Read the paragraph from a personal narrative.1 It may have seemed like an ordinary day to everyone else, but to me, it couldn't have been further from it. 2 Today was my first day working as a waitress at Pete's Pizza Haven, and I could not have been more excited. 3 In fact, I was so excited that I rushed to get ready much faster than I typically do. 4 "I'm ready to go!" I shouted, bouncing down the stairs and flying into the kitchen, where my mom was making breakfast. 5 "I have so much to learn and don't want to be late," I declared for emphasis. 6 My mom just grinned and placed a steaming plate of eggs before me.
Read the excerpt from Dominique’s personal narrative.Tired of waiting for the bus, which was late for the fifth day in a row, I sat leafing through an old magazine I had stuffed in my purse the previous night. It was terribly warm for a September afternoon, and the sun cast fleeting shadows on the bus stop sign with each car that passed. I wondered when the weather would get cooler and when the new bus driver would start arriving on time. It was about then that I first noticed the apparent agitation of the man sitting next to me.Finally, the bus arrived and ambled to a gradual stop directly in front of the restless man. The doors widened, and the bus driver greeted the man with his usual banter in his usual monotone."Good afternoon. How are you today?”
Read the paragraph from Liam’s narrative.1I had never been more frightened in my entire life. 2As I stepped onto the diving platform, I waited for instructions from my diving coach. 3Only because his directions were so clear, and because he was so nice, was I able to do it. 4It had all been worth it, I thought, as I changed from my bathing suit back into clothes. 5I had achieved what I had set out to do.
Which sentence makes the best use of descriptive language?
Which elements does strong narrative writing always contain? Select three options.
Read the paragraph from Lucy’s narrative.I could see that my neighbor was struggling with the lone bag of groceries cradled in her arms, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. Grandma June—what all the neighborhood kids had called her for as long as I could remember—had always been the one to care for us, to help us build stronger forts, to grow better flowers, and to learn from our mistakes. To ask if she needed help with something as simple as carrying in one bag of groceries would be like shouting to the world that she was aging, that she was no longer as strong as she once had been. Hesitantly, I walked to the wooden gate that divided our front lawn from hers and stood there as the package she was carrying threatened to spill from her arms.
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