Katherine Paterson: Mentor Author

Although Katerines book Bridge To Terabithia is more of a childs book she illustrates her story in an imaginative way that can catch the eye of different audiences. Katerine uses descriptive imagery to create an imaginative picture. From the exceprts below Katerine uses styles of sounds, firgurative language, diction, discription, and emotion.

Style: Imaginative stories taking action in childrens real life dreams.

"Creating a world of their own."

Excerpts

Chapter 1:

Ba-room, ba-room, ba-room, baripity, baripity, baripity, baripity—Good. His dad had the pickup going. He could get up now. Jess slid out of bed and into his overalls. He didn't worry about a shirt because once he began running he would be hot as popping grease even if the morning air was chill, or shoes because the, bottoms of his feet were by now as tough as his worn-out sneakers.

"Where you going, Jess?" May Belle lifted herself up sleepily from the double bed where she and Joyce Ann slept.

"Sh." He warned. The walls were thin. Momma would be mad as flies in a fruit jar if they woke her up this time of day.

He patted May Belle's hair and yanked the twisted sheet up to her small chin. "Just over the cow field," he whispered. May Belle smiled and snuggled down under the sheet.

"Gonna run?"

"Maybe."

Of course he was going to run. He had. gotten up early every day all summer to run. He figured if he worked at it and Lord, had he worked, he could be the fastest runner in the fifth grade when school opened up. He had to be the fastest, not one of the fastest or next to the fastest, but the fastest. The very best.

He tiptoed out of the house. The place was so rattly that it screeched whenever you put your foot down, but Jess had found that if you tiptoed, it gave only a low moan, and he could usually get outdoors without waking Momma or Ellie or Brenda or Joyce Ann. May Belle was another matter. She was going on seven, and she worshiped him, which was OK sometimes. When you were the only boy smashed between four sisters, and the older two had despised you ever since you stopped letting them dress you up and wheel you around in their rusty old doll carriage, and the littlest one cried if you looked at ther cross-eyed, it was nice to have somebody who worshiped you. Even if it got unhandy sometimes.

2nd Excerpt:

He screamed something without words and flung the papers and paints into the dirty brown water. He watched them all disappear. Gradually his breath quieted, and his heart slowed from its wild pace. The ground was still muddy from the rains, but he sat down anyway. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere. Ever again. He put his head down on one knee. “That was a damn fool thing to do.” His father sat down on the dirt beside him. “I don't care. I don't care.” He was crying now, crying so hard he could barely breathe. His father pulled Jess over on his lap as if he were Joyce Ann. “There, there,” he said, patting his head. “Shhh…shhh.”

Imitation writing(coming soon)