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Speedy Planning 1Language Component One Section ARuby & MeI have never looked into my sister's eyes. I have never bathed alone. I have never stood in the grass at night and raised my arms to a beguiling moon. I've never used an airplane bathroom. Or worn a hat. Or been kissed like that. I've never driven a car. Or slept through the night. Never a private talk. Or solo walk. I've never climbed a tree. Or faded into a crowd. So many things I've never done, but oh, how I've been loved. And, if such things were to be, I'd live a thousand lives as me, to be loved so exponentially. My sister, Ruby, and I, by mishap or miracle, having intended to divide from a single fertilized egg, remained joined instead, by a spot the size of a bread plate on the sides of our twin heads. We're known to the world medical community as the oldest surviving craniopagus twins (we are twenty-nine years old) and to millions around the globe, those whose interest in people like us is more than just passing, as conjoined craniopagus twins Rose and Ruby Darlen of Baldoon County. We've been called many things: freaks, horrors, monsters, devils, witches, retards, wonders, marvels. To most, we're a curiosity. In small-town Leaford, where we live and work, we're just "The Girls." Raise your right hand. Press the base of your palm to the lobe of your right ear. Cover your ear and fan out your fingers—that's where my sister and I are affixed, our faces not quite side by side, our skulls fused together in a circular pattern running up the temple and curving around the frontal lobe. If you glance at us, you might think we're two women embracing, leaning against the other tête-à-tête, the way sisters do. Ruby and I are identical twins and would be identical looking, having high foreheads like our mother and wide, full mouths, except that Ruby's face is arranged quite nicely (in fact, Ruby is very beautiful), whereas my features are misshapen and frankly grotesque. My right eye slants steeply toward the place my right ear would have been if my sister's head had not grown there instead. My nose is longer than Ruby's, one nostril wider than the other, pulled to the right of my brown slanted eye. My lower jaw shifts to the left, slurring my speech and giving a husky quality to my voice. Patches of eczema rouge my cheeks, while Ruby's complexion is fair and flawless. Our scalps marry in the middle of our conjoined heads, but my frizzy hair has a glint of auburn, while my sister is a swingy brunette. Ruby has a deep cleft in her chin, which people find endearing.PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five things that Rose and Ruby Darlen have not been able to experience.Lines 1-3A2How does the writer present Rose’s feelings of regret within these lines?Lines 4-5A3How does the writer show the twins’ experiences as conjoined twins? You should refer to:What happensThe choice of words and phrases Lines 6-11A4What impression do you get of Rose in these lines? Lines 12-15A5Evaluate the way Ruby is presented within the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how Ruby is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The Betrayal ORWrite about a time that you lost something of importanceMind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision PracticeSpeedy Planning 2Language Component One Section AThe boat pulled away, churning the water behind it and battling the wind with a smoky roar. The distance pressed it further and further into the grey horizon like a thumb pushing it into putty, until it was subsumed completely.Then, a moment’s stillness. Not silence: the waves still shattered on the rocks, the wind screeched around his ears, and a loose door on one of the storage sheds banged a disgruntled drumbeat. But something inside Tom was still for the first time in years.He walked up to the cliff top and stood. A goat’s bell clanged; two chickens squabbled. Suddenly these pin- pricks of sound took on a new importance: sounds from living things. Tom climbed the 184 stairs to the lantern room and opened the door to the gallery. The wind pounced on him like a predator, slamming him back into the doorway until he gathered the strength to launch himself outward and grip the iron handrail.?For the first time he took in the scale of the view. Hundreds of feet above sea level, he was mesmerised by the drop to the ocean crashing against the cliffs directly below. The water sloshed like white paint, milky-thick, the foam occasionally scraped off long enough to reveal a deep blue undercoat. At the other end of the island, a row of immense boulders created a break against the surf and left the water inside it as calm as a bath.He had the impression he was hanging from the sky, not rising from the earth. Very slowly, he turned a full circle, taking in the nothingness of it all.?It seemed his lungs could never be large enough to breathe in this much air, his eyes could never see this much space, nor could he hear the full extent of the rolling, roaring ocean. For the briefest moment, he had no edges.He blinked, and shook his head quickly. He was nearing a vortex, and to pull himself back he paid attention to