《Module 2《Fantasy Literature—Philip Pullman》Listening,Spenking and Writin教案1（外研版選修6）》由會員分享，可在線閱讀，更多相關《Module 2《Fantasy Literature—Philip Pullman》Listening,Spenking and Writin教案1（外研版選修6）（5頁珍藏版）》請在裝配圖網(wǎng)上搜索。

111 Period 4: Writing a fantasy story Objectives To learn to write a fantasy story in English Procedures Learning how to write a best selling fantasy story To begin with let us have a discussion on how to write a best selling fantasy story. I think the following ten tips are important. 1. Create a main character. 2. Create a Quest. 3. Create a Motley Bunch of Companions. 4. Create a Wise but Useless Guide. 5. Create the Land 6. Create the Enemy 7. Make it long. 8. Skip the hard parts. 9. Lead up to a cataclysmic battle. 10. Kill almost everybody. ■Writing your own fantasy stories The Swamp by Shoshana Leffler, age 11, Bronx, New York Flying in and out of the clouds, a black hawk circles the swamp. He doesn’t make a sound, but rides the currents like a king silently surveying his land. I tuck my coat closer around me. The hawk is still fresh in my mind. He seems to be scrutinizing me and watching my every move. His black body stands out against the sky. But when he goes away the color in the sky also changes to a darker shade. Now that he is gone everything is quiet. But I know it will not be that way for long. It’s very still where I sit, at the edge of the swamp on a rotting log. The log is rough and jagged where the ridges run on the gray bark. Empty-looking tangled branches of a hemlock seem to form a crisscross pattern. In between the branches grow dry leaning grasses. The delicate branches look like snowflakes and I think of winter coming to the swamp. Near me hay-scented ferns are turning yellow and brown. They droop lower and lower toward the ground, waiting for the day when they will lie fallen under hard ice and snow. That day will come, but for now I rub my hands on the soft leaves. They leave a summer smell on my hands, a smell of freshness and warmth. Tiny white and brown mushrooms grow in patches in the shade. These dwarf-sized mushrooms with round heads seem to be hiding an endless secret. They keep me deep in thought. All of a sudden I hear: K-knock-knock-knock Eh-heh Eh! (loudly) Uh-Uh E-E-E The swamp has woken up. When I turn to find more birds, they all disappear. They always seem to be right behind me, but whenever I turn to look they are gone. Right and left I turn, up and down, but in vain. There are no birds. Then I see a blur of color flashing into the swamp. Two round birds fly right by me, spreading their little black wings and squawking a childish squawk. I see them disappear into the brownish-green rushes which grow long and curl at their ends. What are they so busy doing? I head quickly into the swamp, following my squawking companions. I take a step into the swamp, but I can take no more because water slops into my hiking boots. The birds are lost to me while I stand stuck, moving slowly about. I reach up, spread my arms and look abroad. Then I trudge back to the log, sullen and quiet. I sit down and lean into the prickly bushes. Eh-heh Eh! Eh-heh-heh Eh! Eh! I close my eyes and dream. Uh-Uh Uh-Uh I rub my cheek against smooth feathers. A great sensation goes through me. It feels like the Yo-Yo ride at the amusement park, exciting and thrilling. I hold on tight to the warm feathery body. The sun is shining on my back. Up here it doesn’t feel so cold, although the wind whips at my hair. With a satisfied breath I open my eyes and scream. We are whirling toward the ground at a fantastic speed. Colors are spinning around me, rusty reds, deep blues, yellows, purples and greens. Then we come to a stop on the soggy ground of the swamp. Am I dreaming? Now the birds are searching for food. Up close they look so different. The fat one has already shaken me off. He has little beady eyes the size of pebbles. His feathers seem to be popping out as he walks with his head in the air. The smaller one is plump but walks lightly like a child. They are ignoring me. They are talking about food. Deep in the swamp lies a hole where blueberries are collected. They stay there all winter, waiting for when the birds will return and eat. Just then a fat cricket struts by. E-E-E “Him!” squawks the fat bird, glaring with his beady eyes. “He made us starve last year.” “The snow was falling white and soft and my belly wasn’t full,” adds the smaller one. “I remember the taste of hunger,” they squawk and chirp and yell. “My proud feathers fell out,” the fat one remarks, rubbing his belly. “It was awfully cold too. A bitter wind . . .” I notice how awful the birds smell, how their feathers are falling out and how slowly they walk. I feel like the Yo-Yo ride has squeaked to a stop, and when I reach into my pocket I notice that there is no more money left. K-knock knock knock E-E-E I wake up. I see the reddish-green blueberry bushes. The oval leaves grow in a spiral. In between the leaves I catch the deep blue sky. Patches of light peek through the clouds, creating a colorful quilt on the reds and yellows of the swamp. The light becomes duller and the wind becomes sharper. I spot a lone red leaf quivering on a tall leaning bush. I am feeling cold and I want to go home. 111