street, making their way to their lunchtime destinations. "Is it the way I look, is that why all of you are against me?" Veda Chin asks me, slumping back against her chair. She waves her arm in the general direction of where the remaining witnesses are waiting, and continues ranting at me. "I mean, so what if I don't look like them? Just because my hair's not the same color as all those freaks." She reaches up, fidgets with her gross golden loop, that's attached to her left nostril. It matches the two just below her left eyebrow, how quaint. "Let's stick to the subject," I tell the brat. It's no wonder I look older than forty, spending half of my time listening to punk-kids like this little turd-ball. "So you're sitting outside the cafe, facing the bank, and then what?" "I just told your thick-headed sidekick, then I hear a shot!" "According to your earlier statement, you said it was two, so which is it, one, or two?" I ask her, letting out a long sigh. Damn, I've been at it for hours, and I'll be at it for several more. I reach into my left breast-pocket of my twill suit-coat, producing a crumpled hankie, which I use to mop my perspiring forehead. My stomach grumbles, and my shirt is sticking to my back. I'm thinking how nice it'd be to be sitting down at the corner pub, tossin' back a few, not to mention, watching the cute barmaid Johnny just hired. "Hey, I ain't here for my health! Are you even listening?" The little punk asks me, rolling her droopy eyes, which are smeared with enough crap to paint the Sistine Chapel with. "I remember, now that the excitement's over. I definitely hear two shots, then two men come running out. One trips and falls, and the other helps him up. They jump into a blue car and take off. End of story!" "What Make was it, a Chevy, Ford ...?" I ask, already knowing her answer. Instead of listening, I scrutinize her face, and I'm sure I recognize the familiar faded-stench of marijuana, but I don't have time to waste on something that'll amount to just a petty-misdemeanor charge. "How the heck do I know! It's a little, blue car, and that's all I know, so can I go, now, or what?" "Just a few more questions, then I'll cut ya loose." With a size 12, patten-leather right up your smart punk-ass! Good diction for the cop and attitude with the second line. Pulling at my tie, lacing my fingers behind my stiff neck, I ask her, "Why are you at the cafe, again? And, what time did you say you arrived here?" "Ugh! You cops are annoying. I'm supposed to be meeting my boyfriend for lunch. I ordered a double-chocolate latte, cuz I thought he'd pick up the tab, but the jerk hasn't shown up, yet!" "And ... you arrived at the cafe, when?" "How the heck do I know? As you can see, I ain't wearing no watch," Veda tells me. I watch her wet her bright-red lips as she taps on her wrist, shaking her head. Her face is scrunched up, and I can see where the future-lines on her face are going to be. "I got here, right before those two came blasting outta the bank!" Man, I've had a belly-full of smart-ass little punks! "Two, you're sure it was just two?" "I dunno, yeah, just two!" "Final question, Miss Veda, which way did the little blue car go?" I watch Veda, she hesitates, then wetting her lips, again, she continues rambling on, "Well, let's see, there's a lotta traffic here, so ... I'm facing them, so that's north, right, no wait, south, isn't it?" Now I'm getting ticked off. Dumb broads! I squint my eyes, rubbing them hard. My head is throbbing, threatening to become a full-blown migraine, which I'm prone to. God help me, how much crap can one man stand in a day? "That would be west, so looking across the street, do they go to your right, or do they go to your left?" Veda pauses as if she's considering some complex math problem. "Left," she points, smiling as if she deserves a pat-on-the-back for her mental prowess. "It's definitely left! Now can I go?" "Yes, please do, but stick around. We might have some more questions, later on." I yawn, arching my aching back, and watch her hurrying off to the right, then I pick up my pencil, and across the bottom of my yellow note-pad I write: L-I-A-R! I've been listening to people's statements for far too long, not to notice certain little giveaways. Like how she wets her lips, then pauses for just a second, before answering each question I ask, as if she's thinking it through. Veda's a cool one, though, but not too cool for me. Jack Archer always gets his man, or woman, or punk-ass, take your pick. Both show