Academic Writing - 1518 Words

â€Å"Invention† or â€Å"Discovery† is the means whereby a writer or orator either finds (discovers) or creates (invents) content. In academic writing or speaking, invention often is thought to begin with research, but students also use invention techniques to help them prepare for research. Invention fosters critical thinking skills, so that as students do their research, they are more open to various problems and perspectives and more able to connect what they learn to their personal experiences and knowledge; invention also helps writers or speakers narrow a topic, clarify a thesis, develop ideas, or find arguments. In addition, once some preliminary reading or drafting is done, invention techniques can help he writer or speaker to refocus.†¦show more content†¦7. Do this each class meeting for a period of time leading up to the drafting stage of a writing assignment. 8. Follow up the group session with a 10-minute writing period. Ask each student to select at least one idea the group came up with and elaborate on it. Remind them the writing won’t be graded or collected. 9. If you don’t have time in class, you can assign brainstorming for outside work and grade the quantity (but never the quality) of their work. Have students brainstorm a list of ideas about the topic for at least 10 minutes and then write for one hour elaborating on the ideas on the list without stopping. Students may find this exhausting; they may discard most of what they write. However, they will discover ideas about the topic that they never knew they had. This should take 20-30 minutes of class time. You can cut the time by omitting the follow-up. Don’t cut the brainstorming to less than 10 minutes, however, because students need at least that much time to warm up and push themselves to think more deeply and reflectively. For a handout on Brainstorming geared to students, see the University Writing Center online handouts. Focused Freewriting One of the best ways to get inexperienced writers used to the idea of writing is freewriting, which is writing without judgment or limits (except for time). The theory behind freewriting is that the writer’s conscious mind may be inhibiting ideas. While this theory isShow MoreRelatedEffectiveness Of Academic Writing On Research Writing1732 Words   |  7 PagesCredibility in Research Writing Introduction There are different styles of scholarly writing and each of the writing has certain format that students will have to follow for their field of study. Research paper is one of the writing that students will encounter in their major classes. In my past Child Development class, especially CHDV 123 writing research paper was required in the class. After writing the literature review about observation and how the observer have to be sure that the informationRead More Writing the Academic Essay1531 Words   |  7 PagesWriting the Academic Essay For many high school students, the academic essay is an unforgiving monster that terrorizes their campus, a nightmarish beast that can rip the heart out of G.P.A.s and dash all hopes for college admission. Yet, others tame this friend with ease, bending its cruel will to theirs as if it was nothing, as if they possessed a secret weapon. Well, guess what? They do! Successful essayists succeed because they are armed with the exact knowledge of what an essay isRead MoreReflection Of Academic Writing889 Words   |  4 Pages1. Introduction Over the last 12 weeks, I have learnt many things in term of academic writing. At first, I do not truly believe I would like this course. As much as I can remember, I am not interested in learning how to write formally and academically. The only reason I forced myself to learn it is because formal writing skill is one of the mandatory skill I need to acquire if I want my study abroad time to be successful. Therefore, my decision to participate in this course is not willing but itRead MoreThe Discipline Of Academic Writing944 Words   |  4 Pages In English 1310 I learned the discipline of academic writing. I learned various tactics that are not only critical when presenting my argument, but that will also enhance the way audiences receive my ideas. Through the critique of the work of authors, followed by my own, I gained a valuable tool that will not only help me in English 1310, but also for the rest of my life. Some of the things that I had learned were the ability to persuade through the use of rhetoric, I learned the importance ofRead MoreAcademic Writing Styles537 Words   |  2 PagesAcademic writing Proper academic writing should demonstrate the students understanding of the subject at hand. (Elton, 2010) adds that because academic writing may defer from discipline to discipline, instructors in schools have a duty to express their expectations of students’ writing while students on the other hand should act on it. Academic writing is logical The student’s