essay

Sean Murrin
Class: F
6/13/11
Tkam Essay

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Kill a Mockingbird
One example of suspense in To Kill a Mockingbird is when Scout and Jem are walking back home through the woods from Scouts play. The reason it is suspenseful is because Jem hears some one following them and the fact of then not knowing who it was is suspenseful. Also another one is when after Jem and Scout were attacked a man carried Jem away and Scout could not identify who it was. So that is also suspense because she did not know who the man was who carried Jem away.
Another example is when everyone is in the court room and the jury has made there choice. It is suspenseful because no one knows what the decision is going to be. It builds up more suspense when the kids see Atticus the man who never is not calm start to sweat. So right then in there it was very suspenseful and intense. That’s how Harper Lee used suspense in that scene.
Also one more example is when Dill, Scout and Jem were sneaking onto the Radley’s property. It was truly suspenseful because every creek and noise they heard they didn’t know if someone was there. So Harper Lee doesn’t let the reader know what is coming next. The suspense fills the air so the reader never knows what is coming next. Also when Scout approaches the door she doesn’t know what will come. So that is another example of suspense. That’s how Harper Lee uses suspense in that scene.
To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the most suspenseful novels ever made. It has so many scenes and examples of suspense it is uncountable. Harper Lee never lets the reader know whats coming next. In the novel To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee uses suspense to keep the reader intrigued.
　


was one of the most famous novels ever made. It was one of New York times best seller. In the novel To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee uses suspense to keep the reader intrigued.

alexander pope

Soon an idea began to take shape. I could go out into the world, wherever it made sense to go, and some places that perhaps it did not, and find out what happened to our jetpacks. I mean, is this the future or is it not? And as a serious bonus, perhaps my quest would lead me to someone who could still make the dream come true. Some might not consider it on par with the stuff of Michelangelo or Mozart, but it was something I thought I could do.

alexander pope

Flying fantasies confront us at every turn. And there is evidence it’s been this way for a very long time. A recent fossil discovery revealed that the first mammals capable of gliding flight lived many millions of years ago. The fossil in question belongs to a Chinese squirrel-like creature, which possessed a stretchy membrane between its front and back legs that served as wings. Some scientists believe the animal may have lived as long ago as 164 million years, meaning that mammals were taking to the air before birds.

jet pack

Flash forward 164 million years. By the summer of my thirty-fifth year, my life was evidently half over, and I’d come to accept that I was never going to play shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles or be the next Spencer Tracey or Kurt Cobain. That’s when the question was zapped my way like a laser shot from robot eyes: Where’s my jetpack? Whatever happened to what must surely be the greatest promise never kept?

ned washington

BALLERINA DREAMS When you wish upon a star makes no difference who you are, Anything your heart desires will come to you. If your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme. When you wish upon a star as dreamers do … “When You Wish Upon A Star” Lyrics by Ned Washington

angie wyatt

Through dreams, Joseph was able to guide his family through a treacherous journey.  He protected Mary and Jesus from Herod’s desire to kill them.  What could be more threatening!  All along, God was with them.  He guided them to safety and provided for his people.  Today, God continues to speak to people through dreams.  He offers guidance and encouragement.  And, He helps us know and understand His true heart.

angie wyatt

In fact, Matthew 2, which chronicles part of the Christmas story, mentions four accounts of dreams.  The scene starts with King Herod who wants to kill the infant Jesus.  Herod meets the Wise Men who are following a star to find Jesus.   He tells them to bring back the news so that he can also worship Jesus.  But, the Bible says, “having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route.”  The story immediately adds, “When they had gone, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. ‘Get up,’ he said, ‘take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt.  Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.’”  Joseph stayed with his family in Egypt until Herod died.  Then, in another dream, an angel tells him,  “Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child’s life are dead.”  So, he packed up his family and headed to Judea.  When he heard that Herod’s son was reigning there, he decided to take a new route.  The Bible tells us, “Having been warned in a dream, he withdrew to the district of Galilee, and he went and lived in a town called Nazareth.  So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that (Jesus) would be called a Nazarene.”

angie wyatt

After Mary conceived Jesus, an angel spoke to Joseph in a dream saying, “Do not be afraid to take to Mary for your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.” Because Joseph heard God, he remained engaged to Mary despite her pregnancy and he married her shortly after Jesus’ birth.  Joseph continued to have dreams throughout Jesus’ early childhood.  These God-given dreams helped Joseph protect his family from a hostile situation that threatened their lives.