strong voices, she is pissed and combative toward Archer and he is presenting as a cop on his way to burn-out. Good! 2nd Witness: Lenny Stenovich Why'd I have to pick the bank to lean up against for my nap. I could've parked myself anywhere, but there. Now, after they've holed me up here for hours, asking me all kinds of crap, one of the lousy boys-in-blue tells me I've got to answer some more questions. He grabs me by the collar and shoves me into a chair, across from a mean-looking S.O.B. He's looking me up and down, like I'm some kind of crook. "Name?" the copper asks me? Before I can even answer him, he's waving his big hand with the gold ring on it, in front of him, say's he's got to clear away the stench of me. Says I reek a vomit and booze! that's when I's see a lilttle bald man come a running over to the table, and he's hollering, telling the detective I'm not welcome here! Says I'm filthy, and how I'm going to scare his customers away! Told me, I got to go, now! Now, that's not bad enough, then the dang copper's telling me, I'd better give him my name, lesson I want to be charged with obtructen justice. Then, he's telling baldy to get his Frenchy-little-ass back inside his greasy-spoon-of-a-paaareeshen-cafe, and the detective's getting all red in the face. Stands up, and just about knocks over his dang chair. "Ha! Ha!" I laugh so hard, seeing Frenchy scurrying away, so fast, and a looking back over his shoulder as if Archer we're a breathing down his scrawny neck. After Frenchy's back in his rabbit ho', I asks the detective, "So whadda I get, ifin I's tell ya sompin' good. Dos yous all give away free steak dinners or sompin'?" I give him one of my special smiles, but the jerk-wad just asks me, "When's the last time you brushed your nasty tobacco-stained teeth?" I ain't got but a few left, so's he shouldn't ought to talk to me like that. He's staring at my green trench-coat, asking me what the dark stains is on the front of it, too. I start to get uneasy, and my gut's twisting up inside, like some snakes crawling round in there, biting for good measure. To gets even, I let out a good, long belch, right in Archer's ugly face. Now that was the best part-o-my day! Then, he's asking me questions, again, "Name?" "Lenny," I say, but I'm a sulking, now, not looking at him, neither. He's asking me about my voice, why's it's so raspy. What are the scratches on my throat, and how'd they get there? Wants to know how come I got a strange twang for living round here. Says he can't quite place it, but he will. Tells me he knows all the homeless bums and free-loaders, who live round his precinct. I'm starting to sweat now, especially when Archer leans in real-close-like, tells me, "ll be keeping my eye on you, Stinky, you can bet your ass, I will be." His blue eyes is icy, and he ain't smiling. He ain't a joking with me. By then, hot acid's coming up my throat, so I swallows it back down; now my mouth's burning, and I want to hurry up and get out of there. "Lenny, that short for Leonard?" "Spose so." "Gotta last name, Lenny?" "Stenovich ... Lenny Stenovich, I's one-mean-son-of-a-bitch!" I tell Jack, and I give him another of my special grins, but he don't return it. "I'm sure you know the bank was robbed, don't you Lenny? When we arrived, you were slumped up against the bank's outter wall. Did you see or hear anything?" "I'm awful hungry. I haven't had a bite in days ... I means I ain't, really!" I try to win him over by making puppy-dog-eyes at him. "Sure nuff, I's could stand a bit o something in my belly." He don't even blink. He asks me how come my eyes is all bloodshot, asks me if I'm a drunk. Then the detective pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, opens it, and I get a whiff a new leather, and I tell him, "That sure is a fine-lookin' wallet." He tells me it were a gift, but he don't say who it's from. He takes out a single, crisp five dollar bill, snapping it in front of me, like a smart-ass; like he's holding a piece a candy in front of some snot-nosed kid. I make a grab for it, but Jack pulls it back just out of my reach, laughing at me. "Not just yet, Sti ... I mean, not just yet, Lenny," he says, like I didn't 'remember him a calling me Stinky. I'm mad, but I hold my temper, cuz I want that fiver, bad. I keep my eye on the dough as I tell him, "I think I's did see sompin', that's right, I's did see sompin'! I's having me a nap, see, cuz I always has a nap at lunchtime, just like them Mexican sestas." The S.O.B. laughs at