Persona / Bio Poem

Title : name of the author of the poem

Line 1: first name/nickname of the person in the poem
Line 2: 4 adjectives which describe the person
Line 3: X of Y formula, about an important relationship to the person
Line 4: 3 things s/he loves
Line 5:3 things that scare her/him
Line 6: 3 things s/he wants to see
Line 7: resident of...a place or time or concept
Line 8: last name of the person in the poem

Haiku

Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry. It often centers around nature.
Haiku poems don’t rhyme; they follow a pattern. The pattern for haiku is the
following:

Line 1: 5 syllables
Line 2: 7 syllables
Line 3: 5 syllables

Examples:

Here's a Haiku to help you remember:

1. Haiku

I am first with five
Then seven in the middle --
Five again to end.

2. The Rainbow

After summer's rain
God's promise is remembered
glorious rainbow


3. Snowflakes

Snowflakes are our friends
They descend when winter comes
Making white blankets

Poetry

Elements of Poetry

More PowerPoint presentations from TanyaTravis

Sensory Images
Very Earlyby: Karla Kusskin

When I wake in the early mist
The sun has hardly shown
And everything is still asleep
And I'm awake alone.
The stars are faint and flickering.
The Sun is new and shy.
And all the world sleeps quietly,
Except the sun and I.
And then beginning noise start,
The whirrs and huff and hums,
The birds peep out to find a worm,
The mice squek out for crumbs,
The calf moos out to find the cow,
And taste the morning air
And everything is wide awake
And running everywhere.
The dew has dried
The fields are warm,
The day is loud and brighter,
And the I'm the one who woke the sun
And kissed the stars goodnigt.


Rhyme

Bugs and worms come out in spring
They wiggle, squiggle,fly,and sting
Some are brown and some are green
Some so small they can't be seen.

Fuzzy wuzzy,creepy crawly
Catepillar funny
You will be a butterfly
When the days are sunny .

The soft white snow
Like cotton fell
Covering the earth
From head to ___________.

The rabbits hopped
The horses shied
While in the tree
The robins ___________
To listen to the spring.

There is no one in the world like Pop.
I laugh at him til I can't ___________.
He's round and fat and jolly, too.
There's nothing that he cannot ___________.




Alliteration and Onomatopoeia

1)The firecrackers snapped in the dark light
While sizzling sparklers flashed bright light.

2) When the attic floor creaked
Flashes of moonlight streaked
Across the ancient window
While thunder beat a crescendo.

3)The mighty surf crashed the shore
The bubbles bursting in foam
Angry gulls cried overhead
And they wheeled away toward home.

4) As the parade passed by
The trumpets blared
And the drums beat a rapid tattoo
The crowd roared and saluted the flag
Waving banners of every hue.

The Open Window

Title: The Open Window
Author: H.H. Munro
Pre-reading: Vocabulary


1. endeavored: to make an effort to do something : Try, attempt
2. flatter: to judge favorably
3. migrate: to move from one country or place to another
4. moping: to become dull, dejected, or listless
5. communion: a sharing of something with others
6. rectory: the residence of a rector or a parish priest
7. tragedy: a disastrous event : also : MISFORTUNE
8. moor: : an expanse of open rolling infertile land
9. treachery: violation of allegiance or trust
10. bog: wet, spongy, poorly drained, and usually acid ground
11. faltering: to hesitate in speech : STAMMER
12. creepy: having or producing a nervous shivery fear
13. shudder: tremble : QUAKE
14. bustled: to move or work in a brisk busy manner
15. ghastly: horrible : SHOCKING
16. avoidance: to keep away from
17. acquaintance: a person whom one knows
18. burdened: to increase the weight of by adding something
19. dimly: not seeing or understanding clearly
20. bolt: to move suddenly (as in fright or hurry)
21. snarl: to growl angrily or threateningly


The Open Window
By: H. H. Munro (Saki) (1870-1916)

My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

Framton Nuttel endeavored to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing

"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.

"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window--"

She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

"She has been very interesting," said Framton.

"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men folk, isn't it?"

She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who labored under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention--but not to what Framton was saying.

"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.

"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodbye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

Romance at short notice was her specialty.

