As a writer, I have been very excited all year to take over our class writing units. My mentor and I have been co-teaching this subject since the fall, and I mostly took the lead scaffolding this past writing piece. We are starting a new unit now, however, and this is the first in which I will be teaching writing with little assistance from my mentor.
We are entering an informational unit in which students will be creating a “book” about a person or even from the Revolutionary War era. In this book, students will include their own historical fiction narrative piece regarding the time period and the topic of their choosing. We will be practicing writing historical fiction narratives rather than personal narratives (which we have already studied) using information we gathered during our last reading unit about World War II. Below is the example piece I wrote to illustrate the various aspects of a narrative that we will be reviewing and studying for the remainder of the week:
I was startled from my sleep with a sharp sound that cracked outside of my window. I sat straight up in bed though Elsie still slept beside me. A strange shadow flicked across the room, and I narrowed my eyes. Light never drifted into the bedroom of my family’s apartment overnight unless the moon was full and the sky was clear.
I pushed back my covers, careful to not pull them from beneath Elsie’s chin, and planted my bare feet on the wooden floorboards. Another crash came as I neared the window, and I gasped beneath the sound. Elsie shuffled to her side, but still, she remained asleep.
Far off in the night, black smoke poured from a dancing flame, glittering against the harbor like jewels that families here could no longer afford. I stepped back from the glass and hurried from my bedroom, wishing the sight of the burning ship would erase itself from my mind. My mother stood by the living room window, peering through the glass at the same sight I had seen from my bedroom.
Before I could open my mouth and call out for her in a whisper, an ajar door to my right silenced me. Anja’s door was never open, not when she was to be asleep, which meant that she was not asleep. She was not even in her bedroom.
“Mama?” I said now, but another bang suffocated the end of my word.