me, then, and asks me, "You mean Mexican siestas?" I tell him, "that's what I said, man" and go on a telling him the rest. "Dens I hear a whole bunch a shootin', and dat's when these three cats come a boogieing outta da bank, see? They's all dressed in black. I can't see thur faces, neither. Day all hop inta a lil', old, gray Ford Pinto. I knows it's gray, cuz it ain't paint, ya see? It's all bondoed up, like they's gonna paint it. I knows, cuz I used ta work in a body-shop, long time ago." "When you say, a whole lot of shooting, how many shots did you actually hear?" "Hmm .. I could prolly member ifin I had a lil' sompin' to tide me over," I's tells 'em. "You'll get your five bucks, when you answer my questions. Now, how many shots?" he says, practically biting my head off. He's got this one vein in his neck that poofs up when he's mad, and it's a sticking way out, now. "Four ... no five. I hears four coming from da inside, den the last guy out, he fires one mo, into the bank." "You said there were three men, dressed in black." "Tha's right, sir, three of 'em. And they pulls da lil' gray car round, and take off thatta way," I says, I pointing' to my right. Then, he pushes the five across the table, and I snatch it, thinking he might change 'is mind. I 'stuffs it into my front pocket. It's got a hole in it, but I keeps my hand inside, holding it tight. Then, the detective says I's can go, but I'm to stick around. So I's get out of there, right fast, hoping he's not gonna be sticking his big, fat nose into my business, anytime soon. 3rd Witness: Taneesha Jackson On account of the bank, across the street, being robbed, my two-year-old son and I, have been detained at this stinking little cafe for hours now! The sun's gone low, so it's hotter than pancakes on a griddle, with the sun peeking in, under the red and green-striped awning. Even though Jube and I don't know nothin' 'bout it, they've drug us into it. I already told them what I knew, and, now, a second detective comes over to me, says his name is Jack Archer. Say's he'd like to ask some more bloody questions! Jube's screaming, standing up on our table, so I grab him and give his cheek a pinch. Now, he's screaming his brat-face off, again. Moms ought to be able to turn two-year-old's off. "What's your name, little fellow?" Detective Archer asks my son. "Jube!" he tells Archer, smiling up at the strange man. "That's my pet-name for my boy. Real name's, Jabal, and he's 'bout to get a beatin', unless he gets his butt down." "Let me help you down son," the cop tells him, scooping him up and handing him back to me. Jube's had about enough of talking to people, and so have I. "So, Mrs. Jackson, that's the name you gave the other detective, that right?" Archer asks. His voice seems to be mocking me, like he thinks I ain't being truthful. I'm getting pretty pissed off at this point. "It is, and you bess not be implying I was lying, neither. No, sir, I ain't got time to be sitting here listening to your white-ass calling me no liar!" I wave my finger in front of his face, just to be shore he's gettin' my drift. "Just confirming your name is correct, ma'am, standard procedure," he tells me. I sit up straighter, shoving my big breasts out at him. "Hmmph ... I already done told your better-half all this before!" "Can we just keep this civil, and we'll all get out of here quicker? I was not calling you a liar, Mrs. Jackson. So, can you tell me in your own words, exactly what you saw transpire here?" Jube struggles free, and getting down, he makes his way over to Archer's side of the table, making the arms-up gesture. The big, white detective picks him up, placing him on his left knee. Jube's been dusted with baby-powder, which the cop tells me, reminds him of his daughter being that age. I continue telling him, "Jube and I were just out for a stroll, that's our right, free country, ain't it? We're about half-way down the block, coming from the gas station," I say, pointing off to my left, at Sam's Gas~N~Go, across the street, and down a bit from the cafe. "Then, I hear a gunshot! I turn around Jube's stroller, and start running back toward Sam's. I'm looking back over my shoulder, and we're running, and I see two, no, three men, they're all dressed in black. I can't see their faces, neither, because they're wearing some kinda masks. You can't go saying they's black, neither, just on account a your whitey-bank getting robbed. No sir, most likely they was white! The bros, they don't go for nonna that