...sharing thoughtful, mentor text-inspired lessons your students will love!
If you've used our "The Skin You're in" historical writing lesson at the WritingFix Website -- (mentor text = The Skin I'm In by Sharon G. Flake)
Click here to access this freely shared writing lesson!
--and you have up to three edited student samples to share with us, you can post them by copying and pasting them from your computer into our "Reply to This" box below; you may also add samples by adding them as uploaded attachments (like Word documents) to the box below.
If you don't see a "Reply to this" box below this post, it is because you are not a member of this group yet. To join this group, click on the "+Join Online Student Publishing" link above this post.
Very Important: Please only share your students' first name and grade level with us when you post. Do not post last names or school names, or the posts will be deleted.
Help us help you celebrate your hardest working writers by featuring them here online for other teachers & students to read..
--Corbett Harrison, WritingFix Webmaster
Leanne, 7th Grade
It seems that I was a girl only yesterday, but now, it is my 43rd birthday. I have been feeling rather ill, and the King worries for my health. I have just finished my Last Will and Testament, as it was His Majesty’s wish for me to do so. The depressing atmosphere in the room is made drastically worse by the rain pouring down outside. It has just been arranged for me to be transported from Versailles to Paris after I die, and the staff talk about it as though I’m already gone. The smooth wood of the writing desk, the gray bed covers, the checkered tiles… everything seems so bleak. It seems that my dreams of seeing the world will never come to pass. However, despite the sadness, there is yet some happiness to come from today. Although it has been a melancholy day, tonight will bring an annual banquet, and I must be ready. Now, I shall go and prepare.
-Madame de Pompadour
Cole, 7th Grade
This is day 723, the sun is at its apex, burning and scoffing at us. I am working on the Great Pyramids, the wonder of Egyptian architecture. Or so the slave masters say, as they crack their whips and break our minds. Screams of slaves and elephants pierce the thick, boiling air.
Before I was a slave on the pyramids, I was a miner extracting gold from the earth to use on the very hell spire I slave on this very moment. Life was better in the mines. The heat was lessened, and the food was better. That’s where I met Pataroa.
My companion, Pataroa, has gotten 45 lashings just this day. We both have diseases; me with dust in my breathing parts, and her in her beater (heart). As I toil, the rough bricks scrapes and burns my scarred hands to the bone. My broken leg drags painfully behind my body.
Mealtime approached, and we were thrown dry wheat and Nile water. The wheat that I managed to escape from the pandemonium with dried my mouth, and the water felt as if it would be of better use on my burns that poisoning my body. The whips began cracking again, and the work continued.
No less than thousands have given their lives, willingly or not, to the construction of these forbidden monuments; even more on the countless monoliths. I can hear the slave master cracking his whip on the backs of my brethren. I have heard of a rebellion coming from the slaves. I beg to be able to write to you again, diary.
Tiffany, 7th Grade
This morning, I woke up to my sister’s piercing, loud shriek and Mother, dead. It pains me to write this, but I have to accept that I’m just going to lose people close to me and life will go on. My tears masked the unbearable truth that was tearing me apart piece by piece throughout the day. Father was still desperately looking for a job while my sister and I struggled to believe that life would return to normal…one day. Dirt was our coat, the small, grainy pebbles created a scratching sensation like and ant creeping up my leg. Flies and the dust had become our new best friends. Our money was running out, and we haven’t been paying rent for the past three months. I never thought I’d say this, but for the first time in a long time, I felt lost, trapped in a darkness with no sign of escape. Tonight, my Fathers return and my sister’s laughter alerted me that something special was going to happen. As it turned out, Father had been given two decent hamburgers. We devoured the hamburgers, savoring the juicy, favorable taste of the life we once had. The memories that came rushing forth made me feel small and vulnerable as I choked down the rest of my food and the terrible truth engulfed me. My life would never be the same again. I guess the frown that had slowly crept onto my face was enough of a message to Father. He has been in his room since dinner, and every now and then, you could hear his muffled cry through the walls. I feel like one day, it will not be money that causes us to suffer as we do now, but people. Our desperate need for more than we could have when everything we need in life was right in front of us. Money is just the paper we exchange, but what we really want is the product and a chance to live life to the fullest. I feel like one day our greed will lead us to our downfall, slowly tearing us apart…but then again, what do I know?