work needs to have a introduction, the body and the conclusion. The introduction gives a background to the topic andRead MoreThe Importance Of Academic Writing1187 Words   |  5 PagesThe academic writing process has been around for ages, so the attributes that a scholarly piece, such as this one, must possess in order to be efficient are no secret. All academic pieces of writing must have a mix of the following qualities: objectivity, accuracy, and complexity. These attributes must remain intact and must not waiver throughout each step of the writing process. This very process that forces students to set creativity aside is proposed to assist in critical thinking skills, writingRead MoreWhat Are Academic Writing?887 Words   |  4 PagesWhat is academic writing? That is difficult question due to the fact that there is no sole factor but rather a series of elements that intertwine together that create an academic piece of writing. Throughout my academic experi ence I would highlight three main elements that are crucial to any piece of academic writing: (1) knowledge of the topic discussed, (2) writing styles, and (3) a clear objective of what conclusions the information gathered has provided. In this paper, I will compare and contrastRead MoreImproving The Quality Of Academic Writing997 Words   |  4 PagesThis semester of English 150 has redefined the quality of academic writing and has taught me that writing is more than just a task with a checklist, it’s a constant work in process that allows expression of belief and ideas. The purpose of this course is to better prepare students to compose essays for an array of academic purposes throughout college and into their career. Throughout the semester, students taking this course have learned to conduct research, identify acceptable sources, analyze sourcesRead MoreMy Writing For Academic Success1114 Words   |  5 PagesA learner’s ability to communicate effectively through writing to his/her target audiences is a major prerequisite for academic success. It is also a major pillar of success in one’s career across all areas of practice. Even though, writing clearly is critical to one’s academic and career success, I have not always loved writing. In fact, for a long time I despised writing. At one point, I had a feeling that my writings skills were bound to remain stagnated throughout my life. However, time has provenRead MoreAcademic Prose Vs. Writing873 Words   |  4 Pages Over the past eight weeks, this course has required me to write more academic prose than I have at any time outside of high school. While my job has required writing long documents, they are almost always persuasive or technical documents. I now reflect on my daily reading and writing in a different way as a result of this class. I can see how I have grown even from the first week to today. In each of the assignments below I can see my own growth and learning. When I read my first essay again

Analysis Of John Steinbeck s The Chrysanthemums

Comparative Essay In â€Å"Chrysanthemums† john Steinbeck, the author, focuses on Elisa Allen, one of the main characters. She is presented as weak in that her daily activity consisted of tending her garden of chrysanthemums; Steinbeck focuses on how they provide insight into Elisa and how she relates to them, religiously. He implies that even though she fits a weak character, there are places in the narrative at the beginning that suggest some strong points and her longing towards the end. There are a number of inferences that Steinbeck clearly illustrates how she is presented as weak and should therefore be discussed. The story the Chrysanthemums by the author John Steinbeck has a lot of similarities to the book â€Å"Of Mice and Men† that is by the same author. First, the loneliness of crook appeared with Elisa in the short story, second is the hope of George and Elisa, finally is when loneliness can disappeared if there is someone can help Lennie and Elisa. Loneliness is the wor st feeling ever. Loneliness is when nobody likes you, and nobody cares a little about you, and leaves you alone like an animal. That what crooks felt in Of Mice and Man. Crooks do not talk to the other men and they do not talk to him. This causes the greatest amount of loneliness in Crooks out of all the characters. The other workers on the ranch take place in fun activities, such as horseshoes and card games. Crooks never get invited to play, because he is a black guy. â€Å"A guy goes nuts if heShow MoreRelatedAnalysis Of John Steinbeck s The Chrysanthemums 1532 Words   |  7 PagesJohn Steinbeck’s short story â€Å"The Chrysanthemums† shows a time when women are controlled and restrained to a traditional lifestyle. It portrays a struggle for equality that is played out through the eyes of the third person narrator. In telling the story, the narrator depicts the story through speech, actions and appearances of the main character, Elisa. Her place