honkey-crap!" "Taneesha, may I call you that? No one's suggesting the armed men were black. Now, please, let's just get this over with, so you, and I, both, can get on our way." "Hmmph!" I cross my arms, and I'm scowling at Archer. "Did you hear just the one shot, then?" "No, if you'da let me finish, I hear the shot, start running, then, I hear three or four more, and we duck back into the gas station. My heart's poundin' in my chest and I can't say no mo, because, me and Jube just run for the back of the store. We hide there, until it's quiet, for a spell." "So you did'nt see the gunmen after that? You didn't see which way they went?" "I just told ya I didn't! Why you asking me, again?" He ignores my question and asks, instead, "So, Mrs. Jackson, you weren't in the bank earlier?" "No, I weren't in your white-bank! What I be doing in your bank. I got me my own bank, yes, sir, I don't use no whitey bank!" I says. "So, if we were to look over the bank's records for today, there'd be no transactions from you?" I hesitate, trying to suck in a breath, but the air is choking me, like I got a chicken bone stuck in my throat. After a minute, I wipe the sweat off my upper lip, telling the jerk, "You trying to trick me, I knows what you're doing. It ain't nobody's business if I was or I wasn't in your bank." "You are aware, Mrs. Jackson, that it is illegal to give false information to a detective?" "I ... I ..., yes, of course, and I musta been mixed up! Yes, I was just thinking crazy, on account of all the confusion. I just plain forgot I was in the bank, today. Only went in there, cuz my sorry-no-good-ex-husband wrote me a child-support check. Wanted to cash it, 'fore he changed his mind. 'Fore he was to cancel it, so's he could drink it up! But, still, I already was heading back to Sam's place, when they mustta been robbin' the bank, and that's the God's-honest-truth," I tells him, holding up my right hand. "I see," is all he's got to say, but he's scribbling something at the bottom of his notes. "That all?" "That'll be all for now, Taneesha, but we may have more questions for you, later on, so stick around town." I collect Jube off of Detective Archer's lap and march off down the street. My heart's thumping, inside, cuz I know he didn't believe half of my story. I'm trying to remember if it lines up with what I told the other detective, praying to God I ain't messed this up! ~*~*~* Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 6 Part 1 & 2 February, 2011 Part 1 Simile Metaphor He was mean. As I come down the stairs and through the dimly-lit living room, I don't make eye contact with my step-father, whom I call the Giant. He's sitting in his favorite Lazy-Boy chair. It's his chair, and no one else is allowed to sit in it. He has all his favorite things around it, like his Pioneer Press crosswords, his peanuts in the little blue can, with the peanut man, Planter's Cheeseballs, and lots of other little items you're not suppose to touch, except if you're dusting, then you need to put them back as they were. My eye falls on his little black book that's full of names and addresses. I know, because I've stolen a peek in it lots of times. Under the birthday section, he has written little comments about my sisters and me. For my older sister, he writes: 'Deb- Could Be A Good Girl If She Wanted To,' and for my younger sister, Trooper (her nickname)- 'Brat!!!' He likes to use lots of exclamation points! Beside my name, he has written, Sis- 'Scatter Brained-Nincompoop-Will Never Amount To Anything!' I'm not sure what a nincompoop is, but I'm sure it's not good. I worry that I will never amount to anything, like a ghost, I'll just evaporate. The room was scary. The two teen-aged boys made their way up the extra-long flight of dusty hardwood steps to the dreaded attic, then just stood in the musky-smelling, cramped stairwell, staring at the worn brass doorknob. "Are ya going to open it, or what?" Chuck asked. Bobby slipped the old-time key into the rusty lock, his hand quivering. At first, it wouldn't turn. "Let me try," Chuck said, giving him a less than gentle shove. As Chuck reached for the skeleton key, both boys gasped as the key turned by itself, and the black door, with the strange symbol etched into it, swung inward with a long, drawn-out squeak. Bobby tried to spit out a word, but his tongue had fled, and a large rock had deposited itself in his throat, so all he'd managed was, "whaa ...." Chuck's face turned white, and like a scared snowman, he was frozen in