" Charles"

Pre- Reading Activity: Vocabulary

Title: Charles
Author: Shirley Jackson
Pre-reading: Vocabulary

1. renounced: to give up, refuse, or resign usually by formal declaration
2. tot: a small child
3. swaggering: to walk with a conceited swing or strut
4. insolently: rude, disrespectful, or bold in behavior or language
5. addressing : to direct the attention of (oneself)
6. spanked: to hit on the buttocks with the open hand
7. deprived : to stop from having something
8. reassuringly: to restore confidence to : free from fear
9. anxiously: uneasy in mind : worried
10. passionately: strong feeling; filled with emotions as distinguished from reason
11. simultaneously: occurring or operating at the same time
12. solemnly: highly serious
13. heartily: giving full support; also jovial
14. shrugged: to hunch (the shoulders) up to express aloofness, indifference, or
uncertainty
15. reformation: the state of correcting or improving one's own character or habits
16. incredulously: expressing disbelief, skeptical
17. plotting: to make a plan of
18. awed: respectful fear inspired by authority
19. unwisely: not showing good sense or good judgment : foolish
20. matronly: a married person usually of dignified maturity or social distinction
21. haggard: having a worn or emaciated appearance
22. primly: stiffly formal and precise
23. lapses: to sink or slip gradually