his heartbeat, felt his feet on the ground and his heels in his boots. He drew himself up to his full height. He picked a point on the door of the light tower – a hinge that had worked itself loose – and resolved to start with that. Something solid. He must turn to something solid, because if he didn’t, who knew where his mind or his soul could blow away to, like a balloon without ballast. That was the only thing that had got him through four years of blood and madness: know exactly where your gun is when you doze for ten minutes in your dugout; always check your gas mask; see that your men have understood their orders to the letter. You don’t think ahead in years or months: you think about this hour, and maybe the next. Anything else is speculation.?He raised the binoculars and scoured the island for more signs of life: he needed to see the goats, the sheep; to count them. Stick to the solid. To the brass fittings which had to be polished, the glass which had to be cleaned – first the outer glass of the lantern, then the prisms themselves. Getting the oil in, keeping the cogs moving smoothly, topping up the mercury to let the light glide. He gripped each thought like the rung of a ladder by which to haul himself back to the knowable; back to this life.?PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five sounds that Tom describes as he is left on the island.Lines 1-8A2How does the writer present nature in these lines?Lines 8-10A3How does the writer show the power of the sea in these lines? You should refer to:What happensThe choice of words and phrases Lines 11-18A4What impression do you get of Tom from these lines? Lines 19-26A5Evaluate how isolation is presented within the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how isolation is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The GiftORWrite a story which ends: … and I knew everything would work out somehow.Mind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision PracticeSpeedy Planning 3Language Component One Section AIt was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for HateWeek. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way?of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the Party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black-moustachio’d face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own.Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people’s windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five things you learn about the setting in these lines.Lines 1-4A2How does the writer show you the character of Big Brother in these lines?Lines 5-11A3How does the writer show the character of Winston in these lines? You should refer to:What happensThe choice of words and phrases Lines 12-18A4What impression do you get of the city from these lines? Lines 19-27A5Evaluate how authority is presented within the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how isolation is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The HeroORWrite about a time that things did not go as expected.Mind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision PracticeSpeedy Planning 4Language Component One Section AThe Welcome Wagon lady, sixty if she was a day but working at youth and vivacity (ginger hair, red lips, a sunshine-yellow dress), twinkled her eyes and teeth at Joanna and said, "You're really going to like it here! It's a nice town with nice people! You couldn't have made a better choice!" Her brown leather shoulderbag was enormous, old and scuffed; from it she dealt Joanna packets of powdered breakfast drink and soup mix, a toy-size box of non-polluting detergent, a booklet of discount slips good at twenty-two local shops, two cakes of soap, a folder of deodorant pads —"Enough, enough," Joanna said, standing in the doorway with both hands full. "Hold. Halt. Thank you." The Welcome Wagon lady put a vial of cologne on top of the other things, and then searched in her bag — "No, really," Joanna said — and brought out pink-framed eyeglasses and a small embroidered notebook. "I do the 'Notes on Newcomers,'" she said, smiling and putting on the glasses. "For the Chronicle." She dug at the bag's bottom and came up with a pen, clicking its top with a red-nailed thumb. "Do you have any hobbies or special interests?"She was about to say a time-saving no, but hesitated: a full answer, printed in the local paper, might serve as a signpost to women like herself, potential friends. The women she had met in the past few days, the ones in the nearby houses, were pleasant and helpful enough, but they seemed completely absorbed in their household duties. Maybe when she got to know them better she would find they had farther-reaching thoughts and concerns, yet it might be wise to put up that signpost. So, "Yes, several," she said. "I play tennis whenever I get the chance, and I'm a semi-professional photographer — ""Oh?" the Welcome Wagon lady said, writing. Joanna smiled. "That means an agency handles three of my pictures," she said. "And I'm interested in politics and in the Women's Liberation movement. Very much so in that. And so is my husband." "He is?" The Welcome Wagon lady looked at her."Yes," Joanna said. "Lots