place, staring into the darkness ahead. Bobby tentatively stuck his left sneaker into the pitch ahead, and something raked down is leg. "Ahhh!" He yanked it back out, saw four identical rips running up his blue jeaned-leg, turned, and shoved Chuck down the steps, following frantically in his wake. She's always hostile. "Freaking Jackie! Jackie-ass is more like it!" Angela hissed. In her sick and twisted mind, thoughts began to take form. Looking over the front of her bus seat, she could see the back of Jacqueline's blond head, several rows ahead, and she fantasized about splitting it open with a claw hammer. Angela pictured it splatting ... like an over-ripe melon. She began cracking her bony knuckles; an old habit she'd never outgrown. Systematically popping each joint. Pop! Pop! Pop! Like the sound Jackie's head would make, when it exploded. He was ugly. "Where the hell is that freaking train!" Angelo said to no one in particular. He flipped his long, greasy hair over his shoulders. "Mother-freaker better be on time!" he said, reaching up to scratch his acne-scarred, crooked nose. None of Angelo's fellow train-riders bothered to reply to this, and most averted their eyes as he continued to spew a whole stream of expletives. He jerked his emaciated body around to scan the shabby train station behind him. His mole-like left eye was twitching, now, completing his maniacal look, like he was a schizophrenic puppet, straight out of some horror flick. Momma hated sinners. "Fran ... Cine! You answer me, girl!" her mother called up the narrow set of stairs. "Or I'll kick your butt into next Tuesday! Did you, or did you not, eat my chocolates, that Mr. Snipe gave to me, only yesterday?" her mother asked. "I ... I didn't m ... m ... mean t ... to." Trying again, Francine's words came gushing out of her mouth, tumbling over each other, like a frantic waterfall, ... "tooo ... eeeat the ... the ... them all!" the pre-teen girl said. Bursting out sobbing, Francine spit out each syllable as if it were taffy, which had become stuck to the roof of her mouth: . "I ... I'm s ... s ... sor ... rry!" "To pay for your wickedness, you'll spend the rest of the week in your room, after school, when your chores are done, and you will wash every window in this house on Saturday. That will teach you to keep your fat fingers out of things that don't belong to you, Missy. Just look at you, why, you're like one of Mr.Grishom's over-stuffed pigs with your big-old-gut stretching out the front of your pretty dress I made special for you. Haven't you any self-respect! Do you understand me? You're nothing but a glutinous, back-sliding trespasser!" she continued, and stepping in close to Francine, she back-handed the girl across her quivering mouth. Francine's head careened sharply to the left, then to the right as her mother applied another stinging smack. It was chaos. The teacher nudged her group of petrified preschoolers in under the scanty awning, on the already crowded sidewalk, outside The St. Paul Science Museum, where they waited for their return bus. "Good God!" her co-teacher, Evelyn, screamed over the torrential pounding of the hail. "Look at that!" she cried, pointing across the street. Mary looked up in time to see dozens of golf ball-sized chunks of ice pummeling the bakery's awning. Within seconds, the fabric was torn loose, and it was flung down the street, turning cartwheels, like some lunatic over-sized rag-doll. The scared kids crowded in around Mary, like leery lambs in April, and the equally frightened teachers eyes were as big as plums. Suddenly, the hail began pummeling their awning, causing a large tear in the green and red-striped canvas. Pieces of the milky-ice fell through the gaping hole, landing amidst the frightened field-trippers, melting quickly on the hot sidewalk. The soggy, wary group jostled, among a thrashing throng of other museum-goers, trying to get back inside the packed building. Part 2 1. George has been working at the same automobile factory six days a week, ten hours a day, for the past twelve years. (Use a simile or a metaphor to show how worn out George was feeling.) A George felt as tired as a bald tire in the last lap of a Nascar race, like over time, he'd just deflated. B George felt as used-up as a rotting log. C George felt like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, limp, exhausted with straw for brains. 