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Using Mentor Texts to Breathe Life into Narrative Writing

Using Mentor Texts to Breathe Life into Narrative Writing. Honors American Lit. From The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini. I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. From Black Boy by Richard Wright.

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Using Mentor Texts to Breathe Life into Narrative Writing

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  1. Using Mentor Texts to Breathe Life into Narrative Writing Honors American Lit

  2. From The Kite Runner Khaled Hosseini I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975.

  3. From Black Boy by Richard Wright The eighth grade days flowed in their hungry path and I grew more conscious of myself; I sat in classes, bored, wondering, dreaming. One long dry afternoon I took out my composition book and told myself that I would write a story; it was sheer idleness that led me to it. What would the story be about?

  4. From “The Lesson” by Toni Cade Bambara Back in the days when everyone was old and stupid or young and foolish and me and Sugar were the only ones just right, this lady moved on our block with nappy hair and proper speech and no makeup.

  5. From Silent Dancing by Judith Ortiz Cofer My memories of life in Paterson during those first few years are all in shades of gray. Maybe I was too young to absorb vivid colors and details, or to discriminate between the slate blue of the winter sky and the darker hues of the snow-bearing clouds, but that single color washes over the whole period.

  6. From America is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan I had come upon another world that was to become a foretaste of my later struggles for a place in the sun. Selling boggoong and salt with my mother gave me an opportunity to meet many people and become part of their lives. I became intimate with the obsession for food, and this too was to become a part of my life.

  7. From Exiled Memories, A Cuban Childhood by Pablo Medina Snow. Everywhere the snow and air so cold it cracks and my words hang stiffly in the air like cartoons. After that first stunning welcome of the New York winter, I rush down the steps of the plane and sink my bare hands into the snow, press it into a ball, and throw it at my sister.

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