Faultless Personification: A Poetry Prompt

     After sharing a poem from Creative Kids magazine, "It's Not the Iron's Fault," by 15-year-old Joe Block, I asked 10-year-old Nathan to write his own personification poem featuring an object blamed for a person's errors. Nathan  immediately thought of a basketball getting blamed for a player's mistakes. I asked him to emulate the structure of Block's poem, which began with an iron pointing out its many attributes ("took the wrinkles out of your clothes"; "gave your clothes that special warmth"; and "made the clothes look as if they belonged to royalty") before the object poses questions to the human user of the iron about why she/he yells at the iron for ruining clothes, burning fingers, etc., when those problems arose from the user's misuse of, or neglect while using, the iron.

     Here is Nathan's poem, featuring a talking basketball:

It’s Not the Ball’s Fault

 by Nathan, age 10

So the next time you scream at me,

think about all that I did for you.

When there was a fifty-fifty chance to go in

in a tight game, I decided to go in.

I was also the one who gave you enough backspin to make

that basket you thought you would make.

So why do you scream at me when I don’t go through the net?

Remember, you were the one who passed the ball

too hard to your teammate.

And remember when you lost control of the ball

and someone stole it?

That was you who dribbled too hard.

You’re also the one that controls me,

who gives me backspin,

so when you make a bad shot, don’t expect it to go in.

So why do you scream at me every time you lose the ball,

Or you don’t make a shot? All of that’s your fault.

So remember, it’s not the basketball’s fault,

If anything, it’s your fault.

Halloween Painting Prompt

     One of my favorite prompts to use just before Halloween time is this photograph of a watercolor painting by the late, great Steve Hanks. (Click on his name to see a magnificent collection of the most realistic, emotional watercolor paintings you've ever seen!)

     I showed this picture of the little crow boy to Alyssa K., age 11, and asked her to write a multisensory scene, using description, action, and dialogue (my "D.A.D. technique for vivid writing") to show the boy and how he feels in this memorable moment from childhood. Here is the lively piece she created during today's writing class:

Little Crow Boy

by Alyssa, age 11

            Whoosh! The wind howled as the yellow and red leaves blew into Tommy’s face. The sun was shining, and it didn’t help that he was wearing a black crow costume.

Caw! Caw! His fellow crows called at him. He giggled. Dumb crows, I’m a human, he thought. He stood up and chased them off. He tripped, spread his wings, and fell into a big pile of raked leaves. He laughed and made leaf angels. “Mom! When is Halloween? I’ve bween waiting in forever!” he yelled toward the house.

            “Tommy, first of all, you used your grammar wrong, and second, it’s three p.m! There’s three more hours! Tommy, also please get off of Mrs. Johnson’s lawn. She just raked those leaves!” His mom went back into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Tommy rolled his eyes, skipped away, and resumed his spot on the stairs.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 

Specificity Is a Key to Memorable Writing: Teaching About the "Spectrum of Specificity"

Writing with Specific Details:

Levels of SHOWING on a Spectrum of Specificity

By Susan L. Lipson, Author & Writing Teacher

[This is a lesson I use with my students. You can find similar lessons on my TeachersPayTeachers online store page.]

        VAGUE/ “TELLING” àààààààààààSPECIFIC/ “SHOWING”

1) She seemed nervous.

                                     2) She hid her nervousness, but the cup shook in her hand.

                                                         3) "Her face revealed nothing, but the tea                                                                             lapped the inside of the cup when she                                                                                         passed it to him."
                                                                                           (Lee Kochenderfer)

Notice the increasing specificity in the details above, resulting in a deeper, vivid word picture, one that makes the reader think, rather than just passively absorb information. Details are tools to engage readers in a verbal experience.

  

EXERCISE 1: Create your own spectrum of specificity, starting with the vague words and adding two levels of depth to produce a vivid word picture.

VAGUE/“TELLING”àààààààààààààSPECIFIC/“SHOWING”

1) His heart ached over losing her.       2)                                                                         3)

1) She acted nonchalant.                    2)                                                                          3)

1) He embarrassed her.                    2)                                                                           3)

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          After completing the above creative writing lesson with me in his private class, young author Sam wrote an essay about what he learned--an additional exercise designed to practice both essay-writing skills and introduce metacognitive analysis to enrich the depth of his learning. I present to you, below, the excellent essay he wrote, which is my way of SHOWING, NOT TELLING what my student took away from this two-part lesson.

An Essay on "The Spectrum of Specificity" Exercise
by Sam X., age 13

I stared at the vague descriptions on the paper. Each description changed from a simple statement to a vivid picture placed in the reader’s mind. By the last level, the description required inference to fully understand it. This lesson shows how specificity works and why it is important by comparing vague and specific descriptions.

Without specificity, readers soak in information but do not have to actively think, defeating the purpose of reading. An example of a vague description is “His heart ached over losing her.” However, by turning it into a more specific description, “Laying flowers on the tombstone, he couldn’t help remembering Sarah’s deep brown eyes,” the reader must infer that the girl he loves has died, and that his heart aches for her. Instead of telling the reader straight, letting readers think enhances their experience. “She acted nonchalant” is another description which needs improvement. Instead, “She tried to hide her wistfulness as Joe held hands with Karen and kissed her.” From the latter description, it seems that she also likes Joe, but tries to cover it up. The former description, however, is a boring statement that readers will not enjoy. To write an interesting and engaging piece of writing, writers must use specificity and show, not tell.

This lesson provided an example of the difference between vague and specific phrases, and allowed me to create my own “spectrums” of specificity. Knowing how to do this greatly enriches my writing and engrosses the reader.

A Favorite Lesson To Share: Memorable Words About Memorable Words

NO CLICHÉS HERE!

Seventh-grader Syon read aloud, to his lesson partner and me, his description of a boy character who had just finished grueling football tryouts and was “feeling like he was on Cloud Nine.” I pointed out that the simile added nothing to the reader’s experience because it was a cliché without imagery and without power. His lesson partner—also a good friend now—nodded in agreement. I suggested that he come up with his own fresh words, as a soccer player himself, to describe this moment, “when a young athlete is sweaty, tired, aching, but deliriously happy for having given his all—you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

While he was thinking of a new simile, his lesson partner, Daniel, offered, “What about: ‘he felt a rush of dopamine’?” Immediately, with flashing dimples, he giggled and waved his hand dismissively as we all burst into laughter.

“Not exactly multisensory imagery there, Daniel,” I joked, “except maybe for a scientist who understands dopamine!”

“See, you are from another planet!” exclaimed Syon. (Syon often teases Daniel that he is from another planet because of his extensive vocabulary and uncommonly sophisticated diction.) “That simile completely sums up how you think!”

“That simile and the dimples,” I added. “Erudite and adorable, simultaneously.”

“What does erudite mean?” asked Syon.

I looked at Daniel whom I could see was about to answer with a definition. “Daniel?”

He, of course, answered, “Erudite means knowledgeable, scholarly….”

And Syon replied, “Of course it does.”

When the next round of laughter subsided, Syon’s eyes lit up and he announced, “I just came up with a simile: ‘feeling like a dog who had finally caught his own tail.’”

“Wonderful!” I exclaimed. Daniel nodded. “What a perfect way to show that after the boy almost exhausts himself with a seemingly impossible task, he finally succeeded. What a great simile!”

And what a great lesson day!