Ariana Kenny (2002-Present), is your average American fourteen year old. She was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. Ariana grew up in a warm home with a kind, loving, and supportive family. She is an eighth grader, who is homeschooled and also takes classes at Miami University. She co-wrote her first book with her mother, Tawanna Parker-Kenny called the “Color of Friendship” She enjoys spending time with her family and participates in philanthropic activities, such as charity walks, volunteering at food pantries, distributing blessing bags and feeding the hungry. She also enjoys playing one-on-one basketball with her father, Forrest Kenny and enjoys reading, creating crafts, or family games. Ariana is a published author. . Ariana's goal is to obtain …show more content…
In the middle of a small town, was a large mountain. The mountain seemed to be reaching for the Sun, which is insane because of it's snow-capped top. On one side of the mountain, little girls played hop scotch and jump rope on the smooth pavement, while boys played soccer in the long green grass. Some parents sat on the porch watching their children, while others were inside baking family meals. Those who sat on the porches gently rocked back and forth in their creaking chairs, while puffs of smoke ascended into the air, creating gray little clouds to fill the tinted blue sky. Across the street, is the community garden, where a woman and her son planted small trees and flowers into the soft, sonorous soil. On the other side of the mountain, there is a beach with luxurious sands and beautiful water. In the ocean, was a father teaching his daughter how to swim. The girl laughed as she splashed her father with the water. On shore, a woman laid in the sand, squishing it between her toes. She, too, laughed as she watched the girl and her father splash each other. Laying on the mountain's side, is where I watched the town go about in it's somewhat peaceful manner. I laid in the wet grass as if I were making snow angels, minus the snow, waiting for the Sun to come over the peak. Just as I was about to sit up to get a better view, a sudden rumbling of the ground began to commence. I was thrown off the ground as the mountain started to crumble. As I hit midair, everything paused. I felt as if I was frozen in the sky. Then in the blink of an eye, the world snapped back to motion and like a glass window, it
My book is about a thirteen year old girl name Raspberry Hill. She is a black African American girl that lives in the projects with her mom and they don’t won’t to live there. Her mom is a hard worker. Raspberry is afraid of being homeless again. Time back, her and her mom lived on the streets, lived in family houses and got kicked out. Raspberry doesn’t wants to be on the streets any more so this is why she has her mind stayed on money. She will do anything to get her hands on money. She will get down and dirty, skip lunch, skip school, clean houses and sell nasty rotten candy to the kids in school. When she goes to school she always has candy and pencils to sell to the kids in the school. She has 3 friend’s name Zora who has a single farther name Dr.Mitchell that’s in love with Raspberry’s mother, which upsets both of them, Mia who wants to be identified as black, but has African American and Korean parents, Ja'nae who stays with her grandparents but is urgently wanting to stay with her mom.
Our class has been reading a book called “Brown Girl Dreaming” for the past two weeks. The author, Jacqueline Woodson talks about her life growing up. For example she talks about how her mom and dad divorced when she was young. She talks about how she moves to Greenville and how her grandpa is like a dad figure, and how her mother came back with a pale skinned baby after she went to New York. Character traits make up a person, and while reading the book, you can see what Jacqueline is like during her childhood. Jacqueline has many character traits, such as being jealous of her older sister, being naive, and she is also respectful.
The Book I chose to do for my book report is Live Original By: Sadie Robertson. She is one of the daughters of the Robertson Family, also known as the Duck Commander (Duck Dynasty) family. This book that she wrote is about how the duck commander teen keeps it real and stays true to her values. The Robertson family is a Christian family that lives in Louisiana, and they make products for people who hunt ducks. The show is a reality TV show, they have become really wealthy but they owe it all to God, and they trust in him completely. They have had many trials, one of the trials they faced was being asked not to pray before meals on the TV show, but there was no way they would agree to that. They have put their faith before fame and that’s something that’s really important. Sadie Robertson is 18 years old, and currently a senior in High School and graduates in 2016.
I. Sharon Creech experienced many journeys as a child, triggering a spark in her writing career.
She would mostly be alone and sit by herself being buried in books or watching cartoons. In high school she attended a program for troubled adolescents and from there she received a wide range of support from helping her get braces to helping her get information to attend community college. (59) Even with this she was already too emotionally unstable due to her family issues and felt like she couldn’t go through with her dreams to travel and even go into the art of culinary. She suffers from psychological problems such as depression and worries constantly about almost every aspect in her life from work to family to her boyfriend and just hopes that her life won’t go downhill. (60) Overall Kayla’s family structure shows how different is it now from it was in the 1950’s as divorce rates have risen and while before Kayla’s type of family structure was rare now it is becoming more common. This story helps illustrate the contributions of stress that children possess growing up in difficult homes in which they can’t put their own futures first they must, in some cases, take care of their guardian’s futures first or others around them. Again, this adds into the inequality that many face when it comes to being able to climb up the ladder and become successful regardless of where one
At the age of ten, most children are dependent on their parents for everything in their lives, needing a great deal of attention and care. However, Ellen, the main character and protagonist of the novel Ellen Foster, exemplifies a substantial amount of independence and mature, rational thought as a ten-year-old girl. The recent death of her mother sends her on a quest for the ideal family, or anywhere her father, who had shown apathy to both she and her fragile mother, was not. Kaye Gibbons’ use of simple diction, unmarked dialogue, and a unique story structure in her first novel, Ellen Foster, allows the reader to explore the emotions and thoughts of this heroic, ten-year-old girl modeled after Gibbons’ own experiences as a young girl. Kaye Gibbons’ experiences as a child are the foundations for this.
