In a blog post, dated February 2010, Heather Sellers said,
"I don’t want my students—who spend most of the rest of their time in the electrified digital world—to lose touch with something elemental, sacred, mysterious, and increasingly rare: the pencil paper world."
To read the article, click here.
This week we continued our discussion on Point of View. After reading The Tell-tale Heart (click here to read the story) by Edgar Allan Poe, students were asked to write a version from the Uncle's perspective. Here are a few gems-
The Tell-Tale Heart
from the Uncle's perspective
by Menelik Cannady
Why? Why does he look at me this way? Does he treat me thus because of my eye. Only one, it is only one part of my body. It is unfair. It is unkind. He’s my nephew, my only nephew. It is as if he wants to kill me. Is he possessed?
I am tense. He looks at me like an assassin. He threatens me with a knife and I cower in fear. That little scoundrel. If he ever lays a blade on me, he’ll end up in the jail, locked up forever. He intimidates me with his stare. He’s my nephew. I can take this no longer.
The Tell-Tale Heart
from the Uncle's perspective
by William May
I see my nephew every day and I see there is something wrong. He has been looking on edge lately, acting weird, uptight. I think it is my wretched eye. Everyone looks at me. I don't like it. He is making me uneasy.
I hope he doesn't do anything drastic.
The Tell-Tale Heart
from the Uncle's perspective
by Jack Radford
I always thought my nephew was nice. He was always nice to me. He is a respectful, young man, better than others. There is one thing that worries me. I have seen the way he looks at me. He gives me an angry stare that makes me feel uneasy. I think he has come into my room when I am sleeping. It is too dark for me to see but I hear him, walking about. I pretend to sleep, so I can hear. He may be mad.
Next, students were asked to write a narrative, using the perspective of a one dollar bill.
My Life
as a Dollar
by Mitchell Warnkin
A vague glimmer inhabits my mind. Cold, granite walls, bright lights from the sky-high ceiling. The sound of machinery, feverishly working, drowns the noise of the workers, touching me from station-to-station, smelling of fresh paper and heat.
I am placed in a truck, dark and cold. The next stop is a bank. There I am happiest, in a drawer with my brothers and sisters from sunrise to sunset. The talking of people interests me; it gives a sense of meaning. It is dark and there is the smell of perfume.
To my surprise, one day I am placed in a wallet. Warm and moving, I am squashed into someone's butt! So, from register to register I am transferred, with wallets and pockets between, crumpled and torn.
My memories are vast as I am back with the granite walls and sky-high ceiling. Intense heat surrounds me as I slowly burn, my evergreen complexion turning black. I have no regrets, no remorse. I am ready to embrace an afterlife fit for a healer.
My Life
as a Dollar
by Justin Lemmon
Man, it feels good to finally be in a wallet. I've dreamed of this day. My buddies have told me that the humans are trying to replace us with pieces of plastic. Yuck! Plastic doesn't mean as much. My dream is to be used to buy a puppy. Whew, Andrew, you smell! Were you spent on a septic-tank cleaning? Uh-oh, what's going on? I'm buying a soda. Now I'm stuck in a rusty drawer. Hmph! Watch what you grab, buddy! Finally, a warm wallet. No! Not the bank!!! Not the bank! If I had legs I'd run away! Nooo!
My Life
as a Dollar
by Sara Cazorla
I smell cigarettes. It is stinky. I am always in a dark place, every day. I hear the yelling of people, at the office. I have been spent. Alot. Stores like Target and Marshall's. Mrs. Flowers is spending me now. She is mean. She smells terrible. I have taken naps in the dark place.
I love to be spent, to be spent on cupcakes and Chinese food. I have had a nice life as a green piece of paper. But Mrs. Flowers was mean. One day I was taken to a place where they shred. I was scared. But then...
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