in the story is that in a w orld of masculinity during the times of the Great Depression and a fight to keep a bit of her happinessRead MoreAn Analysis Of John Steinbeck s The Chrysanthemums 1025 Words   |  5 PagesRichard Courtney ENG 1110 December 22, 2016 An Unsatisfied Life John Steinbeck’s â€Å"The Chrysanthemums† is a short story about a woman named Elisa and her unhappiness with her life. She is a woman living in a man’s world in the late 1930’s. Elisa and her husband, Henry, are childless. She is confined to a lonely life where she cares for her husband, their farm house, and her precious chrysanthemums. Throughout the story Steinbeck indicates Elisa’s struggle as a woman who wants more out of her lifeRead MoreThe Chrysanthemums By John Steinbeck982 Words   |  4 Pagesâ€Å"The Chrysanthemums† is a short story written by John Steinbeck. The story was originally published in 1937 before later being released as a part of his The Long Valley collection. This is an important story as it expresses women in a way that is more realistic, showing their true boredom, ambition, and capabilities. Some scholars interpreted this story differently, but C. Kenneth Pellow interprets it as â€Å"radically feministic.â⠂¬  The Great Depression was finally ending and women’s rights were risingRead MoreEssay on Analysis of The Chrysanthemums1139 Words   |  5 PagesAnalysis of The Chrysanthemums The short story The Chrysanthemums gives insight into the life of its author. John Steinbeck was born on February 27, 1902, in Salinas, California. The locale of the story is of key resemblance to the Salinas in which Steinbeck was born and bread. Salinas was a typical American small town, [differing] only in location and a few distinctive features (McCarthy 3). The protagonist of this story, Elisa Allen, also resembles Steinbecks first wife. SteinbeckRead MoreSymbolism in The Chrysanthemums by John Steinbeck Essay1547 Words   |  7 PagesSymbolism in The Chrysanthemums by John Steinbeck The Chrysanthemums, one of John Steinbecks masterpieces, describes a lonely farmers wife, Elisa Allen. Elisa Allens physical appearance is very mannish yet still allows a hint of a feminine side to peek through. John Steinbeck brings symbolism into play to represent Elisa Allens frustrations and hidden passions. Isolation is another representation through symbolism found in The Chrysanthemums. Elisas failing detached marriage is representedRead More The Chrysanthemums Essay1649 Words   |  7 PagesJohn Steinbeck’s, The Chrysanthemums, was published in 1938 in a book of short stories, entitled The Long Valley. The Chrysanthemums has been a rather powerful draw for scholars because of its wide gap for interpretations and analysis of its main protagonist character, Elisa Allen and also the unique descriptions used to portray the deeper meaning behind the setting of the story. Themes of sexuality, oppression of women, as well as other numerous types of conflict portrayed in this rather somberRead MoreJohn Steinbeck2062 Words   |  9 Pagesminiature versions of books or novels, where an author takes a tale and crams it into a ten to twenty page story. John Steinbeck is not only a well-known novelist, but also writes short stories like â€Å"The Chrysanthemums† and â€Å"Flight†. In Steinbeck’s â€Å"The Chrysthemums† Elisa Allen is married to a negligent ranch owner. While her husband works on the ranch, Elisa tends to her chrysanthemum garden daily. One day while tending to her garden, a charming tinker man pulls up to her in his wagon and tries toRead MoreEnglish All Semester 26504 Words   |  27 Pages| noun | literature that emphasizes a specific geographic area that reproduces the speech, behavior, and attitudes of the people who live in that region | sibilant | adjective | of, characterized by, or producing a hissing sound like that of (s) or (sh): | tableau | noun | a vivid or graphic description: The movie was a tableau of a soldiers life; a striking incidental scene, as of a picturesque group of people | tall-tale | noun | an outrageously exaggerated, humorous story that

Sunshine Chapter 28 Free Essays

He dealt in rare and valuable objects. She was hoping she’d got him, or soon would. What kind of rare and valuable objects? Con shrugged again, gently. We will write a custom essay sample on Sunshine Chapter 28 or any similar topic only for you Order Now Anything he could buy and sell. Jewelry, bric-a-brac, other ornaments. Small things mostly. Sometimes paintings, sculpture, larger furniture. He was very clever at it. I thought of his earth-place, and wondered if he was plugging in his master in the necessary role of human father. I wondered if his earth-place was anywhere near the lake. I wondered if vampires also felt that the best lies stick as near to the truth as possible, because it’ll be easier remembering later what you said. I wondered if vampires really shrugged, or if this was verisimilitude, like having