2. Katie had been working all day in the summer sun. (Use a simile or a metaphor to show how hot and tired Katie was feeling.) A Katie felt as hot as an over-grilled sandwich, like she was sizzling on her grandmother's griddle. B Katie felt like an ice cream cone on a scorching August afternoon. C Katie felt as hot as vinyl seats in a black interior. 3 This is Kim Su's first day at college, and she is in the middle of a chaotic morning registration session. {Use a simile or a metaphor to show either how confused Kim feels or how chaotic the entire session is.) A Standing in the registration line for hours, Kim Su was as frustrated as a bull penned up next to a field full of frolicking cows. B Registration was like a bunch of schizophrenic ants running Helter-Skelter, making Kim su's short-temper boil. C As Kim Su got in the long, winding registration line, it was like a crazy chorus with each member signing their own song. 4. Victor spent his entire summer vacation watching quiz shows and soap operas on television. (Use a simile or a metaphor to describe the state of Victor's mind by the end of his vacation.) A Obsessed with TV, Victor grew roots in the living room last summer B By the end of the summer, Victor's brain was so over-stimulated, like a blender full of whirring contestants and soap opera stars. C After a summer of constant TV, Victor was like an addict searching for just one more episode. 5. After all the troubles of the past few weeks, Sandy felt peaceful at last. (Use a simile or a metaphor to describe how peaceful or relieved Sandy was feeling.) A Her troubles over, at last, Sandy felt a sense of euphoria, like a balloon set free, she was heaven-bound. B Sandy grew wings, once her troubles were over, soaring high as an angel, amidst the peaceful clouds. C Sandy was floating in clouds of bliss, her troubles discarded like earthly trash. **This exercise is provided by Richard Norquist, English professor and published author. ~*~*~*~ Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 7 Part 1 & 2 March 2011 Part 1 1. Jeff, one of the biggest men you could imagine, walked heavily through the antique store, while Ginnie's eyes looked quickly at each item left quivering in his wake. Correction: Jeff, a Goliath, thumped through the antiques on display in the store, while Ginnie's eyes darted after the stock left quivering in his wake. 2. The big fuzzy dog lazily fell to the floor. Correction: The canine slumped down on the linoleum, taking up a lot of space. 3. A dirty homeless man walked across the street slowly, as the large crowd of people quickly walked around him. Correction: The vagrant sidled across the street, the pedestrians splitting like a formation of ducks around him. 4. The pretty girl who sits at the front desk and answers the phone, carefully typed a letter quitting her job to her big fat employer. Correction: The receptionist typed her resignation letter to her superior, considering each word she selected. 5. The mean looking, bald cop, a really little guy, loudly told us to move quickly from the area. Correction: The patrolman barked at us to high-tail it out of the area. 6. The thin taxi driver suddenly braked, causing Beth, his passenger, a blonde haired, blued-eyed woman, to rapidly react. Correction Beth seized the back of the cabbie's seat as he halted the cab, laying down a patch of rubber. 7. When Ted walked in I noticed right away that he was dressed impeccably, but when he started talk I hastily moved away, as his breath was very bad. Correction I noticed Ted was quite the dresser, but I retreated as a stench wafted up at me when he spoke. 8. Nancy, the oldest woman in our office, works very diligently and faithfully arrives early every day. Correction Nancy, though the senior of our crew, always beats the starting whistle, then keeps her hands busy throughout each day. 9. Sally sat silently, waiting for someone else to speak first. Correction Sally kept her tongue, holding back for someone else to initiate the conversation. 10. I anxiously waited for my brown-eyed, beefy husband to get home, so I could happily tell him the news. Correction I had trouble containing my joy of the news, while waiting for hubby to get home. 11. Carlita walked silently through the pitch black of the deserted, empty house, fingers pushing lightly on each closed door. Correction Alone in the house, Carlita mouse-stepped through the darkness, her fingers flitting against each door urging them to open. 12. John hurriedly ate his burger and fries. Correction John's ate his burger and fries as if someone might take them away any second. 