Transcript Lesson32GreatVerbsProjectableLesson

Lesson 32: Great Verbs
Projectable Lesson
Tim Hargis © 2012
Hello! Today we are
going to continue our
focus on paying
attention to
individual words and
how that can help
add details to our
writing.
We are going to
continue our study
of words by
thinking about
different parts of
speech.
Today we will focus
on verbs and how
using great verbs is
another easy way
to get details into
our writing.
What exactly is a
verb?
There are a few
different kinds of
verbs. We are
going to focus on
verbs that are
action words.
run
eat
jump
Here are
a bunch
of verbs:
dance
sing
scream
When we
write, we
want to use
exciting
verbs.
ran
So, ran is
an okay
verb…
So, ran is an
okay
verb…but
zoomed is a
more exciting
verb.
ran
zoomed
ran
So, are
sprinted,
jogged, raced,
and bolted.
zoomed
sprinted
jogged
raced
bolted
So, while you
write, be thinking
about using some
really exciting
verbs.
Today I am going
to share a piece
of my writing with
you. I have two
versions of it for
you to read.
The first version
does not use many
great verbs. In the
second version, I
revised it, thinking
about using more
great verbs.
Tiny (Draft # 4)
By Tim Hargis
“Is he here? Is he here?”
I stood in the kitchen of our home and stared at the unopened box of Purina
Puppy Chow on the counter. I was six years old and had just gotten off the school
bus with my sister, Angie, who was nine. I knew the box of Purina Puppy Chow could
only mean one thing—that our puppy was here, but I had a hard time believing it. He
wasn’t supposed to get here until the weekend, when my Aunt Bessie was supposed
to bring him down to us from her home in Dayton. Her dog had had puppies, and we
were going to get one.
While I stood in the kitchen screaming about the box of Purina Puppy Chow
sitting on the counter, my sister ran into the living room. I eventually followed her, and
there, in a cardboard box on the floor, was our new baby poodle.
Because Angie had gotten there before me, she got to pick him up first. I
wanted to be the first to hold him because he was really supposed to be my dog. I
stood there with my hands in the pockets of my Levi’s just waiting for my chance to
hold my new puppy. I watched as my sister petted our little dog’s curly fur that was as
black as the midnight sky and as our dog licked her face, his tongue, so tiny and pink
like a stick of bubble gum you would find in a pack of baseball cards, moving in and
out of his mouth, and licking my sister on the cheek, nose, ear and mouth.
Finally it was my turn. I held him in my arms. I felt his soft fur next to my
cheek. I watched his short, stubby tail wagging. I listened to his whimpering.
My sisters thought I should give him a French name like my aunt did with the
new puppy that she kept. She named her dog “Monique.” My sisters wanted me to
name my new dog “Pierre” or “Claude” or something like that. I thought those were
crazy names for a dog. I decided to name him “Tiny” because, well, he was tiny.
Tiny and I were best friends my whole time growing up. I had him from the
time I was in kindergarten until my sophomore year in college when he finally died.
We played fetch and chase together. He slept with me at night. He cheered me up
when I was sad. I will always remember my dog, Tiny.
Okay, here is my
second version
where I tried to
revise it and use
some great verbs.
Tiny (Draft # 5)
By Tim Hargis
“Is he here? Is he here?”
I stood in the kitchen of our home and stared at the unopened box of Purina
Puppy Chow on the counter. I was six years old and had just gotten off the school
bus with my sister, Angie, who was nine. I knew the box of Purina Puppy Chow could
only mean one thing—that our puppy was here, but I had a hard time believing it. He
wasn’t supposed to get here until the weekend, when my Aunt Bessie was supposed
to bring him down to us from her home in Dayton. Her dog had had puppies, and we
were going to get one.
While I stood in the kitchen screaming about the box of Purina Puppy Chow
sitting on the counter, my sister raced into the living room. I eventually followed her,
and there, in a cardboard box on the floor, was our new baby poodle.
Because Angie had gotten there before me, she got to pick him up first. I
wanted to be the first to hold him because he was really supposed to be my dog. I
stood there with my hands in the pockets of my Levi’s just waiting for my chance to
hold my new puppy. I watched as my sister petted our little dog’s curly fur that was as
black as the midnight sky and as our dog licked her face, his tongue, so tiny and pink
like a stick of bubble gum you would find in a pack of baseball cards, darting in and
out of his mouth, and slurping my sister on the cheek, nose, ear and mouth.
Finally it was my turn. I held him in my arms. I felt his soft fur next to my
cheek. I gazed at his short, stubby tail wagging. I listened to his whimpering.
My sisters thought I should give him a French name like my aunt did with the
new puppy that she kept. She named her dog “Monique.” My sisters wanted me to
name my new dog “Pierre” or “Claude” or something like that. I thought those were
crazy names for a dog. I decided to name him “Tiny” because, well, he was tiny.
Tiny and I were best friends my whole time growing up. I had him from the
time I was in kindergarten until my sophomore year in college when he finally died.
We played fetch and chase together. He slept with me at night. He cheered me up
when I was sad. I will always remember my dog, Tiny.