a father. He did it pretty well. The cross-examination went on. I wondered how much Con knew about human law; he could protest being held without explanation, he could protest the questioning. Perhaps he didn’t want to. Perhaps staying human was enough of an effort, and he wasn’t going to make waves. Perhaps he didn’t mind. He certainly gave no impression of minding. I told myself that he was a vampire, and vampires don’t give the impression of minding things, perhaps even when they are pretending to be human. It didn’t occur to me that I might protest being held without explanation. I didn’t want to encourage them to think about why they might want to hold me. It seemed to me they had too many good choices. But with a sudden cold drench of antidisintegration fear I wondered what time it was. How long had we been – occupied with Bo and his gang? It had still been deep dark when we’d run through those doors and straight into the SOF div waiting, presumably inadvertently, for us; but which end of the night was that deep dark? And how long had we been here? When was sunrise? When the goddess started asking me questions I had to come back a long way to focus on her words, to try to answer her. I was too shattered to be frightened at the same time as I was too shattered to be anything but frightened: to be able to think of a story to tell her, since I couldn’t tell her the truth. In theory I had a lot less to lose than Con, but it didn’t feel like it. I mean, all I’d done was destroy some vampires. Maybe I hadn’t gone through the proper channels, but nailing vampires is always a plus. She should pin a medal on me. I didn’t think she was going to. Watch your back, Sunshine. When Con and I had planned our confrontation with Bo, we hadn’t thought about what happened after. Well, he may have, but if he had, he hadn’t let me in on it. He wasn’t a big talker. Also, after Bo, assuming that there was an after Bo, our reason for alliance was over; he probably hadn’t thought there was anything to discuss. I sure hadn’t thought about needing a good cover story. Who investigates the extermination of vampires? If we escaped, we’d’ve escaped, and it’d be over with. Of course we hadn’t planned on blowing up No Town. The thought returned: after Bo, if there was an after Bo, there would be no reason for Con and me to have anything more to do with each other. The goddess was talking to me. Yes, Mr. Connor and I had met five months ago, during my – our – involuntary incarceration at the lake. No, I hadn’t mentioned him before. Yes, perhaps I should have: but I had wanted to forget everything about that time, and I had not guessed I would meet him again. No, our meeting tonight was not planned, but no doubt it had something to do with our being drawn back, together, by the vampire we had escaped from those months ago. With crushing scorn the goddess declared, People don’t escape from vampires. I had my one great moment then. I said that I guessed the vampire must have planned for us to escape, because it wanted to pull us back again later, after we thought we were safe. Even the goddess had to pause. I didn’t think vampires played cat and mouse with their victims to such an extent as to let them run around loose for several months before putting a paw over them again, but vampires are indisputably unpredictable. And it maybe made a sort of teeny sense out of my com-system-exploding habits. Then how, she said between her teeth, do you explain how you escaped this time? All due respect, ma’am, said Pat, crisp and formal, not sounding like Pat at all, Some big sucker gang war, obviously. These two in the wrong place at the wrong time. Might explain how they got away last time too; some kind of sting, maybe. And why didn’t we know about a gang war important enough to raze better than a third of No Town? snarled the goddess. Don’t know, ma’am, said Pat, but we’re going to find out. The goddess’ next few questions to me were positively gentle. No, I couldn’t remember how I – how we’d – escaped, five months ago. I didn’t precisely remember that we’d escaped at all. The entire experience was very blurred in my memory. Shock no doubt. Ask Pat. I’d told him as much as I remembered. I guessed I remembered even less now. She didn’t ask Pat. She’d read the file. She didn’t mention the other night, and the circumstances under which I’d met her the first time. This should have felt like a respite. It didn’t. She turned back to Con. What did he remember of the two days he’d spent chained up in the house by the lake? Or perhaps it had been more than two days in his case? No, he didn’t remember it very well either. He thought it might have been longer than two days. He thought he remembered the young lady being brought in after him. He had been hiking, and had planned to be away from home for some time anyway. No, he didn’t remember precisely how long he was gone. He had spent several days after