ANECDOTE

An anecdote is a short and amusing or interesting account, which may depict a real incident or person. Anecdotes can be as brief as the setting and provocation of a bon mot. An anecdote is always presented as based in a real incident involving actual persons, whether famous or not, usually in an identifiable place. However, over time, modification in reuse may convert a particular anecdote to a fictional piece, one that is retold but is "too good to be true". Sometimes humorous, anecdotes are not jokes, because their primary purpose is not simply to evoke laughter, but to reveal a truth more general than the brief tale itself, or to delineate a character trait in such a light that it strikes in a flash of insight to its very essence.

A Tragedy or a Blessing? Years ago in Scotland, the Clark family had a dream. Clark and his wife worked and saved, making plans for their nine children and themselves to travel to the United States. It had taken years, but they had finally saved enough money and had gotten passports and reservations for the whole family on a new liner to the United States. The entire family was filled with anticipation and excitement about their new life. However, seven days before their departure, the youngest son was bitten by a dog. The doctor sewed up the boy but hung a yellow sheet on the Clarks' front door. Because of the possibility of rabies, they were being quarantined for fourteen days. The family's dreams were dashed. They would not be able to make the trip to America as they had planned. The father, filled with disappointment and anger, stomped to the dock to watch the ship leave - without the Clark family. The father shed tears of disappointment and cursed both his son and God for their misfortune. Five days later, the tragic news spread throughout Scotland - the mighty Titanic had sunk. The unsinkable ship had sunk, taking hundreds of lives with it. The Clark family was to have been on that ship, but because the son had been bitten by a dog, they were left behind in Scotland.

When Mr. Clark heard the news, he hugged his son and thanked him for saving the family. He thanked God for saving their lives and turning what he had felt was a tragedy into a blessing. AUTOBIOGRAPHY
An autobiography is the story of a life: the name implies that the writer will somehow attempt to capture all the essential elements of that life. A writer's autobiography, for example, is not expected to deal merely with the author's growth and career as a writer but also with the facts and emotions connected to family life, education, relationships, sexuality, travels, and inner struggles of all kinds. An autobiography is sometimes limited by dates, but not obviously by theme.

My Autobiography I was born in a warm sunny day of September in Bawanta, Bauang, La Union. It is also the feast day of our patron St. Michelangelo, September 29 year of 1998. My mom Artilyn and father Eunoch Gustilo is very happy to see me because I am their first product of their everlasting love. They named me BENAZER B. GUSTILO, which means princess of the desert. My siblings was Naidine, Christine-Dion, Jean Chris, and Jean Paul. My parents really love us, they took care us with all their hearts although they are quite strict but we understand because they always support us especially on our studies. As you can see we are all smart. At the age of four I begun studying and fortunately I was the achiever. On my elementary days Im not the top one but I said to myself I wont be upset and strive harder but I only placed second. I graduated as the salutatorian of Bawanta Elementary School. I really love Mathematics, Ive been the first on District Level. I also experienced bullying like other children. I joined also girls scout and other activities. Now I am in third year high school of Bawanta National Highschool. And I want to be a successful accountant. Ill do my best to achieve my dreams.

BIOGRAPHY
A biography or simply bio is a detailed description or account of a person's life. It entails more than basic facts (education, work, relationships, and death) - a biography also portrays a subject's experience of these events. Unlike a profile or curriculum vitae (rsum), a biography presents a subject's life story, highlighting various aspects of his or her life, including intimate details of experience, and may include an analysis of the subject's personality. Biographical works are usually non-fiction, but fiction can also be used to portray a person's life. One in-depth form of biographical coverage is called legacy writing. Works in diverse media from literature to film form the genre known as biography.