13. The little brown-eyed girl quietly moved behind the couch to hide from her big brother. Correction The girl withdrew behind the sofa, concealing herself from her brother. 14. She wrote the report unusually neatly. Correction She penned the report, paying attention to neatness. 15. I was visibly upset when the big scary man looked at me with evil eyes. Correction My legs began quaking as his eyes, filled with evil, bored into mine. Part 2 story from my port. Watching The Eagles Soar Note: We had to incorporate 15 titles of bands, hence the capitalized/misspelled words. Living in the Styx, I get to see all kinds of nature up close. The Animals around our house and surrounding woods are plentiful and varied. If I get up early enough, say around 6:00 A.M., Ill be in time to watch The Byrds, my favorite being The Eagles, fly over our yard. The female of the pair has been recently tagged for study, and you can see The Band on her leg glinting in the early morning sun. One could literally spend all day Counting Crows, but they are simply too numerous. We have ten acres comprised mostly of hardwoods with a dusting of pine here and there. There is a garden at the back of the house surrounded by sculptures my husband has created. He is a welder by trade, so the majority of these are metal-works. My favorite piece is a gorgeous Iron Butterfly; its wings actually flutter in the wind, making it a beautiful sight. Lately, I have spied a Foreigner to our woods, a lone wolf. He has only shown himself once and then only on the edge of the treeline. He is skittish but curious. He makes me nervous for our two dogs, Blondie, our temperamental Yellow Labrador, and Meatloaf, our Border Collie. They would be in Dire Straits if he attacked them. There is a local Grassroots organization in our county trying to keep wolves on the endangered species list. We are in the process of clearing some of the trees, so there are quite a few stumps protruding here and there. The Beatles clamor in and out reducing them to pulp. Wildflowers grow in abundance from this mulch, and The Honey-Drippers, my pet name for the hummingbirds, zoom in and out. It's all too beautiful, but be careful, the bumble bees love to Sting!!! Word Count 301 Prompt: Use the names of 15 bands in your story. Cannot exceed 500 words. Rewritten 'Watching the eagles Soar: Living five miles out of town, adjacent to a forest, I get to see a lot of nature up close. A vast cornucopia of wildlife surrounds our house. If I get up early, say around 6:00 A.M., Ill be in time to watch the avian life embrace a new day. My heart soars with the eagles as they glide on currents of air, ever circling, watching for prey. The female of the pair has been tagged for study. You can see the band affixed to her leg as it glints in the sun like golden diamonds. One could waste the whole day counting crows, and never count them all. Ten of the wooded-acres belong to us. They're comprised of hardwoods: oaks and maples, with a dusting of pine completing the scenery. There is a garden at the back of our cottage, which my husband has surrounded with sculptures. A welder by trade, he has fashioned them out of metal. The one I hold dearest is an iron butterfly. Its copper wings flutter in the slightest of breezes, making it a resplendent sight! As of late, I have spied a foreigner to our domain, a wolf, traveling solo. He has revealed himself once on the fringes of the treeline. He paced back and forth, muzzle to the ground, eying me, but was curious enough to remain for five minutes, before vanishing back into the forest. When I let our dogs out: Blondie, who craves chasing anything, and Meatloaf, who's afraid of everything, including squirrels, I feel the wild creature maybe lurking in the shadows. If the dogs venture into the woods, crossing the wolves marked boundaries, he could attack them. My husband and I are in the process of clear-cutting a section of the trees, so there are various heights of sawed-off trees protruding here and there. The wood-eating beatles help clean up, clamoring in and out, reducing the stumps, over time, to pulp. Daisies, Aster, Honeysuckle, and an abundance of other wildflowers fill in the felled area in no time, creating a visual masterpiece . The Honey-Drippers', my pet name for the red-throated hummingbirds, zoom in and out. It's a picturesque scene, but take caution, the bumble bees love to sting!!! ~*~*~*~ }Ms. Diane Hannah Sunrise Lesson 8 March 2011 1. The thief returned back to the scene of the crime. The thief returned to the locale of the atrocity. 