he returned in something of a daze. He lived alone and had, thanks to his father’s bequest, few responsibilities. No one had missed him. He had contacted no one after his ordeal. No, he apologized, it had not occurred to him to make a report to SOF either. He understood he should have. He would be happy to make a full report now, yes, but there wasn’t much report to give. He remembered so little. No, it hadn’t put him off living by the lake. He lived by a different part of the lake. And where was that again? On the southwest side. Near No Town. Not very near. The goddess let this pass, maybe because it was true. But then she began on this evening’s events. Con was very sorry, but he didn’t remember them clearly either. The notorious vampire glamour, he suggested, had confused him. He must remember something. He remembered standing at his front door, breathing the autumn-scented air, and watching the sun set. He must remember more than that. Con paused and looked thoughtful. He did this very well: understated but clear. Like the tone of his voice: not inscrutable vampire but reserved human male. Reticent as opposed to undead. He could have a great future in the theater, so long as no one expected him to do matinees. He remembered a great deal of confusion, and fear, and pain, and er – blood. He touched his blood-stiffened hair apologetically. And explosions. At some point he discovered Miss Seddon there with him amid the – er – uproar. He did not remember any other humans present, but he had not been looking for them. He had been looking for a way out, as had Miss Seddon. Naturally. Con closed his eyes momentarily at this point. I almost wanted to tell him not to overdo it. Naturally, said the goddess dryly. Mr. Connor, you seem to be taking all the uproar, as you put it, very calmly. Con spread his hands, and smiled faintly. He smiled. Really. It is over now, he said. What would you have me do? I would have you tell me the truth! she shouted. I jumped in my seat. I hadn’t been watching her. I’d been watching Con, and the window blind. It was hard to see much; the blind was closed, the proofglass behind it would dull any light trying to come through it, and the goddess’ office was brightly lit. But I was pretty sure the corners of the windows were a paler gray than they’d been when we came in. I looked at the goddess. I tried to look into the glaring shadows on her face, but I was very tired, and the shadows were layers thick. I could see nothing through them except more shadows. My head throbbed. But I could see her eyes. I didn’t like what I saw. She couldn’t have guessed, could she? She couldn’t. What was there in some secret SOF archive? About vampires? About vampire-human alliances? Watch your back, Sunshine. Why would she be watching me? What was there in my file that had caught her eye? Something important enough to lay a fetch on me for? Something she had, after all, picked up during her illegal troll of me the night we met? Was she trolling me now? My head hurt so much I couldn’t tell how much of it was her godsawful aura and how much was†¦just the way I was feeling. Had she tried to troll Con? If she had – no, wait, she couldn’t’ve or he’d be staked and beheaded by now – okay, even if he had blocked her – what might the block tell her? Wouldn’t a vampire block look – taste, smell, whatever – different than a human one? Or did Con’s passing include the shape of his mind to a mind search? But being able to block a mind search was illegal too. Ordinary humans couldn’t do it. Which meant anyone who did wasn’t an ordinary human. And if you know something, you know it, even if you got that knowledge by proscribed means. Like by trolling without authority. It wasn’t my back that needed watching at this moment. It was Con’s. As well as his front, sides, top, bottom, and any other attached bits. I stared at the window. In the lower corner nearer me there was a tiny gap where the blind didn’t fit true. I was sure I could see light coming in. The goddess had her back to the window. She had a huge desk – of course – that sprawled in front of it, but it was a big room, and there was plenty of space for her minions and Pat and his lot plus Con and me. Her desk was empty. Even her com gear was all shut away in a wall closet; I knew this because one of her vassals folded the doors back and sat down in front of it. There was a lot of it; it looked like it would take up the entire wall if the doors were pushed back all the way. I was glad I wasn’t a techie. If I’d understood any of what I could see, I would have been even more jittery than I already was. There were now fifteen of us. She’d only had three flunkies when we entered, but when it turned out she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of Pat one of them muttered into her wire and four more people had entered almost as soon as she’d finished speaking, marching nearly in lockstep. The goddess must