ORLI_a03_t19

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Text 7 
 
 
“I walk into my house and I am surprised that the front door was a left a little 
ajar. I know my husband is a lot more careful than that and he would never 
leave the door open like that. “Hello?” I call out as I enter the house and take 
my coat off. Another thing that I notice immediately is a peculiar smell, a 
mixture of roses and some herbal spices. My house never smells like this, I think 
to myself. A clatter of dishes comes from the kitchen as I approach the living 
room. There is definitely someone in the house, and it is not my husband! I 
panic. I go into the garage and come out with a heavy walking stick that 
grandpa left the last time he was at our place. I steady the stick and walk 
cautiously into the living room, getting ready to smack the prowler as soon as I 
see him or her. I edge closer toward the kitchen wall and stand behind the 
door, breathing heavily. This is it, I think to myself, I have to rush in and 
surprise the intruder. I am about to run in when I hear someone singing from 
inside the kitchen. “Richard, is that you?” I call out. “Yes, honey. Come on in. I 
have a surprise for you!” Relieved that it was in fact my husband in the 
kitchen, I drop the stick and walk into the kitchen, only to be amazed that the 
dining table is all set out, with flowers and candles, and my husband standing 
there in my apron, cooking me a lavish dinner. “What's all this?” I ask. 
“Surprise! I love you my love!” Richard says and I cannot help but run to him 
and kiss him on his lips. 
It is amazing how much things can change in one year, I think while driving 
back home from the courthouse. Everything was so good and we were so happy. 
I wonder what happened and how things turned out like the way they have. I 
wish I could view the last one year of my life like a book and try to understand 
exactly what went wrong and where. I take a right turn into the street where 
our house, my house, is and a slight tear begins to roll down my eyes. I console 
myself as I park in my driveway, telling myself that some things are just not 
meant to be. I wonder if this is true and I wonder if things would have been 
different if I had acted out differently.” 
 
Taken from http://www.tailoredessays.com 
 
 
 Writing about someone else’s experience: someone outside the story is the 
narrator. 
 
“Charles who was the oldest and their accepted leader, waded downstream 
to the place where their boat was tied up in the shelter of some 
overhanging bushes. Then he rowed the boat back to the shallow water 
near the bridge, where the boys loaded it with the provisions, blankets and 
other things which they were taking on their journey.” 
 BYRNE, Donn. Intermediate Comprehension Passages. São Paulo: Longman, 
1993. 
 
 Writing about your own experience: someone directly involved in the 
story is the narrator. 
 
 
 
“One memory that comes to mind belongs to a day of no particular 
importance. It was late in the fall in Merced, California on the playground 
of my old elementary school; an overcast day with the wind blowing 
strong. I stood on the blacktop, pulling my hoodie over my ears. The wind 
was causing miniature tornados; we called them “dirt devils”, to swarm 
around me.” (Playground Memory, by Norway Cabuyadao) 
 
 
 Writing about a made-up experience: characters are created to overcome 
and solve a problem. 
“So Barely Credible told the Queen of Hearts that her one and only wish 
was to live in a princedom where ordinary folks didn’t expect anything, but 
hoped for it all. She was an ordinary princess—not exceptionally pretty, nor 
exceptionally bright, nor exceptionally talented. But the young princess 
could do something exceptionally well—she could imagine. She imagined 
great reversals. Mornings where the sun would be prized for its warmth. 
Full days without want. A place where the weak would be made strong. 
Times where people would divide their shares. Where real life would pause 
its frantic bid for fortune. But of course the townsfolk scoffed at Barely 
Credible saying, “What is fortune without misfortune?” And they called her 
barely credible. Nothing could be that simple. Yet, this was a tragic 
kingdom. For each heart lacked sympathy for one another, and each heart 
was bowed down with contempt. For though they expected profitable 
things, each day their hearts broke anew, for they feared. They feared 
hope, believing hope to be a great and deceitful evil.” 
(Evelyn Galbraith - Taken from: http://www.writingclasses.co.uk/story52.html) 
 
Notice that Pronoun Reference in a paragraph is very much important while 
writing a Narrative in third person.