What a cruel, hard bastard of a world, Latimore thought.

He stood on a cliff overlooking supremely monotonous terrain. As far as he could see, red rock and more red rock met his view, striated into minor variations of red that did nothing to soothe the eye. It was as if the region had been painted by a cosmic artist with no imagination. Plus, the place was hot—unrelentingly, mind-numbing hot. Despite his ocular implants, the sun was daunting. It beat down as if in endless rage, determined to right some ancient wrong, or perhaps the recent indignity of his crew’s arrival.

Damn it, what had happened to the Venture’s crew? And why had Steele chosen to set down here in this godforsaken wasteland rather than in the greener, far more temperate region at the equator? The first crew’s mission had been to explore and access the planet for industrial and commercial development, not fry themselves in the desert. The only water available was spit or what he carried in his flask or onboard his hovercraft. But then, they weren’t using hovercraft anymore, were they? After his crew’s aerial search had turned up nothing, he had ordered them to scour the area on foot, root through caves and underground crevices. So far, their efforts had produced only bruises and contusions.

He pulled out his com-link and contacted the others, knowing it was a waste of time but determined to follow SOP. Gouyen Wingfield, the biologist, had discovered a small, hardy plant. No sign of the Venture’s crew, of course.

Latimore ordered each to keep searching then pocketed the link. Squinting up at the molten sun, he moved grimly on. Five hours at least till nightfall. Plenty of work time left.

steve erickson

 ’God failed us.’Trembling, sick to his stomach as something cold, foreign, coursed through his veins, Aparal Forge clenched his jaw to stifle a retort. This vengeance is older than any cause you care to invent, and no matter how often you utter those words, Son of Light, the lies and madness open like flowers beneath the sun. And before me I see nothing but lurid fields of red, stretching out on all sides.This wasn’t their battle, not their war. Who fashioned this law that said the child must pick up the father’s sword? And dear Father, did you really mean this to be? Did she not abandon her consort and take you for her own? Did you not command us to peace? Did you not say to us that we children must be as one beneath the newborn sky of your union?What crime awoke us to this?

steve erickson

Cotillion paused, half turned. He smiled a ravaged smile. ‘That doesn’t mean I have to lose, does it?’Dust lifted, twisting, in her wake. From her shoulders trailed dozens of ghastly chains: bones bent and folded into irregular links, ancient bones in a thousand shades between white and deep brown. Scores of individuals made up each chain, malformed skulls matted with hair, fused spines, long bones, clacking and clattering. They drifted out behind her like a tyrant’s legacy and left a tangled skein of furrows in the withered earth that stretched for leagues.Her pace did not slow, as steady as the sun’s own crawl to the horizon ahead, as inexorable as the darkness overtaking her. She was indifferent to notions of irony, and the bitter taste of irreverent mockery that could so sting the palate. In this there was only necessity, the hungriest of gods. She had known imprisonment. The memories remained fierce, but such recollections were not those of crypt walls and unlit tombs. Darkness, indeed, but also pressure. Terrible, unbearable pressure.Madness was a demon and it lived in a world of helpless need, a thousand desires unanswered, a world without resolution. Madness, yes, she had known that demon. They had bargained with coins of pain, and those coins came from a vault that never emptied. She’d once known such wealth.And still the darkness pursued.

steve erickson

COTILLION DREW TWO DAGGERS. HIS GAZE FELL TO THE BLADES.The blackened iron surfaces seemed to swirl, two pewter rivers oozing across pits and gouges, the edges ragged where armour and bone had slowed their thrusts. He studied the sickly sky’s lurid reflections for a moment longer, and then said, ‘I have no intention of explaining a damned thing.’ He looked up, eyes locking. ‘Do you understand me?’The figure facing him was incapable of expression. The tatters of rotted sinew and strips of skin were motionless upon the bones of temple, cheek and jaw. The eyes held nothing, nothing at all.Better, Cotillion decided, than jaded scepticism. Oh, how he was sick of that. ‘Tell me,’ he resumed, ‘what do you think you’re seeing here? Desperation? Panic? A failing of will, some inevitable decline crumbling to incompetence? Do you believe in failure, Edgewalker?’