keep them in a cupboard right outside her door for those moments when she needed to oppress a situation quickly. Maybe she chose people who wanted to spend their off-duty hours folded up in a drawer too, the better for rapid retrieval. We faced each other over her desk, them and us. Con and I sat in two chairs about six feet apart. Pat, keeping up the pretense that we were under defensive surveillance, had a pair of people behind each of our chairs. He leaned against the wall behind us, but off to one side, nearer Con; I could see him out of the corner of my eye without turning my head. His wire squeaked at him periodically; occasionally he muttered back. Once I saw him jerk his head up and stare at us – Con or me, I couldn’t tell – after some very agitated squeaking. I wondered what his field people might be telling him about what they were finding in the remains of No Town. I wasn’t used to seeing Pat wearing a wire. He hadn’t any time I’d seen him at Charlie’s. He hadn’t when I visited his office downstairs here. He hadn’t even when we drove out to the lake. The wire made him look a lot more threatening. More like a regular member of SOF, the huge na tional agency dedicated to protecting humans against the Other threat, which as one of its minor local operations had planted an illegal fetch on me. Even with a wire, Pat wasn’t nearly as threatening as a vampire. Or as the goddess. Several of the flunkies’ wires squeaked at them too. I saw them glancing at each other worriedly. Perhaps they always looked worried. Being the goddess’ flunky can’t have been an easy job, even if you have the personality for it. The goddess paraded up and down behind her desk, occasionally leaning on it for emphasis, occasionally coming round to the front to sit on the edge and stare at us. She ignored everyone else. I thought I saw her glance at the window too. Okay, I could make a dive for Con the moment she touched the blind, but that would give two things away simultaneously: what he was. And what I could do. The air in the room seemed to press against my skull like a tightening vise. Maybe it was just the goddess. I looked at my hands. I thought I could see tiny filaments of green or black running up the backs of them, running up my arms, like gangrene spreading from the site of infection. I couldn’t see any sign of the golden web, even though the blanket wrapped around me had rubbed a lot of the blood off. I could see only green and black. Death as an infection. The infection had begun five months ago. Maybe I’d already died back at Bo’s headquarters – perhaps when the scar on my breast reopened – and it hadn’t quite caught up with me yet. Maybe Con had delayed the inevitable by making me – offering me his blood to drink. Undead blood was used to keeping dead people moving, after all. So maybe it didn’t matter if I gave myself away. I was worm fodder as soon as the green and black filaments reached my beating heart. It did matter. I would be giving Con away too. I’m very sorry, Con was saying to the goddess. I know how thin my story sounds. But there is nothing else to tell you. It was all very baffling to me – to Miss Seddon and me – too. There was a little silence. I set my tea mug down on the floor, and groped in my pocket for my little knife, the knife that glowed with daylight even in the dark, the knife that burned Con if he touched it. I held it a moment before I pulled it out, wondering if I was dead – not undead, Con promised me I couldn’t be turned, just dead, a new form of zombie perhaps, which would explain why my brain was refusing to work properly, why nothing seemed quite real, not even my fear. A zombie’s brain always goes first, while sometimes their hearts go on beating. If I was dead, perhaps I couldn’t save Con from the daylight any more either. The knife was warm in my hand. Body heat. But zombies are usually cool. Like all the undead. My knife was warm like the touch of a friend, against my gangrenous hand. Suddenly there were tears in my eyes. Do zombies weep? I pulled the knife out. I made all the effort I was capable of, to be here, to be present, in this room, with Con and Pat and the goddess of pain. â€Å"Pardon me,† I said. â€Å"I want to return your knife before I – er – forget.