December 11, 2007
Dear Ms. Paterson,
I first read your novel, Jacob Have I Loved when I was ten years old. To this day, it is my favorite book.
I have written you today to commend your writing and comment on why this novel has such an impact on me. The characters of Louise Bradshaw and her sister Caroline have always intrigued me. I wonder if their personalities mirror people you have known in your life. Are you one of the sisters?
Sibling rivalry is a situation I have had no personal experience with because I am an only child. Louise’s resentment toward her beautiful gifted twin to me how hard it can be to grow up with someone who is constantly praised for her accomplishments.
I have several personal connections to the book. One is my visit to Tangier, the small island in the Chesapeake Bay where the story takes place. Growing up in such a remote, limited environment could be very stifling. If I were Louise, I would have also tried to get away as soon as possible and find a new life away from Caroline. I would hate to be known as “Caroline’s sister” rather than just myself.
After Reading Jacob Have I Loved, I wanted to be a midwife like Louise. I think midwifery would be a very rewarding and interesting profession to have. I think Louise’s choice to pursue that carreer was wise and suited her well.
Thank you for your contribution to children’s literature!
Sincerely,
Hayden Barns
Grade 10
Charlottesville High School
Charlottesville, VA
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
WA 3 Final
Stitches
It was October, Natalie’s favorite month of the year. She loved the rainbow of autumnal colors that sprinkled past her bedroom window when the wind blew. Halloween was her favorite holiday. Ever since she was a little girl, she sewed herself a costume. She took great care in her work and didn’t give up until the garment looked exactly like her design, down to the last stitch.
Natalie was 12 years old and in the 7th grade at Walden Heights Middle School. She was an outstanding student. Beloved by her teachers and a leader to her peers. She prided herself on nearly perfect attendance and consistent “straight-A” status. Natalie always completed her assignments ahead of time, never procrastinating like so many of her classmates. Natalie put her schoolwork ahead of her numerous extracurricular activities and never went to bed at night before her homework was done. At least, not before October 30.
It was 5:30 on a Thursday night, just more day until Natalie could go out trick-or treating with her friends and show off her new costume. She was feverishly trying to finish hemming the bottom of her Scarlett O’hara- inspired dress. The thick authentic curtain material made the sewing machine hum and purr louder as the needle strained to sew the fabric together. Uncharacteristically, Natalie had not yet completed her homework. She wanted desperately to finish her dress before Halloween night—so she decided her English paper could wait until after she was done.
Natalie had known about the assignment since Tuesday of that week, but had been too busy with her costume to start it. She had thought about what she would write about, though, and had trouble thinking up any idea for a story. What story hadn’t already been told before? Her teacher, Mrs. Hart, told the class they had to incorporate 15 elements into a creative story. The elements were: furniture, a barrier, the floor, a whisper, a dialogue of 6 words or less, a dialogue of 10 words or more, a gesture, a texture, a description of the weather, a noise, a window, something smaller than a hand, a reference to a current event, a question, an allegory, and a human hand. Natalie’s strong suit was not her creative writing, so this assignment was frustrating. When she couldn’t come up with a plot for the story right away, she put it aside and come back to it later.
She sat down at her mother’s old Singer sewing machine, rested her right foot on the pedal as always, and shifted the fabric so her chalk markings were visible just beyond the guide. She was short on pins, so she leaned over the machine to reach into the old wooden sewing box for the pincushion when her foot slipped.
Her small, narrow fingers were suddenly trapped beneath the throbbing needle. With each pierce, there was an accompanying scream from Natalie. She came to her senses and released her foot from the pedal with a jerk. The needle, while motionless, was still imbedded in Natalie’s now red and dripping index finger.
Natalie’s mother, Nadine, rushed into the room—fearing the worst. Asany loving mom would, Nadine calmed her daughter down best she could and slid the needle from her finger as she whispered soothing words.
Unfortunately, Natalie made a few stitches that day she didn’t want. Nadine rushed Natalie to the hospital, where they had to perform a minor surgery to dig out the bits of forest green thread in her finger. Her fingernail was perforated and had the texture of a cheese grater. In time, these wounds would heal. But not in time for the greatly anticipated holiday—and not in time to write her story.
Over the weekend, Natalie had the opportunity to make up the schoolwork she had missed. She considered what to write her story on for some time before thinking of a great idea. She titled her piece “Stitches.”
It was October, Natalie’s favorite month of the year. She loved the rainbow of autumnal colors that sprinkled past her bedroom window when the wind blew. Halloween was her favorite holiday. Ever since she was a little girl, she sewed herself a costume. She took great care in her work and didn’t give up until the garment looked exactly like her design, down to the last stitch.
Natalie was 12 years old and in the 7th grade at Walden Heights Middle School. She was an outstanding student. Beloved by her teachers and a leader to her peers. She prided herself on nearly perfect attendance and consistent “straight-A” status. Natalie always completed her assignments ahead of time, never procrastinating like so many of her classmates. Natalie put her schoolwork ahead of her numerous extracurricular activities and never went to bed at night before her homework was done. At least, not before October 30.
It was 5:30 on a Thursday night, just more day until Natalie could go out trick-or treating with her friends and show off her new costume. She was feverishly trying to finish hemming the bottom of her Scarlett O’hara- inspired dress. The thick authentic curtain material made the sewing machine hum and purr louder as the needle strained to sew the fabric together. Uncharacteristically, Natalie had not yet completed her homework. She wanted desperately to finish her dress before Halloween night—so she decided her English paper could wait until after she was done.
Natalie had known about the assignment since Tuesday of that week, but had been too busy with her costume to start it. She had thought about what she would write about, though, and had trouble thinking up any idea for a story. What story hadn’t already been told before? Her teacher, Mrs. Hart, told the class they had to incorporate 15 elements into a creative story. The elements were: furniture, a barrier, the floor, a whisper, a dialogue of 6 words or less, a dialogue of 10 words or more, a gesture, a texture, a description of the weather, a noise, a window, something smaller than a hand, a reference to a current event, a question, an allegory, and a human hand. Natalie’s strong suit was not her creative writing, so this assignment was frustrating. When she couldn’t come up with a plot for the story right away, she put it aside and come back to it later.
She sat down at her mother’s old Singer sewing machine, rested her right foot on the pedal as always, and shifted the fabric so her chalk markings were visible just beyond the guide. She was short on pins, so she leaned over the machine to reach into the old wooden sewing box for the pincushion when her foot slipped.
Her small, narrow fingers were suddenly trapped beneath the throbbing needle. With each pierce, there was an accompanying scream from Natalie. She came to her senses and released her foot from the pedal with a jerk. The needle, while motionless, was still imbedded in Natalie’s now red and dripping index finger.
Natalie’s mother, Nadine, rushed into the room—fearing the worst. Asany loving mom would, Nadine calmed her daughter down best she could and slid the needle from her finger as she whispered soothing words.
Unfortunately, Natalie made a few stitches that day she didn’t want. Nadine rushed Natalie to the hospital, where they had to perform a minor surgery to dig out the bits of forest green thread in her finger. Her fingernail was perforated and had the texture of a cheese grater. In time, these wounds would heal. But not in time for the greatly anticipated holiday—and not in time to write her story.
Over the weekend, Natalie had the opportunity to make up the schoolwork she had missed. She considered what to write her story on for some time before thinking of a great idea. She titled her piece “Stitches.”
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