steve erickson

 She’d been among the ones who’d come up from the south, from the husks of homes in Korbanse, Krosis and Kanros. Even the isles of Otpelas. Some, like her, had walked along the coast of the Pelasiar Sea, and then to the western edge of Stet which had once been a great forest, and there they found the wooden road, Stump Road they sometimes called it. Trees cut on end to make flat circles, pounded into rows that went on and on. Other children then arrived from Stet itself, having walked the old stream beds wending through the grey tangle of shattered tree-?fall and diseased shrubs. There were signs that Stet had once been a forest to match its old name which was Forest Stet, but Badalle was not entirely convinced—all she could see was a gouged wasteland, ruined and ravaged. There were no trees standing anywhere. They called it Stump Road, but other times it was Forest Road, and that too was a private joke.

steve erickson

 Badalle watched him for a time, watched as the others fell into his wake. She would join the ribby snake soon enough. She blew at the flies, but of course they came right back, clustering round the sores puffing her lips, hopping up to lick at the corners of her eyes. She had been a beauty once, with these green eyes and her long fair hair like tresses of gold. But beauty bought smiles for only so long. When the larder gapes empty, beauty gets smudged. ‘And the flies,’ she whispered, ‘make patterns of suffering. And suffering is ugly.’

steve erickson

THERE WAS LIGHT, AND THEN THERE WAS HEAT. He knelt, carefully taking each brittle fold in his hands, ensuring that every crease was perfect, that nothing of the baby was exposed to the sun. He drew the hood in until little more than a fist-?sized hole was left for her face, her features grey smudges in the darkness, and then he gently picked her up and settled her into the fold of his left arm. There was no hardship in this.

Bantam Press (UK)

     They’d camped near the only tree in any direction, but not under it. The tree was a gamleh tree and the gamlehs were angry with people. In the dusk of the night before, its branches had been thick with fluttering masses of grey leaves, at least until they drew closer. This morning the branches were bare.
     Facing west, Rutt stood holding the baby he had named Held. The grasses were colourless. In places they had been scoured away by the dry wind, wind that had then carved the dust out round their roots to expose the pale bulbs so the plants withered and died. After the dust and bulbs had gone, sometimes gravel was left. Other times it was just bedrock, black and gnarled. Elan Plain was losing its hair, but that was something Badalle might say, her green eyes fixed on the words in her head. There was no question she had a gift, but some gifts, Rutt knew, were curses in disguise.
     Badalle walked up to him now, her sun-charred arms thin as stork necks, the hands hanging at her sides coated in dust and looking oversized beside her skinny thighs. She blew to scatter the flies crusting her mouth and intoned

barrack obama

Almost a decade has passed since this book was first published. As I mention in the original introduction, the opportunity to write the book came while I was in law school, the result of my election as the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review. In the wake of some modest publicity, I received an advance from a publisher and went to work with the belief that the story of my family, and my efforts to understand that story, might speak in some way to the fissures of race that have characterized the American experience, as well as the fluid state of identity-the leaps through time, the collision of cultures-that mark our modern life.

Like most first-time authors, I was filled with hope and despair upon the book’s publication-hope that the book might succeed beyond my youthful dreams, despair that I had failed to say anything worth saying. The reality fell somewhere in between. The reviews were mildly favorable. People actually showed up at the readings my publisher arranged. The sales were underwhelming. And, after a few months, I went on with the business of my life, certain that my career as an author would be short-lived, but glad to have survived the process with my dignity more or less intact.