Jose Rizal: A Biographical Sketch By Teofilo Montemayor JOSE RIZAL, the national hero of the Philippines and pride of the Malayan race, was born on June 19, 1861, in the town of Calamba, Laguna. He was the seventh child in a family of 11 children (2 boys and 9 girls). Both his parents were educated and belonged to distinguished families. His father, Francisco Mercado Rizal, an industrious farmer whom Rizal called "a model of fathers," came from Bian, Laguna; while his mother, Teodora Alonzo y Quintos, a highly cultured and accomplished woman whom Rizal called "loving and prudent mother," was born in Meisic, Sta. Cruz, Manila. At the age of 3, he learned the alphabet from his mother; at 5, while learning to read and write, he already showed inclinations to be an artist. He astounded his family and relatives by his pencil drawings and sketches and by his moldings of clay. At the age 8, he wrote a Tagalog poem, "Sa Aking Mga Kabata," the theme of which revolves on the love of ones language. In 1877, at the age of 16, he obtained his Bachelor of Arts degree with an average of "excellent" from the Ateneo Municipal de Manila. In the same year, he enrolled in Philosophy and Letters at the University of Santo Tomas, while at the same time took courses leading to the degree of surveyor and expert assessor at the Ateneo. He finished the latter course on March 21, 1877 and passed the Surveyors examination on May 21,
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1878; but because of his age, 17, he was not granted license to practice the profession until December 30, 1881. In 1878, he enrolled in medicine at the University of Santo Tomas but had to stop in his studies when he felt that the Filipino students were being discriminated upon by their Dominican tutors. On May 3, 1882, he sailed for Spain where he continued his studies at the Universidad Central de Madrid. On June 21, 1884, at the age of 23, he was conferred the degree of Licentiate in Medicine and on June 19,1885, at the age of 24, he finished his course in Philosophy and Letters with a grade of "excellent." Having traveled extensively in Europe, America and Asia, he mastered 22 languages. These include Arabic, Catalan, Chinese, English, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Italian, Japanese, Latin, Malayan, Portuguese, Russian, Sanskrit, Spanish, Tagalog, and other native dialects. A versatile genius, he was an architect, artists, businessman, cartoonist, educator, economist, ethnologist, scientific farmer, historian, inventor, journalist, linguist, musician, mythologist, nationalist, naturalist, novelist, opthalmic surgeon, poet, propagandist, psychologist, scientist, sculptor, sociologist, and theologian. He was an expert swordsman and a good shot. In the hope of securing political and social reforms for his country and at the same time educate his countrymen, Rizal, the greatest apostle of Filipino nationalism, published, while in Europe, several works with highly nationalistic and revolutionary tendencies. In March 1887, his daring book, NOLI ME TANGERE, a satirical novel exposing the arrogance and despotism of the Spanish clergy, was published in Berlin; in 1890 he reprinted in Paris, Morgas SUCCESSOS DE LAS ISLAS FILIPINAS with his annotations to prove that the Filipinos had a civilization worthy to be proud of even long before the Spaniards set foot on Philippine soil; on September 18, 1891, EL FILIBUSTERISMO, his second novel and a sequel to the NOLI and more revolutionary and tragic than the latter, was printed in Ghent. Because of his fearless exposures of the injustices committed by the civil and clerical officials, Rizal provoked the animosity of those in power. This led himself, his relatives and countrymen into trouble with the Spanish officials of the country. As a consequence, he and those who had contacts with him, were shadowed; the authorities were not only finding faults but even fabricating charges to pin him down. Thus, he was imprisoned in Fort Santiago from July 6, 1892 to July 15, 1892 on a charge that anti-friar pamphlets were found in the luggage of his sister Lucia
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who arrive with him from Hong Kong. While a political exile in Dapitan, he engaged in agriculture, fishing and business; he maintained and operated a hospital; he conducted classes- taught his pupils the English and Spanish languages, the arts. The sciences, vocational courses including agriculture, surveying, sculpturing, and painting, as well as the art of self defense; he did some researches and collected specimens; he entered into correspondence with renowned men of letters and sciences abroad; and with the help of his pupils, he constructed water dam and a relief map of Mindanao - both considered remarkable engineering feats. His sincerity and friendliness won for him the trust and confidence of even those assigned to guard him; his good manners and warm personality were found irresistible by women of all races with whom he had personal contacts; his intelligence and humility gained for him the respect and admiration of prominent men of other nations; while his undaunted courage and determination to uplift the welfare of his people were feared by his enemies. When the Philippine Revolution started on August 26, 1896, his enemies lost no time in pressing him down. They were able to enlist witnesses that linked him with the revolt and these were never allowed to be confronted by him. Thus, from November 3, 1986, to the date of his execution, he was again committed to Fort Santiago. In his prison cell, he wrote an untitled poem, now known as "Ultimo Adios" which is considered a masterpiece and a living document expressing not only the heros great love of country but also that of all Filipinos. After a mock trial, he was convicted of rebellion, sedition and of forming illegal association. In the cold morning of December 30, 1896, Rizal, a man whose 35 years of life had been packed with varied activities which proved that the Filipino has capacity to equal if not excel even those who treat him as a slave, was shot at Bagumbayan Field.

