Put them in the comments section, here. Don't forget to identify yourself, and use your sentence stretchers to achieve proper punctuation.
Edit: I'm adding my in-class example stories below, plus one extra story that I finished yesterday.
Animal Outlaw
In the park one fall evening, the sky a pinkish hue, my dog, a stocky chocolate lab, absorbed in the ecstasy that can only result from chasing a tennis ball, ran full-steam into a middle-aged lady, knocking her down, the folding chairs that she was carrying sent flying, flopping, opening and closing down the grassy hill, and as she lay in a heap on the ground, gripping her ankle in anguish, she cursed the brown beast—at this point sitting patiently beside me, thumping his tail contentedly in the grass as little children coming from soccer practice patted his head and said, “You have a nice dog, Mister”—and she vowed, teary-eyed and hysterical, to report him to the authorities as a danger to the community, which, days later, led an animal control officer to my home to take mug shots . . . of my dog . . . cementing his status as one of Portland’s most wanted canine outlaws.
Retirement
It was difficult to do, but he did it, placing his tights, his cape, his antigravity boots, and the Red Ring of Rotzam—the one that broke him out of Dr. Diablo’s Doomsday Machine and defeated his arch-nemesis, Killjoy Roy, during the battle of Mt. Evermore—into the incinerator, set to OBLITERATE, with the full intention of ending this chapter of his life and settling into his alter-ego, Ken Dickerson: Mild-mannered insurance salesman, full-time, to relax in his newly mortgaged Palm Springs condo, but his as his finger reached, trembling, for the red button on the incinerator, he heard something beeping, faintly, from the mess of crumpled tights and cape inside; It was his utility belt, the two-way, sub-sonic communicator, his direct connection to city hall and the mayor, and he knew now that he must accept his fate, for supervillians don’t stop for retirement, so he mustn’t either.
He built the house out of Lincoln Logs, carefully, one log at a time, making sure the structure had proper support, enough windows, and a door high enough for the Imperial Storm Troopers and GI Joe action figures that would inhabit the dwelling; the car would be made of Legos, and he made tracks in the carpeting where the vehicle would drive on imaginary roads in the imaginary world that he created every day in the small toy closet, unaware that there would be a day when there simply wasn’t room for imagination, where first dates and first kisses and first jobs (reality) would be his priorities while the Transformers and the Legos and the Hot Wheels would collect dust, but this did not matter now because the task ahead of him was difficult and wonderful, even though he would tear it all down at the end of the day and begin again.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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