http://www.lindahubalek.com/pioneer-swedish-immigrant-books/planting-dreams-book-series/planting-dreams-book/read-excerpt-planting-dreams/1st-page-pd-sm the link for this exerpt

another one from Flame Spirals

The Sexton was nice enough to put up an extension ladder. I climbed onto the roof of the Parish Hall, that overlooks the maze. The Sun’s going down fast. Gordon and Judy, the two priests at Grace St. Paul’s, have OK’d my shooting the Thursday Evening Labyrinth Walk. The parishioners have just arrived, about ten in all. From the roof, I tell the walkers I’m going to shoot their meditation this evening. “And don’t worry if you’re shy and don’t like your picture taken,” I say. “I’m using real long shutter speeds so everyone will be a blur. That OK?” “Sure that’s fine,” one woman says, others nodding their approval. But one woman walks to the side. “Really, you can walk the Labyrinth. No one will know who you are,” I say. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t return to the circle until much later. Judy, the facilitator of the Walk, explains to the congregation how this works. “One by one, we’ll enter the labyrinth and

begin to walk,” she says. “You can have a prayer or a question in your mind, or you can just empty your mind. You can walk it fast or slow. There is no right or wrong way. I would just suggest that you stay as much in the moment as you can. Just be in the Labyrinth. And when you reach the center, stop for as long as you like, and then walk back out. And don’t worry about bumping into each other or passing each other in the Labyrinth. It’s really easy to pass and it’s OK to touch each other.” Some people chuckle. “Also, I suggest you walk silently. All right, let’s start.” Judy presses play on a nearby boom box and

exerpt from "dreams of a dark warrior" in relation to concept

HE VOWED HE’D COME FOR HER . . .
Murdered before he could wed Regin the Radiant, warlord Aidan the Fierce seeks his beloved through eternity, reborn again and again into new identities, yet with no memory of his past lives.
SHE AWAITS HIS RETURN . . .
When Regin encounters Declan Chase, a brutal Celtic soldier, she recognizes her proud warlord reincarnated. But Declan takes her captive, intending retribution against all immortals—unaware that he belongs to their world.
TO SATE A DESIRE MORE POWERFUL THAN DEATH . . .
Yet every reincarnation comes with a price, for Aidan is doomed to die when he remembers his past. To save herself from Declan’s torments, will Regin rekindle memories of the passion they once shared—even if it means once again losing the only man she could ever love?

for the short story it didnt go on so had to seperate

for the short story it didnt go on so had to seperate

short story

                                                                                                                                                                                Sean Murrin 

                                                                                                                                                                                Class: G

                                                                                                                                                                                4/27/11

                                                                                                                                                                                Short Story

                                The Troubled Boy

               

Once upon a time there was a boy named Milford. Milford was no average boy. He is always traveling around the neighborhood. His favorite food that his mom made was grilled cheese. His father left him and his mom when they he was 3. It was 11 days before his birthday when he had his most exhausting adventure.

               

                It was early one afternoon when Milford got out of the yard. He came across one of the neighborhood cats. It was hot in the summer morning and he was thirsty. So he started to follow the cat hoping that it would lead him to a water source. But little did he know it was a stray cat and this cat goes everywhere. So he had one hell of a walk ahead of him.

                The cat had brought him everywhere. It went up and down the street and out of the neighborhood. He was in the next neighborhood over. Then they entered a patch of woods. That had a nice clear path going down it. Milford kept up with the cat pretty good until they came across a rough patch where the trail disappeared.  There was thorns and he was getting all cut up and it was hurting him. But he kept on moving and fought through the pain. Then they moved out of the woods and close to home.

                It was exhausting for Milford to go all around at such a young age. Then the cat brought him through one of the flaps to a house which animals go through. Then since Milford knows where drinks usually are he tore apart the fridge while the cat was knocking over vases and other household items. Then they ended up leaving and Milford was covered in ice cream and crumbs. Also he was very wet too cause of all the spilt drinks. Then he finally made it back into his yard. Where there was a pile of mud. He fell right into it and it was all the way up to his waste, and he was covered in it. Also this was no ordinary pile of mud it was a septic tank. Then his mother finally came out and picked him up and gave him a bath. The end.  

               

The painting the "mayan cave" by J.R. Greenwood is fascinating. He uses perfect shade to compliment the lighter and darker colors with in the painting. It just makes the picture so unique as a whole. It all comes down to making a sphere with this painting. The shade is just phenominal with in this painting.

