Can I share my dd's writing and get a bit of feedback?

[Mamagistra]

DD10 is a naturally creative writer. I cannot read a thing she writes due to her crazy handwriting and spelling, :rolleyes: however, what she dictates to me just blows. my. mind.

 

We have used CW Aesop in a hit-and-miss fashion for the last year or so, and while I do love it, I don't think that it is responsible for this type of output...then again neither am I. ;) I think she simply reads widely (and somewhat obsessively about extinct reptiles). LOL

 

She narrated this to me today, then I helped her edit it very slightly for agreement and repetition. (I'm tired and a bit worn today, so I'm sure I didn't catch everything). I know it is not perfect, by any means, but please let me know what you think. I'm most grateful for any outside opinion. :001_smile:

 

Troodon:

A Vivid Picture of What Life Might Have Been Like During the Early Cretaceous Period

By Bella P.

 

On a heap of dry leaves gingerly stood a baby dinosaur, a troodon. Its mother, a full grown troodont, helped the chick’s siblings from their eggshells. Someday these chicks might grow to be magnificent specimens of cunning, supple movement, and speed.

 

Troodon was a dog-sized meat-eater. It walked and ran on two long hind legs, had a rudder-like tail, a long neck and short arms, with long fingers tipped in claws. Its head was shaped like an elongated egg. Its jaws were narrow, filled with sharply serrated teeth. Its eyes were large and so were its senses. In addition, on its second toe was a large scythe-shaped claw.

 

The mother troodon bedded down her young, and then went hunting for them. For a while no move was made. Then suddenly, the two other chicks looked up in alarm. Something was slinking through the bushes. The chicks stirred. Suddenly, a lithe body shot out from the undergrowth, seized a chick by the neck, and in one swift, fluid movement, disappeared.

 

The chicks were milling around nervously when their mother returned, dragging a dead confuciusaurus. As the chicks ate their fill, the mother troodon kept an eye out for predators. Although the chicks are destined to grow up to be wonderful hunters, they are seriously vulnerable now. Ironically, their attacker was a year-old troodont.

 

The next day, after grooming themselves, the trio ate what was left from the carcass of confuciusaurus. With the mother leading them, they jogged to a river bed and drank their fill. Suddenly, a deafening screech shattered the morning tranquility. The animals looked up. Three yards in front of them stood an immense utahraptor. Although it shared the same basic characteristics as troodon, it was nearly three times its size and roughly five times its weight. Its scythe claw was a five-inch, curved killing machine.

 

The troodons took no chances and swiftly dashed into the bramble, the utahraptor close behind. Pumping their supple legs like pistons, the troodons tore up the bracken as they ran. The utahraptor, taking long practiced strides, took aim. When the time was right, he leaped through the air, his merciless voice ringing through the forest, scythe claw erect and poised in strike position.

 

His victim was the mother troodont. The full force of the blow fell upon her ribs, the deadly claw protruding into her flesh. Her requiem of pain rang through the thicket. When the defiant head of the troodon fell to the earth, the utahraptor hissed with satisfaction. A last spasm of nerves flickered across the feathery hide, and the utahraptor began to feast.

 

The poor chicks stood several yards away, united in terror. Shaking badly, they started back to their only known home, the nest in which they were hatched only 24 hours before. The nest was positioned 100 yards from the river. Between the river and the nest lay a tangle of vines, ferns, and bramble. Surrounding the river on both sides were vegetation and trees, a vast forest holding menacing predators and myriad prey.

 

The next day, when no pre-killed meal greeted them, they started off away from the river, towards the thicker parts of the forest. Avoiding the river was difficult for it skirted most of the terrain. The two made their way through the brambles, occasionally turning and blinking miserably toward the river.

 

Hours passed and they had no food. The dominant female chick did not know what to attack. At two days old, they were as big as chickens. Without warning came a crash in the bushes. Both chicks looked up. Into view waddled a full-grown psittacosaurus, sharp beak open and small eyes blinking malevolently. The chicks screamed, backed up, and stood frozen in terror.

 

Psittacosaurus was no bigger than a collie dog, but it possessed a bone-crushing bite force. Although it was a herbivore, it seemed as terrifying as the utahraptor they had confronted the day before. The psittacosaurus bellowed, and the chicks retreated. If they had been larger, the psittacosaurus would have been fast food, but with no pack to back them up, the chicks were as vulnerable as a blade of grass waiting to be cut.

 

At the end of the day, the chicks stumbled into a colony of stygimolochs. A nesting ground spread out before them. In the area were ten little mounds containing eggs. The herd of stygimolochs were nosing around and grazing the ferns thirty yards from the nesting site.

 

The chicks cautiously but quickly advanced to the nearest nest and began gulping down its contents. Then they each took one more egg and skittered away. For four days, the nesting site was their main supply of food, but on the fifth day there was trouble. The submissive male chick got first dibs on the eggs, infuriating his sibling. They circled each other, snapping and hissing, then suddenly lunged at one another. Their kicking caused a lot of dust and noise, and one of the stygimolochs, her nest terribly close to the rivals, happened to see them.

