Presentation on theme: "Smiley Face Trick #8 Full-Circle Ending ~Mary Ellen Ledbetter."— Presentation transcript:
Smiley Face Trick #8 Full-Circle Ending ~Mary Ellen Ledbetter
Full-Circle Ending Sometimes writers need a special ending, one that effectively “wraps up” the piece. One “trick” is to repeat a phrase from the beginning of the piece at the end.
EXAMPLES: Beginning : “Hey, You with the green and neon-orange striped shoelaces, you who always pulls on my old frizzled white ones in math. Hey, you, who always adds your versions of ‘art’ to my math problems for Mrs. Caton’s class so that 9x7=63 turns out to be a train with puffs of smoke and two boxcars and makes me get 83 instead of a 93 since Mrs. C. doesn’t count locomotives as correct answers.” Ending : “Now Justin still sits behind me in math with his neon-green and orange striped shoelaces and pulls on my old white frizzled ones. He still draws zombies on my homework, but he hasn’t dumped another pitcher of Kool-Aid on me—not yet at least. Oh, and by the way, in case you’re wondering, his first words when he opened his eyes were, ‘It was James Kenton who hid your clothes and made you walk around in a chicken suit…I’m not that mean” (Liz).
Example: I am sitting out on an old Dixieland porch in Mississippi. The American flag waves proudly from its pole. Making itself a web in the corner of the wrought-iron railing is a small black spider. The twin rocking chairs glide back and forth, speaking to each other in the tongue of “rickety rack”. Hanging from a weeping willow, an emerald birdhouse sways in the wind, as the robins sing their never-ending song. Swooping down toward the nearby field, a crop duster exterminates the boll weevils on the cotton and turns the air a bit sour. I throw up a wave as a muddy 4 X 4 passes the farm. Anyone’s welcome anytime to come sit on my Dixieland porch, and share some Southern hospitality.
Now find the full circle ending in the following excerpts from published authors. Here I am hiding amongst the trees. I am the James Bond of the kids in my tree house. The darkness swallows me. I am waiting for the enemy to pass my secret lair. Only one other person knows of this tree house—my friend, who is on top studying the surroundings. Our house in the trees is invisible from the ground. We have to take the secret way up. Two trees down, behind the big pile of brush, there is a hole in the rotting tree where we enter. We stand up, grab the rope and jump, putting our feet on the wall of the tree, walking up its side while pulling ourselves up with the rope. From there we grab onto the cable swing and glide, glide, glide like birds across to the tree house. We are safe, as we know that the only way to get down is to swing from the rope to the trampoline. But out of nowhere comes the enemy! He runs the direction in which, as a diversionary tactic, I throw the rock. I grab the rope and swing down, heading for the trampoline. I hit the tarp and bounce off, falling on my knees onto the surprisingly pillow-soft ground. Taking off like a jack rabbit toward the garage. I snatch the secret box and sneak with an I-can’t-get-caught slyness to the concealed entrance, where my friend is waiting for me. We tie the box to the rope, and my friend begins to pull like he’s the strongest man in the world. He then lowers the rope, and I climb. As we sit and take a break in the chilled Mountain Dews and fresh double-fudge brownies and chocolate cookies, we both know that once again James Bond has completed his mission in the tree house (Kadar, Michael, “Don’t Get into Poison Ivy!”).
Let’s get this straight. I didn’t actually tell her—or at least by my own will. She seemed to just suck it out of my head. She had the irresistible if-you-don’t-tell-me-I’m-gonna-cry-sick-little-puppy thing going on, which made me spit it out, and I mean all out. The phone rang. It was Priscilla Patterson, the most gorgeous girl in junior high. My heart fell, making a thud probably somewhere near my ankles, when she asked, “Do you think Billy Bob Joe likes me? I thought you might know because you’re his best friend.” Yeah, I knew. I knew that Billy Bob hated Priscilla’s beautiful guts—although I can’t imagine why. But if I told her, she would tell everyone—and I mean everyone—that he was a rude vicious, slimy, no- good…well, you get the idea. Teenage girls work this way. And Billy Bob would kill me, being a good 100 pounds heavier than me and all. So I said, “No, I don’t really know.” When I said this I could envision her little pout and her sky-blue eyes making that sad little puppy face, and I crumbled like a cookie in an earthquake saying “Actually, he… he hates you. He thinks you’re Miss Prissy Princess, and he really hates Prissy Princesses. I don’t know why, but he does.” After that there was a long pause and a click, and I knew that click was the sound of the last of my heart because I knew only too well that my life would soon be over since I knew Billy Bob so well and all. I don’t know why I told her. Maybe it was her voice as sweet as honey or the picture of that face, that I’m-going-to-be-a-super-model- someday-but-you’re-making-me-really-sad face which I pictured. Whatever it was, I spilled the whole bucket of beans. She just seemed to suck it out of my head along with every ounce of dignity I had left (Duvall, Greg, “I Don’t Know Why I Told her”).
Seagulls pounce restlessly On the shore As the white water Tries to swallow them whole I am an early morning runner Destined to be free I stop for a quick breath To capture the moment I continue On feet moving swiftly Every time I run I leave a part of me behind It’s like I am getting smaller And smaller Till the white water washes me away To an untraceable place Where I can watch the seagulls Restlessly pounce on the shore As the white water tries to Swallow them whole ( Poston, Greg, “White Water”).
Seagulls pounce restlessly On the shore As the white water Tries to swallow them whole I am an early morning runner Destined to be free I stop for a quick breath To capture the moment I continue On feet moving swiftly Every time I run I leave a part of me behind It’s like I am getting smaller And smaller Till the white water washes me away To an untraceable place Where I can watch the seagulls Restlessly pounce on the shore As the white water tries to Swallow them whole (Poston, Greg, “White Water”). The narrator states that he is “an early morning runner.” Write a poem of at least 10 lines based on the line: “I am a __________” You must also use Smiley Face Trick # 8 Full Circle Ending in your poem