CHARLES
by Shirley Jackson

The day my son Laurie started kindergarten he renounced corduroy overalls with
bibs and began wearing blue jeans with a belt; I watched him go off the first morning
with the older girl next door, seeing clearly that an era of my life was ended, my sweet voiced nursery-school tot replaced by a long-trouser, swaggering character who forgot to stop at the corner and wave good-bye to me.
He came running home the same way, the front door slamming open, his cap on
the floor, and the voice suddenly become raucous shouting, “Isn’t anybody here?”
At lunch he spoke insolently to his father, spilled his baby sister’s milk, and
remarked that his teacher said we were not to take the name of the Lord in vain.
“How was school today?” I asked, elaborately casual.
“All right,” he said.
“Did you learn anything?” his father asked.
Laurie regarded his father coldly. “I didn’t learn nothing,” he said.
“Anything,” I said. “Didn’t learn anything.”
“The teacher spanked a boy, though,” Laurie said, addressing his bread and butter.
“For being fresh,” he added, with his mouth full.
“What did he do?” I asked. “Who was it?”
Laurie thought. “It was Charles,” he said. “He was fresh. The teacher spanked
him and made him stand in the corner. He was awfully fresh.”
“What did he do?” I asked again, but Laurie slid off his chair, took a cookie, and
left, while his father was still saying, “See here, young man.”
The next day Laurie remarked at lunch, as soon as he sat down, “Well, Charles
was bad again today.” He grinned enormously and said, “Today Charles hit the teacher.”
“Good heavens,” I said, mindful of the Lord’s name, “I suppose he got spanked
again?”
“He sure did,” Laurie said. “Look up,” he said to his father.
“What?” his father said, looking up.
“Look down,” Laurie said. “Look at my thumb. Gee, you’re dumb.” He began
to laugh insanely.
“Why did Charles hit the teacher?” I asked quickly.
“Because she tried to make him color with red crayons,” Laurie said. “Charles
wanted to color with green crayons so he hit the teacher and she spanked him and said
nobody play with Charles but everybody did.”
The third day—it was a Wednesday of the first week—Charles bounced a see-saw
on to the head of a little girl and made her bleed, and the teacher made him stay inside all
during recess. Thursday Charles had to stand in a corner during story-time because he
kept pounding his feet on the floor. Friday Charles was deprived of black-board
privileges because he threw chalk.
On Saturday I remarked to my husband, “Do you think kindergarten is too
unsettling for Laurie? All this toughness and bad grammar, and this Charles boy sounds
like such a bad influence.”
“It’ll be alright,” my husband said reassuringly. “Bound to be people like Charles
in the world. Might as well meet them now as later.”
On Monday Laurie came home late, full of news. “Charles,” he shouted as he
came up the hill; I was waiting anxiously on the front steps. “Charles,” Laurie yelled all
the way up the hill, “Charles was bad again.”
“Come right in,” I said, as soon as he came close enough. “Lunch is waiting.”
“You know what Charles did?” he demanded following me through the door.
“Charles yelled so in school they sent a boy in from first grade to tell the teacher she had to make Charles keep quiet, and so Charles had to stay after school. And so all the
children stayed to watch him.
“What did he do?” I asked.
“He just sat there,” Laurie said, climbing into his chair at the table. “Hi, Pop,
You old dust mop.”
“Charles had to stay after school today,” I told my husband. “Everyone stayed
with him.”
“What does this Charles look like?” my husband asked Laurie. “What’s his other
name?”
“He’s bigger than me,” Laurie said. “And he doesn’t have any rubbers and he
doesn’t wear a jacket.”
Monday night was the first Parent-Teachers meeting, and only the fact that the
baby had a cold kept me from going; I wanted passionately to meet Charles’s mother. On
Tuesday Laurie remarked suddenly, “Our teacher had a friend come to see her in school
today.”
“Charles’s mother?” my husband and I asked simultaneously.
“Naaah,” Laurie said scornfully. “It was a man who came and made us do
exercises, we had to touch our toes. Look.” He climbed down from his chair and
squatted down and touched his toes. “Like this,” he said. He got solemnly back into his
chair and said, picking up his fork, “Charles didn’t even do exercises.”
“That’s fine,” I said heartily. “Didn’t Charles want to do exercises?”
“Naaah,” Laurie said. “Charles was so fresh to the teacher’s friend he wasn’t let
do exercises.”
“Fresh again?” I said.
“He kicked the teacher’s friend,” Laurie said. “The teacher’s friend just told
Charles to touch his toes like I just did and Charles kicked him.
“What are they going to do about Charles, do you suppose?” Laurie’s father
asked him.
Laurie shrugged elaborately. “Throw him out of school, I guess,” he said.
Wednesday and Thursday were routine; Charles yelled during story hour and hit a
boy in the stomach and made him cry. On Friday Charles stayed after school again and
so did all the other children.
With the third week of kindergarten Charles was an institution in our family; the
baby was being a Charles when she cried all afternoon; Laurie did a Charles when he
filled his wagon full of mud and pulled it through the kitchen; even my husband, when he
caught his elbow in the telephone cord and pulled the telephone and a bowl of flowers off
the table, said, after the first minute, “Looks like Charles.”
During the third and fourth weeks it looked like a reformation in Charles; Laurie
reported grimly at lunch on Thursday of the third week, “Charles was so good today the
teacher gave him an apple.”
“What?” I said, and my husband added warily, “You mean Charles?”
“Charles,” Laurie said. “He gave the crayons around and he picked up the books
afterward and the teacher said he was her helper.”
“What happened?” I asked incredulously.
“He was her helper, that’s all,” Laurie said, and shrugged.
“Can this be true about Charles?” I asked my husband that night. “Can something
like this happen?”
“Wait and see,” my husband said cynically. “When you’ve got a Charles to deal
with, this may mean he’s only plotting.” He seemed to be wrong. For over a week
Charles was the teacher’s helper; each day he handed things out and he picked things up;
no one had to stay after school.
“The PTA meeting’s next week again,” I told my husband one evening. “I’m
going to find Charles’s mother there.”
“Ask her what happened to Charles,” my husband said. “I’d like to know.”
“I’d like to know myself,” I said.
On Friday of that week things were back to normal. “You know what Charles did
today?” Laurie demanded at the lunch table, in a voice slightly awed. “He told a little
girl to say a word and she said it and the teacher washed her mouth out with soap and
Charles laughed.”
“What word?” his father asked unwisely, and Laurie said, “I’ll have to whisper it
to you, it’s so bad.” He got down off his chair and went around to his father. His father
bent his head down and Laurie whispered joyfully. His father’s eyes widened.
“Did Charles tell the little girls to say that?” he asked respectfully.
“She said it twice,” Laurie said. “Charles told her to say it twice.”
“What happened to Charles?” my husband asked.
“Nothing,” Laurie said. “He was passing out the crayons.”
Monday morning Charles abandoned the little girl and said the evil word himself
three or four times, getting his mouth washed out with soap each time. He also threw
chalk.
My husband came to the door with me that evening as I set out for the PTA
meeting. “Invite her over for a cup of tea after the meeting,” he said. “I want to get a
look at her.”
“If only she’s there.” I said prayerfully.
“She’ll be there,” my husband said. “I don’t see how they could hold a PTA
meeting without Charles’s mother.”
At the meeting I sat restlessly, scanning each comfortable matronly face, trying to
determine which one hid the secret of Charles. None of them looked to me haggard
enough. No one stood up in the meeting and apologized for the way her son had been
acting. No one mentioned Charles.
After the meeting I identified and sought out Laurie’s kindergarten teacher. She
had a plate with a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate cake; I had a plate with a cup of tea
and a piece of marshmallow cake. We manoeuvred up to one another cautiously, and
smiled.
“I’ve been so anxious to meet you,” I said. “I’m Laurie’s mother.”
“We’re all so interested in Laurie,” she said.
“Well, he certainly likes kindergarten,” I said. “He talks about it all the time.”
“We had a little trouble adjusting, the first week or so,” she said primly, “but now
he’s a fine helper. With an occasional lapses, of course.”
“Laurie usually adjusts very quickly,” I said. “I suppose this time it’s Charles’s
influence.”
“Charles?”
“Yes,” I said, laughing, “you must have your hands full in that kindergarten, with
Charles.”
“Charles?” she said. “We don’t have any Charles in the kindergarten.”