of men are." She didn't go into the benefits-for-both-sexes explanation; instead she leaned her head back into the entrance hall and listened: a TV audience laughed in the family room, and Pete and Kim argued but below intervention level. She smiled at the Welcome Wagon lady "He's interested in boating and football too," she said, "and he collects Early American legal documents." Walter's half of the signpost.The Welcome Wagon lady wrote, and closed her notebook, clicked her pen. "That's just fine, Mrs. Eberhart," she said, smiling and taking her glasses off. "I know you're going to love it here," she said, "and I want to wish you a sincere and hearty 'Welcome to Stepford.' If there's any information I can give you about local shops and services, please feel free to call me; the number's right there on the front of the discount book." "Thank you, I will," Joanna said. "And thanks for all this." "Try them, they're good products!" the Welcome Wagon lady said. She turned away "Good-by now!"Joanna said good-by to her and watched her go down the curving walk toward her battered red Volkswagen. Dogs suddenly filled its windows, a black and brown excitement of spaniels, jumping and barking, paws pressing glass. Moving whiteness beyond the Volkswagen caught Joanna's eye: across the sapling-lined street, in one of the Clay brooks' upstairs windows, whiteness moved again, leaving one pane and filling the next; the window was being washed. Joanna smiled, in case Donna Claybrook was looking at her. The whiteness moved to a lower pane, and then to the pane beside it. With a surprising roar the Volkswagen lunged from the curb, and Joanna backed into the entrance hall and hipped the door closed.PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five items that the Welcome Wagon lady gives to Joanna.Lines 1-5A2How does the writer present the Welcome Wagon lady in these lines?Lines 6-9A3How does the writer show Joanna’s thoughts and feelings in these lines? You should refer to:The writer’s use of language to show Joanna’s thoughts and feelingsThe effects on the readerLines 10-21A4How does the writer create tension in these lines? You should write about:What happens to build tensionThe writer’s use of language to create tensionThe effects on the reader Lines 22-32A5Evaluate how Stepford is presented within the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how isolation is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The LieORWrite about a time that you made a difficult decision.Mind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision PracticeSpeedy Planning 5Language Component One Section AThey were abandoning him. The wounded man knew it when he looked at the boy, who looked down, then away, unwilling to hold his gaze. For days, the boy had argued with the man in the wolf-skin hat. Has it really been days? The wounded man had battled his fever and pain, never certain whether conversations he heard were real, or merely by-products of the delirious wanderings in his mind.He looked up at the soaring rock formation above the clearing. A lone, twisted pine had managed somehow to grow from the sheer face of the stone. He had stared at it many times, yet it had never appeared to him as it did at that moment, when its perpendicular lines seemed clearly to form a cross. He accepted for the first time that he would die there in that clearing by the spring. The wounded man felt an odd detachment from the scene in which he played the central role. He wondered briefly what he would do in their position. If they stayed and the war party came up the creek, all of them would die. Would I die for them … if they were certain to die anyway?“You sure they’re coming up the creek?” The boy’s voice cracked as he said it. He could effect a tenor most of the time, but his tone still broke at moments he could not control.The man in the wolf skin stooped hurriedly by the small meat rack near the fire, stuffing strips of partially dried venison into his parfleche. “You want to stay and find out?”The wounded man tried to speak. He felt again the piercing pain in his throat. Sound came forth, but he could not shape it into the one word he sought to articulate.The man in the wolf skin ignored the sound as he continued to gather his few belongings, but the boy turned. “He’s trying to say something.”The boy dropped on one knee next to the wounded man.Unable to speak, the man raised his working arm and pointed.