Hello. I am Daniel Gardner. My story today sets back a few years ago in a car. I look out the window from the back seat to see a beautiful blue sky with pearly white clouds scattered across the sky like dice. The sun glows across the sky like a beacon of hope. It reflects off of the sand as if it is beaming off of glass. The luscious variety of green grass with the bountiful palm trees sway softly with the breeze. The light turns green and we start to fly past it all as if time speeds up. we pull into the driveway to see not a beach house. But a mansion. We walk in and see the decor of the house as if angels have come through and done it themselves. We were finally on vacation.
Bethany Hagen was born twenty-six years ago in Kansas City, Kansas. (Hagen Personal) Not only was she born in Kansas City but she also grew up there. (Hagen Landry cover) Hagen became a librarian and she loves being able to take a book off the shelf that looks like a good read whenever she feels like it. She has come across many story ideas in this manner. There is something magical about spending your time in a building with your favorite books,” Hagen responded during a personal interview. (Hagen Personal) At a young age, Mrs. Hagen was diagnosed with narcolepsy; she says this hinders her writing at times. An interesting activity that Hagen shared she enjoys is Kenpō. Kenpō is one of many forms of martial arts. Hagen stated that she had a black belt in this sport. (Hagen Personal)
Jamaica Kincaid, Maxine Hong Kingston, Kiana Davenport utilize the methods of fiction and non-fiction to represent influential relationships such as the mother and daughter. In each of these texts, the writers present their perspective and knowledge, varying by culture and context. From each writer, the expression that individuality and lessons learned from mothers are essential for the development for a woman's identity. But most importantly, these writers evoke that it is beneficial to discover femininity and strength by going beyond tradition and the norm.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
I slowly trudged up the road towards the farm. The country road was dusty, and quiet except for the occasional passing vehicle. Only the clear, burbling sound of a wren’s birdsong sporadically broke the boredom. A faded sign flapped lethargically against the gate. On it, a big black and white cow stood over the words “Bent Rail Farm”. The sign needed fresh paint, and one of its hinges was broken. Suddenly, the distant roar of an engine shattered the stillness of that Friday afternoon. Big tires speeding over gravel pelted small stones in all directions. The truck stopped in front of the red-brick farmhouse with the green door and shutters. It was the large milking truck that stopped by every Friday afternoon. I leisurely passed by fields of corn, wheat, barley, and strawberries. The fields stretched from the gradient hills to the snowy mountains. The blasting wind blew like a bellowing blizzard. A river cut through the hilly panorama. The river ubiquitously flowed from tranquil to tempestuous water. Raging river rapids rushed recklessly into rocks ricocheting and rebounding relentlessly through this rigorous river. Leaves danced with the wind as I looked around the valley. The sun was trapped by smoky, and soggy clouds.
... there. A woman next to me was holding her new born baby as she was listening to the play, and that baby, who was initially sleeping woke up with a smile on his/her face. The little boy was hitting those notes perfectly, and involuntary of myself, my eyes closed, and I was sucked up in the song. It was as if I stopped listening to the song, and instead the song itself was touching me. I automatically pictured that small light in the dark that shines proudly from miles away. As the boy was hitting the last note, I slowly opened my eyes, and notice that it was not such a bad day after all. I could see the hidden beauty of autumn days which was only the reflection of my own soul, which in turn, had been transcended in to a heavenly world. The boy was looking at us like an angel who just accomplished his ultimate goal; that is to make people happy, and erase their fears.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
This area of the world is so foreign to my Oklahoma life; it infuses me with awe, and with an eerie feeling of being strongly enclosed by huge mountains, and the mass of tall trees. However, when my foot first steps onto the dusty trail it feels crazily magical. The clean, crisp air, the new smell of evergreen trees and freshly fallen rain is mixed with fragrances I can only guess at. It is like the world has just taken a steroid of enchantment! I take it all in, and embrace this new place before it leaves like a dream and reality robs the moment. As I turn and look at my family, I was caught by my reflection in their impressions. The hair raising mischief in the car was forgotten and now it was time to be caught up in this newness of life. It was as if the whole world around us had changed and everyone was ready to engulf themselves in it. The trickling of water somewhere in the distance and the faint noise of animals all brought the mountains to