After Twenty Years

THE COP MOVED ALONG THE STREET, LOOKING strong and important. This was the way he always moved. He was not thinking of how he looked. There were few people on the street to see him. It was only about ten at night, but it was cold and there was a wind with a little rain in it.

He stopped at doors as he walked along, trying each door to be sure that it was closed for the night. Now and then he turned and looked up and down the street. He was a fine-looking cop, watchful, guarding the peace.

People in this part of the city went home early. Now and then you might see the lights of a shop or of a small restaurant, but most of the doors belonged to business places that had been closed hours ago.

Then the cop suddenly slowed his walk. Near the door of a darkened shop a man was standing. As the cop walked toward him, the

man spoke quickly.

“It’s all right, officer,” he said. “I’m waiting for a friend. Twenty years ago we agreed to meet here tonight. It sounds strange to you, doesn’t it? I’ll explain if you want to be sure that everything’s all right. About twenty years ago there was a restaurant where this shop stands. ‘Big Joe’ Brady’s restaurant.”

“It was here until five years ago,” said the cop.

The man near the door had a colorless square face with bright

eyes, and a little white mark near his right eye. He had a large jewel in his necktie.

“Twenty years ago tonight,” said the man, “I had dinner here with Jimmy Wells. He was my best friend and the best fellow in the world. He and I grew up together here in New York, like two brothers. I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West. I was going to find a job and make a great success. You couldn’t have pulled Jimmy out of New York. He thought it was the only place on earth.

“We agreed that night that we would meet here again in twenty years. We thought that in twenty years we would know what kind of men we were, and what future waited for us.”

“It sounds interesting,” said the cop. “A long time between meetings, it seems to me. Have you heard from your friend since you went West?”

“Yes, for a time we did write to each other,” said the man, “but after a year or two, we stopped. The West is big. I moved around everywhere, and I moved quickly. I know that Jimmy will meet me here if he can. He was as true as any man in the world. He’ll never forget. I came a thousand miles to stand here tonight, but I’ll be glad about that, if my old friend comes too.”

The waiting man took out a fine watch, covered with small jewels.

“Three minutes before ten,” he said. “It was ten that night when we said goodbye here at the restaurant door.”

 “You were successful in the West, weren’t you?” asked the cop.

“I surely was! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a slow mover. I’ve had to fight for my success. In New York a man doesn’t change much. In the West you learn how to fight for what you get.”

The cop took a step or two.

“I’ll go on my way,” he said. “I hope your friend comes all right.

If he isn’t here at ten, are you going to leave?”

“I am not!” said the other. “I’ll wait half an hour, at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth, he’ll be here by that time. Good night, officer.”

“Good night,” said the cop, and walked away, trying doors as he went.

There was now a cold rain falling and the wind was stronger. The

few people walking along that street were hurrying, trying to keep warm.

 At the door of the shop stood the man who had come a thousand miles to meet a friend. Such a meeting could not be certain, but he waited.

About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long coat came hurrying across the street. He went directly to the waiting man.

“Is that you, Bob?” he asked, doubtfully.

“Is that you, Jimmy Wells?” cried the man at the door.

The new man took the other man’s hands in his. “It’s Bob! It surely is. I was certain I would find you here if you were still alive. Twenty years is a long time. The old restaurant is gone, Bob. I wish it were here, so that we could have another dinner in it. Has the West been good to you?”