2. The large giant was sleeping. The behemoth was dozing. 3. The cold ice kept the drink cold. The ice kept the drink chilled. 4. He passed his English class by a slender, narrow margin. He passed his English class by a minuscule margin. 5. The final outcome of the study will help explain various different links between the three separate factors of heart disease, age, and physical activity. The outcome of the study will explain various links between the factors of heart disease, age, and physical activity. 6. My nephew was suspended from school because of his behavior and conduct in class. My nephew was suspended from school because of his shenanigans in class. 7. Nancy is wearing a blue colored dress that looks smaller in size than it should. Nancy's sapphire dress looks too teensy for her. 8. Insofar as learning to play a musical instrument is concerned, the piano, in my personal opinion, would be in the category of the kind that is difficult to learn to play. I think it would be arduous to master the piano. 9. It is a fact that there are many individuals who do not vote in elections. Many individuals can't be pestered to vote in elections. 10. The judge, who is a known expert in the field of labor discussions, recommended that each chairman of both sides meet with him tomorrow morning at 10am. The judge, an expert in the field of labor discussions, recommended the chairman of each side meet with him tomorrow at 10 am. 11. Although they were few in number, the early settlers who came to America brought with them strong and loyal religious faith and beliefs. Early American settlers, though few in number, brought stalwart and steadfast religious faith and beliefs with them. 12. The average worker who works in a surrounding environment that contains poisonous pollutants sometimes dies of a mortal illness connected with the pollutants. The average laborer in an environment containing poisonous pollutants could die of a related illness. 13. He has a wide nose and a large head. He had a thick chest and stick legs. He was a big kid. He was a strapping kid with a wide nose, large head, and thick chest, yet had stick legs. 14. "Hey Jimmy, hurry up! Linda shouted. "It's almost 2 pm, in the afternoon, and we have a lot of work to do." "Hurry Jimmy! it's almost 2 pm, and we have a lot of work to do." 15. The big, large book was eaten by the ugly, disgusting monster. The fiend devoured the colossal book. 16. The dog danced on its hind legs in a round circle and I thought it was a very unique trick. The canine pirouetted on it's hind legs, a unique trick. 17. After listening to the lecture Dan had a complete and total understanding of the subject. After listening to the lecture, Dan comprehended the subject. 18. Our teacher put us in groups and told us to cooperate together on the project. Our teacher split us into groups and told us to cooperate on the project. 19. Then our teacher told us that it was extremely crucial to finish the project by the deadline. Then our teacher warned us to finish the project by the deadline. 20. The group I'm in met in the Library to come up with a plan and scheme for the project. My group flocked in the library to brainstorm on the project. 21. In the event that a large-scale disaster such as a hurricane or earthquake occurred, the possibility exists that even large hospitals could be overwhelmed. Hospitals could be swamped in the case of a calamity. 22. Caught in a lie, Sam dropped down his head in shame. Exposed in a falsehood, Sam hung his head. 23. One of my most trusted and respected personal friends who lives in the city of London at the moment is considering moving to Ireland because he has been offered a position in that area. One of my best friends living in London may move to Ireland, where he's been offered a position. 24. "Hey!" Tommy exclaimed. "Hey!" 25. My favorite part of the movie was when the building suddenly exploded. My favorite part of the film was the building exploding. No 26. 27. Jenny and Rick skated across the frozen ice holding hands together. Holding hands, Jenny and Rick skated across the ice. 28. Mr. Jones commutes by train back and forth to the city during the week. Mr. Jones commutes by train during the week. 29. Lisa smiled and rose up from the chair. Lisa smiled and rose from the chair 30. Joey ordered the parts and components for his car from Ebay. Joey ordered the parts for his car from Ebay. :
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