The painting "pregnancy" by alex grey is a beautiful painting. She uses the ribbon based image. When one thing flows right into another. It is a very neat thing and very unique. Just the way there arms lead into eachother like the one pair of arms. The arms lead right into the baby as if they disapeare and are never seen again. Thats how Alex grey uses the ribbon based concept.

The big time out Larry fencin 1999

The Big flight adventure Kerry Flemming 2000

The amazing adventure by micheal woodstock 2001

My Declaration

The critique I have chosen is dreams and imagination. I chose it because there is a lot of things you can wirte about them. You can write about what they are on the inside of the dream and what they mean to you personally outside the dream. I think it is cool to write about something you do every single day of your life, well if you go to bed you do. Also it is something you have back round information on so you know it off the top of your head. That is why I have chosen the critique of dreams and imagination.

critique number 2

                                                                                                                Sean Murrin

                                                                                                                                                                                Class: G

                                                                                                                                                                                3/25/22

                                                                                                                                                                                Critique

The critique that was chosen is a combination of dreams and imagination. Dreams are something that is being foreshadowing at least some people think. But in reality they are only a figment of our imagination. In the painting “The True Nature” the painter “Michael Woodstock” uses abstract expressionism and hue to show the viewer a piece of true nature.

                The hue in the painting “The True Nature” is a very key element to that painting. It makes the picture unique. The forestation creeps up to a wonderful tree that shows a land of light. As the sun reflects the tree making it gold gives the painting true beauty. When the luscious green forest approaches the tree it all turns to gold as if it was the true color of Mother Nature. That is why hue is such an important element in the painting “The True Nature”.

                Michael Woodstock shows the true definition of abstract expressionism in his painting “The True Nature”. He gives the viewer a feeling like it is too good to be true. As if it was a dream or it was all in your imagination. That’s why he uses the unreal affects of the gold from the sun covering the tree to be so florescent. It is as if you just thought of that image in your head like you can touch it but it’s not real. He  shows  imagination but then he makes  it a realism and it feels so real. That’s how Michael Woodstock uses abstract expressionism to give a sense of imagination.

                The painting “The True Nature” is beyond your imagination. It attracts the eye with its remarkable beauty. When this painting is seen by the human eye is leaves a feeling of heaven. It show a little piece of what we know of heaven; how beautiful it is and how peaceful the sky is and how true Mother nature is present at the very moment. That’s why in the painting “The True Nature” Michael Woodstock use hue and abstract expressionism to give us a taste of our imagination and dreams in a reality.

my critique

Sean Murrin

                                                                                                                                                                                Class: G

                                                                                                                                                                                3/8/11

                                                                                                                                                                                Critique

               

                The Critique I have chosen is a combination of dreams and imagination. Dreams and imagination are a sight of our future based off of some people. Dreams are only figments of our imagination based on our past and thoughts. In the painting “The Beautiful Light” the painter “John Scheffler” uses shade and abstract expressionism to attract the eye by  feeling of triumph.

                The shade in the painting “The Beautiful Light” is very important to the picture. The shade emphasizes the picture as a whole. The dock creeps into murky water as the dark mountains in the horizon show antoher land of darkness. As the sky is too grey and dark. He sends a mood throughtout the painting using almost the same color. The trees are dark and grey also to put an emphasis on the shade. That’s how shade was used in the Painting “The Beautiful Light”.

                John Scheffler uses abstract expressionism like no other in the painting “The Beautiful Light”. He uses the shade to emphasize this apsect of the painting. The painting is all gloomy and dark wwith the murky water to follow. Then the creepy mountains in the horizon show a dark side. But then there is a spot of light, just a glimpse of the sun. It shows a sign of hope. That’s what he was trying to emphasize. That was his feeling going towards this painting. He felt that the world was getting dark and filled with hatred but then theres a light at the end of the tunnel; theres hope out there for all of us to become better than what we are. That was his feeling going into painting this painting.

                The painting “The Beautiful Light” is inspiring. It shows that it’s never to late and theres always hope out there. He showed us and without even looking at the picture we could just see it with in us. When you see the picture you can tell already what the point behind it was. That’s why in the painting “The Beautiful Light” John Scheffler uses shade and abstract expressionism to attract they eye with a sight of triumph.

7'5 vs 5'5