“It gave me everything I asked for. You’ve changed, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall.”

“Oh, I grew a little after I was twenty.”

“Are you doing well in New York, Jimmy?”

“Well enough. I work for the city. Come on, Bob, We’ll go to a place I know, and have a good long talk about old times.”

The two men started along the street, arm in arm. The man from the West was beginning to tell the story of his life. The other, with his

coat up to his ears, listened with interest.

At the corner stood a shop bright with electric lights. When they came near, each turned to look at the other’s face.

The man from the West stopped suddenly and pulled his arm away.

“You’re not Jimmy Wells,” he said. “Twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change the shape of a man’s nose.”

“It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one,” said the tall man. “You’ve been under arrest for ten minutes, Bob. Chicago cops thought you might be coming to New York. They told us to watch for

you. Are you coming with me quietly? That’s wise, but first here is something I was asked to give you. You may read it here at the window. It’s from a cop named Wells.”

The man from the West opened the little piece of paper. His hand began to shake a little as he read.

“Bob: I was at the place on time. I saw the face of the man wanted by Chicago cops. I didn’t want to arrest you myself. So I went and got another cop and sent him to do the job.

JIMMY.”

CAPITALIZATION RULES

1) Capitalize the pronoun I.

Example: Jennifer and I went to the movies yesterday.

2) Capitalize the first letter of the first word of each sentence.

Example: Learning to capitalize correctly will improve your writing.

3) Capitalize the first letter of names of people, organizations, and
     places.

Example: Juan went on a trip to Tokyo, Japan for his company, General Motors Corporation.

4) Capitalize the first letter of adjectives that are made from the
     names of people and places.

Example: I like Mexican food.

5) Capitalize initials

Example: My brother's favorite author is H.G. Wells.

6) Capitalize the first letter of directions only when they are used
     to designate actual places, not when they point in a direction.

Example: When we visited the Southwest, we actually had to drive north.

7) Capitalize the first letter of the names of months and
     the days of the week.

Example: My birthday will be on a Friday next June.

8) Capitalize the official title of a person (including abbreviations),
     but only when you use it with the person's name.

Example: Did Clarissa recommend Dr. Montoya to you?

9) Capitalize words used as names or parts of names.

Example: Did Uncle George call my mom to tell her our grandmother is with Dad?

10) Capitalize the first letter of important words in a title of a
      book, magazine, story, essay, etc.

Example: I enjoyed Mark's essay, "The Truth About Being a Good Student."

11) Capitalize historical events and documents.

Example: The Emancipation Proclamation was issued during the Civil War.

12) Capitalize the name of languages, races, nationalities, and
      religions.

Example: I learned in Spanish class that several Hispanics are Catholic.

13) Capitalize acronyms. (An acronym is a word formed by the
      first, or first few, letters of words in a long name of an
      organization.)

Example: CARE is the Cooperative for American Relief Everywhere.

14) Capitalize initialisms. (An initialism is similar to acronym, but
      a word is not formed from the letters.)

Example: The Central Intelligence Agency is simply known as the CIA.

 

Types of Paragraphs

Five Steps of the writing Process

STEP 1: PREWRITING

THINK
• Decide on a topic to write about.
• Consider who will read or listen to your written work.
• Brainstorm ideas about the subject.
• List places where you can research information.
• Do your research.

STEP 2: DRAFTING

WRITE
• Put the information you researched into your own words.
• Write sentences and paragraphs even if they are not perfect.
• Read what you have written and judge if it says what you mean.
• Show it to others and ask for suggestions.

STEP 3: REVISING

MAKE IT BETTER
• Read what you have written again.
• Think about what others said about it.
• Rearrange words or sentences.
• Take out or add parts.
• Replace overused or unclear words.
• Read your writing aloud to be sure it flows smoothly.

STEP 4: PROOFREADING

MAKE IT CORRECT
• Be sure all sentences are complete.
• Correct spelling, capitalization, and punctuation.
• Change words that are not used correctly.
• Have someone check your work.
• Recopy it correctly and neatly.

STEP 5: PUBLISHING

SHARE THE FINISHED PRODUCT
• Read your writing aloud to a group.
• Create a book of your work.
• Send a copy to a friend or relative.
• Put your writing on display.
• Illustrate, perform, or set your creation to music.
• Congratulate yourself on a job well done!

Editing Marks