† I should have said something about why I was remembering now rather than at some other moment, why I had Mr. Connor’s knife in the first place, but I couldn’t think of anything. I was at the end of my thinking. It was taking all my energy to be here. And I didn’t know that it would work. It was merely the only thing I could imagine to try. Con turned toward me. He almost forgot to be human. When I tossed him the knife his hand moved toward where it was going to be†¦I felt him check himself. He plucked the knife out of the air a little too neatly, but not impossibly so. Not inhumanly. He caught it, and closed his fingers around it, rested his hand on his knee. The knife had disappeared. If there was anything to see as it burned him, if it burned him, if it was still full of daylight – of my sunshine – no one in the room would see. He set his tea mug down, so he still had one hand free. â€Å"Thank you,† he said, and turned back to the goddess as if for her next question. We had our one bit of luck then. There was a wire-squeak so momentous, apparently, that one of the goddess’ minions risked whispering it to her, and she was distracted, perhaps, from this curious business of Mr. Connor’s knife. She wasn’t very happy about whatever news the minion gave her, whatever it was. Then she sighed, elaborately, as if releasing tension. As if asking everyone in the room to relax. I didn’t relax. Con didn’t, but then he was never relaxed, any more than he was ever tense. He was just there. Pat didn’t relax. I couldn’t see any of the rest of us. The minions didn’t relax. I’m sure there is a regulation in their contract that forbids them to relax. The goddess looked around at us and smiled. It wasn’t a very good smile. If I had to choose, I would say Con did it better. â€Å"Well,† she said. â€Å"It has been a long night and everyone will be better for a rest. And you two warriors† – she tried to make this sound unironical, but she failed – â€Å"according to the latest report, have been a part of the destruction of a major vampire sanctum – perhaps an instrumental part of that destruction. You must forgive what may appear to be my excessive zeal here tonight; but occurrences like this are rare, and SOF must know as much as possible about any event concerning the Others, especially the darkest of the Others, to be as effective as we can be. And we have found, over and over again, that the sooner we speak to any and all witnesses, the better. â€Å"I would appreciate it if you would return, later, when you are rested, and fill out formal statements, which we can keep on file. I would also appreciate it if you would make yourselves available for further discussion, at some future time. Occasionally it has happened that witnesses do remember later what they were too shaken to comprehend at the time; perhaps as we learn more about what happened, some detail we can describe to you will loosen something in your memories, something we can use. â€Å"You must see that to the extent it is possible you had a crucial role in tonight’s events we must discover what that role was. â€Å"And in the meanwhile, perhaps† – she was moving as she spoke – â€Å"after the night that has passed, the light of morning will make us all feel better.† With better she pulled the blind. Daylight, filtered by proofglass but unmistakably, undeniably daylight, fell full on Con. How long after sunlight touches him before a vampire burns? The stories say immediately, but what is immediately? One second? Ten? I sat still, rigidly still, my nerves shrieking. Con, of course, looked as he always looked: neither tense nor calm. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Surely thirty seconds was longer than immediately? What is the algebra of how long one live person with an affinity can protect one vampire from the effects of sunlight as compared to one small inanimate daylight-charged pocketknife? Supposing that the person is still alive and the affinity is still functioning, the pocketknife still charged, and the fact that the vampire was presently passing for human didn’t morph the process so that Con was about to collapse in a little heap of cold ashes with no gruesome intermediate stages. Forty seconds. Fifty. Sixty. That’s good enough. I burst into tears, and Con was up off his chair at once – as immediately as the fire that hadn’t come – and kneeling beside mine, one hand on my shoulder. My blanket had fallen off. I felt my affinity yank itself from wherever it lived – somewhere around my heart apparently – and throw itself toward the shoulder he was touching. It was still there. Still live. I heard a rustle, like a sigh of leaves. Trees are impervious to dark magic. The hand that held my knife still hung by his side. It seemed to me that as a performance it wasn’t too unlikely that he’d put his hand on my shoulder, after whatever it was that we’d been through together. Maybe we were calling each other Mr. Connor and Miss Seddon, but we’d come out of whatever it was holding hands. I turned my head and stared at him, into his leaf-green eyes, into the face of the monster I had saved, and been saved by, probably too many times to count, now, any more, even by what he had called that which binds. Perhaps that was why I could feel my affinity working its way through his body, through the vessels that carried his blood, a special little squad of it racing down to his burned hand. I put both my hands – my contaminated hands – on his shoulders, and leaned my head against him, and wept and wept, and the warmth, the human-seeming warmth of his body through the tattered, filthy shirt