 

The chicks looked up, face to face with a devilish-looking beast. The mere countenance of this animal was bad enough, but four horns stuck out of its bony head, and sharp spikes covered its nose. On its hands were sharp claws. It was the size of a full-grown man and weighed much more.

The stygimoloch bellowed furiously and charged forward, its horrible head lowered. The chicks shrieked and scattered, but the male chick was not fast enough. One of the spikes penetrated his side deeply; he fell. The stygimoloch, an invincible adversary, stood fully erect, and then crushed the unfortunate chick under its entire weight. Screeching with indignation, the remaining chick fled, leaving the last familiar spot forever.

 

Two years later, the female troodon was in fine fettle, sleek, well-fed, and larger. She was now accompanied by two other troodonts. She and her pack were now prone to attack. Striding through the thickets and leaping over barriers, the trio began hunting.

 

They came to a field, and crouching low in the dead grass, stalked a herd of iguanadon. The prey sensed the threat and began wandering about nervously. Ready and eager, muscles tensed, the troodons sneaked. Then with a hiss of indescribable joy, the troodons tore towards the iguanadons. The prey bellowed, scattering right and left. A juvenile iguanadon, being slower, fell as a defiant victim to the troodons. Hissing and spitting murderously, the troodons began to feast.

 

Suddenly, ringing through the air, the terrifying roar of a large predator haunted their meal. Plodding toward them and growling menacingly was a large giganotosaurus. The troodons lifted their claws in the air, lowered their heads, crying out at the intruder and advancing threateningly. The giganotosaurus roared again but backed up, frustrated at the barrier between him and his next meal.

 

The female troodon crouched, ready to spring. Then all at once, whether for fight or flight, she sprang for the vulnerable throat of the giganotosaurus. Her scythe claw tore open the windpipe and jugular vein, immediately killing the predator. Violently, the giganotosaurus fell to the earth, the loser in an everyday battle to survive.

[Julie in Austin]

Some thoughts from a former English teacher:

 

(1) Her vocabulary and word choice are phenomenal and I would praise her up one side and down the other for that. (WHAT TEN YEAR OLD USES "REQUIEM OF PAIN"? HOLY COW!!)

 

(2) She is at an age where the "crazy handwriting and spelling" should be addressed. Here is how I would do it: teach her the "four hats" method of writing. (If you want, get four real hats):

 

The first hat is the mad woman. She has crazy spelling and handwriting! She writes anything that comes into her mind!

 

The second hat is the architect. She organizes the ideas into a good, logical order. (In this piece, that isn't an issue because she used time signals. I don't know if her other writing is well-ordered or not.)

 

The third hat is the builder. She makes nice, structurally sound sentences. Again, good job here.

 

The fourth hat is the janitor. (This is where your daughter needs help.) She knows that no one can live in a building, no matter how well-designed and built, that has dust and debris all over it . . . so she uses readable handwriting and corrects her spelling. :)

[Jean in Newcastle]

Nicely written. Wonderful vocabulary! Those dinosaurs were quite blood-thirsty, weren't they?!

[Colleen]

DD10 is a naturally creative writer. I cannot read a thing she writes due to her crazy handwriting and spelling, :rolleyes: however, what she dictates to me just blows. my. mind...I'm most grateful for any outside opinion.

 

Opinions on....? I'm not sure what kind of feedback it is you're after. Her natural creativity is evident. She's imaginative and has a great vocabulary. It'll be fun to read what she produces in the year ahead. I honestly can't fathom having enough time (or patience) to do so much narration with one child. Wowsers!

[Mamagistra]

Thanks for commenting. :) I guess I was just seeking any comment on it, really...sometimes I feel I don't have a clue as to how to judge her creative stuff. :blush:

 

I should mention, too, that this is the type of thing she writes in her free time; I don't assign or request narration like this at all. I only mentioned narration because I had her dictate this to me today so I could type it up and better evaluate it. And I was a little harsh on her writing and spelling...I should have said that she only composes illegibly when she's trying to get her story down on paper. :001_smile:

 

(And Jean, yes, the dinos in dd's world are all about the flesh tearing and claws slashing.) ;)

[Jean in Newcastle]

(And Jean, yes, the dinos in dd's world are all about the flesh tearing and claws slashing.) ;)

 

Dd6's recent creative writing is all about two of her stuffed animals having an argument and solving it in the fighting ring - a sort of "fight club" for dolls! What is it with girls these days?:D

[Colleen]

I guess I was just seeking any comment on it, really...sometimes I feel I don't have a clue as to how to judge her creative stuff.

 

Why would you need to judge it? I'm kinda confused, but maybe that's because I don't feel compelled to assess writing just because it happens.

 

I should mention, too, that this is the type of thing she writes in her free time; I don't assign or request narration like this at all. I only mentioned narration because I had her dictate this to me today so I could type it up and better evaluate it. And I was a little harsh on her writing and spelling...I should have said that she only composes illegibly when she's trying to get her story down on paper.

 

Since it's her free time, her creative writing, I'd not intervene at all. There's no need for you to evaluate it. Please don't feel compelled to take what she produces of her own volition, on her own time, and get it all dolled up to evaluate. Just let her be. Really.:)