“He wants his rifle,” said the boy. “He wants us to set him up with his rifle.”The man in the wolf skin covered the ground between them in quick, measured steps. He kicked the boy hard, square in the back. “Move, goddamn you!”He strode quickly from the boy to the wounded man, who lay next to the meager pile of his possessions: a possibles bag, a knife in a beaded scabbard, a hatchet, a rifle, and a powder horn. As the wounded man watched helplessly, the man in the wolf skin stooped to pick up the possibles bag. He dug inside for the flint and steel, dropping them into the pocket on the front of his leather tunic. He grabbed the powder horn and slung it over his shoulder. The hatchet he tucked under his broad leather belt. “What’re you doing?” asked the boy. The man stooped again, picked up the knife, and tossed it to the boy. “Take that.” The boy caught it, staring in horror at the scabbard in his hand. Only the rifle remained. The man in the wolf skin picked it up, checking quickly to ensure it was charged. “Sorry, old Glass. You ain’t got much more use for any of this.” The boy appeared stunned. “We can’t leave him without his kit.” The man in the wolf skin looked up briefly, then disappeared into the woods.The wounded man stared up at the boy, who stood there for a long moment with the knife—his knife. Finally, the boy raised his eyes. At first it appeared that he might say something. Instead, he spun around and fled into the pines.The wounded man stared at the gap in the trees where they had disappeared. His rage was complete, consuming him as fire envelops the needles of a pine. He wanted nothing in the world except to place his hands around their necks and choke the life from them. Instinctively he started to yell out, forgetting again that his throat produced no words, only pain. He raised himself on his left elbow. He could bend his right arm slightly, but it would support no weight. The movement sent agonizing bolts through his neck and back. He felt the strain of his skin against the crude sutures. He looked down at his leg, where the bloody remnants of an old shirt were tightly wrapped. He could not flex his thigh to make the leg work. Marshaling his strength, he rolled heavily to his stomach. He felt the snap of a suture breaking and the warm wetness of new blood on his back. The pain diluted to nothing against the tide of his rage. Hugh Glass began to crawl.PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five thoughts that the wounded man has in these lines.Lines 1-8A2How does the writer show you the character of the boy in these lines?Lines 9-16A3How does the writer show the character of the man in the wolf skin in these lines?Lines 17-27A4How does the writer make these lines tense and dramatic? You should write about:What happens to build tension and dramaThe writer’s use of language to create tension and dramaThe effects on the reader Lines 19-27A5Evaluate how survival is presented within the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how survival is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The CowardORWrite about a time that you did something you were ashamed of.Mind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision PracticeSpeedy Planning 6Language Component One Section A***HERE IS A SMALL FACT*** You are going to die. I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me. ***Reaction to the AFOREMENTIONED fact*** Does this worry you? I urge you -- don't be afraid. I'm nothing if not fair. -- Of course, an introduction. A beginning. Where are my manners? I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away. At that moment, you will be lying there (I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps. The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying? Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see--the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, none of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax. ***A SMALL THEORY*** People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them. As I've been alluding to, my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane. It helps me cope, considering the length of time I've been performing this job. The trouble is, who could ever replace me? Who could step in while I take a break in your stock-standard resort-style vacation destination, whether it be tropical or of the ski trip variety? The answer, of course, is nobody, which has prompted me to make a conscious, deliberate decision--to make distraction my vacation. Needless to say, I vacation in increments. In colors. Still, it's possible that you might be asking, why does he even need a vacation? What does he need distraction from? Which brings me to my next point. It's the leftover humans. The survivors. They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs. PRE PLANNING HABITS- what do you need to do first?A1List five things we learn about Death’s personality from these lines.Lines 1-5A2How does the writer show you the character of Death in these lines?Lines 6-14A3How does the writer show the experience of death in these lines? You should refer to:The choice of words and phrases The effect on the reader.Lines 15-19A4What impression do you get of Death’s work from these lines? Lines 19-30A5‘Evaluate how the writer presents Death in the passage. You should write about:Your own thoughts and feelings about how Death is presentedHow the writer has created those thoughts and feelingsPassage as a wholeLanguage Component One Section BChoose one of the following titles:EITHER The EscapeORWrite about a time that you showed courage.Mind map as many ideas as possible here( Remember ONE setting, character, event, hour).Choose your final idea and plan below (include vocabulary choices or ideas for imagery)First sentenceExpositionObstacleClimaxResolutionPeer AssessmentA1Section BA2A3A4A5Key Feedback for Revision Practice ................
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