Diction and Syntax: Impact on Mood, Voice, and Tone Answers

Read the excerpt from "Surrendering” by Ocean Vuong.I had read books that weren’t books, and I had read them using everything but my eyes. From that invisible "reading,” I had pressed my world onto paper. As such, I was a fraud in a field of language, which is to say, I was a writer. I have plagiarized my life to give you the best of me.

Read the excerpt from "Why Do Black Women Fear the Fro?” by Cheryl Thompson.On one level, I can understand why black women do what they do to their hair (I used to do it too). Natural black hair can be very difficult to manage and sometimes you just want to try a new look.

Read the excerpt from "Why Do Black Women Fear the Fro?” by Cheryl Thompson.I also know a lot of black women who secretly want to go natural, but fear the reaction at work, what their family will say, even that their partner will leave them. If hair is just hair, you'd think going natural would be just as easy as processing your hair.

Read the excerpt from "Why Do Black Women Fear the Fro?” by Cheryl Thompson.Then there are weaves, a process by which synthetic or real hair is sewn into one's natural hair to give the appearance of long, flowing, straight hair. While many women, irrespective of race, wear weaves (they're common in Hollywood), black women wear them to cover up, not merely enhance, their natural state.

What is syntax?

Read the excerpt from "Surrendering” by Ocean Vuong.Through the headset, a robust male voice surged forth, emptying into my body. The man’s inflections made me think of waves on a sea. Between his sentences, a crowd—I imagined thousands—roared and applauded. I imagined their heads shifting in an endless flow. His voice must possess the power of a moon, I thought, something beyond my grasp, my little life.

Read the excerpt from "Surrendering” by Ocean Vuong.Then he tipped my desk toward me. The desk had a cubby attached to its underside, and I watched as the contents spilled from the cubby’s mouth: rectangular pink erasers, crayons, yellow pencils, wrinkled work sheets where dotted letters were filled in, a lime Dum Dum lollipop. But no poem.

Read the excerpt from "Why Do Black Women Fear the Fro?” by Cheryl Thompson.This history of hair alteration saddens me. Sure, all women have body image issues and anxiety about their looks. We're too thin, too fat, not pretty enough or not feminine enough. Yet people rarely discuss how black women have been chemically altering the natural state of their hair for more than 100 years, and continue to spend money they sometimes don't have to hook up a tight weave, just to be like everyone else.

Read the excerpt.The historical significance of the case is clearly presented in the articulate dissent penned by the three remaining justices.

Read the excerpt. Spring is my favorite season; the blooming of life anew brings such joy that sometimes it also brings tears to my eyes. It is difficult to explain, but there is just something about the first bright green leaves—I like to call them "baby leaves”—that takes my breath away. It is just amazing that nature can take something that looks dull and dead in the winter and then transform it into something with such beauty and color in the spring.

Read the excerpt from "Surrendering” by Ocean Vuong.One early-spring afternoon, when I was in fourth grade, we got an assignment in language-arts class: we had two weeks to write a poem in honor of National Poetry Month. Normally, my poor writing abilities would excuse me from such assignments, and I would instead spend the class mindlessly copying out passages from books I’d retrieved from a blue plastic bin at the back of the room. The task allowed me to camouflage myself; as long as I looked as though I were doing something smart, my shame and failure were hidden.

Read the excerpt from "Surrendering” by Ocean Vuong.Between his sentences, a crowd—I imagined thousands—roared and applauded. I imagined their heads shifting in an endless flow. His voice must possess the power of a moon, I thought, something beyond my grasp, my little life.