against the palms of my hands felt the way my knife had felt: like the touch of a f riend. The healing touch of a friend. I had meant to burst into tears, to break the scene, to give Con a chance to move, and to put up his sun parasol sitting in the next chair, but it had been easy – too easy, and it was hard to stop crying, once I’d begun. It took me several minutes to get to the gulping and hiccupping stage, by which time all of Pat’s people were rushing around holding boxes of tissues and bringing damp towels to wipe my face with and brandishing fresh cups of tea. The goddess and her people hadn’t moved at all. She looked like a naturalist observing faulty ritual behavior: not at all what she had been led to believe was the norm for this species, but was therefore interesting precisely for that reason, and how could she turn it to her advantage? I didn’t like it, but I’d worry about it later. Her people stood and sat around looking stuffed. Working for the goddess didn’t encourage the acquisition of damp-towel-fetching skills. I would worry about it all later. I was getting used to the idea that I might have a later to worry about it in. Maybe. I was so tired. I had dropped my hands from Con’s shoulders to juggle tea and towels and tissues. I looked at them, my hands, going about their usual business of grasping and manipulating. I couldn’t see the green and the black any more. But I couldn’t see the gold either. I knew the seal was gone forever, and the chain – I couldn’t feel the chain against my breast any more, although the reopened wound had stopped aching. Had I heard the rustle of leaves when Con touched my shoulder? Sun-self, tree-self, deer-self. Don’t they outweigh the dark self? Not any more. I would worry about me later too. About my hands. I would ask Con†¦I hoped I would have a chance to ask Con. Because after I got him out of this daylight, our alliance was over. Con. He still knelt beside me. An ordinary man might have looked silly, doing nothing, but even as a relatively successful human-facsimile he looked so†¦unconventional? Unsomething. Silly didn’t come into it. Or maybe that was just how I saw him. It was day again, and Con was my responsibility, and we were surrounded by people who must continue to believe he was human. I looked at him. He’d dropped the yellow blanket when he left his chair. He looked better without it, even blood-mottled and with his clothes hanging off him in sodden-and-dried-stiff rags. â€Å"Pardon me, Miss Seddon, but I think I must beg you to keep my knife for me a little longer. I don’t believe any of my pockets have survived the night’s encounters.† He held it out to me, turning and opening his hand: the palm was unmarked. I felt that my affinity emergency-squad was dancing around in some little-used synapse somewhere, giving each other teeny microscopic high-fives. I put down a towel and accepted the knife, slipping it awkwardly back into the pocket it had come out of. I was careful not to look at the goddess as I did this: as if it was just a little jackknife. I wondered if vampire clothing had pockets. What would vampires keep in pockets? Handkerchiefs? House keys? Charms against being grilled (so to speak) by angry, high-ranking SOF officers? I’d managed to move my chair a little during the commotion after I burst into tears. Con was safe for the moment, in shadow. I stood up and looked at the goddess. She was taller than I was, of course. There are spells to make you appear taller than whoever you are talking to, but they are expensive, and all but the best have a nasty habit of revealing you as your real height the minute you turn your attention to someone else. I guessed the goddess was just tall. â€Å"I apologize for making a fuss,† I said, as respectfully as I could. Maybe she was so accustomed to reeking hostility from most of her colleagues and interviewees that she didn’t register it any more. Maybe she would assume I didn’t like her because she’d intimidated me successfully. Well, she had. â€Å"May we leave now, please?† I continued, holding my poisonous hands out placatingly, palms up. â€Å"I will come back whenever you like, but I’m so tired I can’t think. And I want a bath.† Several baths. And what I was wearing – the remains of what I was wearing – would so into the trash. No, the bonfire. I would start running out of clothing soon if I wasn’t careful. If I had a future it would have to include some shopping. She made gracious-cooperation noises that were about as sincere as my respectfulness, and we were allowed to leave – Con and I, and Pat and John and Theo and Kate and Mike. In the windowless hallway Con and I drifted nonchalantly apart. I was trying to remember if there were any unexpected windows around blind corners. I hadn’t been at my best when we’d come through the first time. I wasn’t at my best now, but against all odds, I was improving. How to cite Sunshine Chapter 28, Essay examples