DRABBLE
A drabble is an extremely short work of fiction of exactly one hundred words in length, not necessarily including the title. The purpose of drabble is brevity, testing the author's ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in an extremely confined space.

100 Words of Mystery Moonlight, filtered through delicate lace curtains, lit her path across the room. Despite the floorboards creaky complaints, she moved quickly. While she had deciphered the old journal faster than MacDonald, he wouldnt be far behind. When she reached the ornate grandfather clock she paused, listening. Nothing but the soft swish of the pendulum and the tick-tock of the cycling second hand. The hour and minute hands were broken. She turned them to 7:20 and a little door in the case clicked open, revealing several glittering objects. She solved the mystery! A happy sentiment enjoyed only briefly: her world went dark.

EPIC
An epic is a lengthy narrative poem, ordinarily concerning a serious subject containing details of heroic deeds and events significant to a culture or nation. Oral poetry may qualify as an epic, and Albert Lord and Milman Parry have argued that classical epics were fundamentally an oral poetic form. Another type of epic poetry is epyllion (plural: epyllia), which is a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme.

The Story of Beowulf HROTHGAR, King of the Spear Danes, was a mighty man in war, and when he had fought and conquered much, he bethought him that he would build a great and splendid hall, wherein he might feast and be glad with his people. And so it was done. And when the hall was built, there night by night the thanes gathered and rejoiced with their King; and there, when the feast was over, they lay them down to sleep. Within the hall all was gladness, but without on the lone moorland there stalked a grim monster, named Grendel, whose dark heart was filled with anger and hate. To him the sound of song and laughter was deep pain, and he was fain to end it. "He, the Grendel, set off then after night was come to seek the lofty house, to see how the Ring Danes had ordered it after the service of beer. He found them therein, a troup of nobles sleeping after the feast. They knew not sorrow, the wretchedness of men, they knew not aught of misfortune. "The grim and greedy one was soon prepared, savage and fierce, and in sleep he seized upon thirty of the thanes, and thence he again departed exulting in his prey, to go home with the carcases of the slain, to reach his own dwelling. "Then was in the morning twilight, at the breaking of day, Grendel's warcraft revealed to men. Then was lamentation upraised after the feast, a great noise in the morning.

"The mighty prince, a noble of old goodness, sat unblithe; the strong in armies suffered, the thanes endured sorrow, after they beheld the track of the hated one, the accursed spirit." But in spite of all their grief and horror, when night came the thanes again lay down to rest in the great hall. And there again the monster returned and slew yet more thanes, so that in horror all forsook the hall, and for twelve long years none abode in it after the setting of the sun. And now far across the sea a brave man of the Goths, Beowulf by name, heard of the doings of Grendel, and he made up his mind to come to the aid of King Hrothgar. "He commanded to make ready for him a good ship; quoth he, he would seek the war-king over the swan's path; the renowned prince since he had need of men. "The good chieftain had chosen warriors of the Geatish people, the bravest of those who he could find. With fifteen men he sought the sea-wood. A warrior, a man crafty in lakes, pointed out the boundaries of the land. "The time passed on, the ship was on the waves, the boat beneath a mountain, the ready warriors stept upon the prow. The men bore into the bosom of the bark bright ornaments, their ready warlike appointments. "The men shoved forth the bounden wood, the men upon the journey they desired. "The likest to a bird the foam-necked ship, propelled by the wind, started over the deep waves of the sea, till that about one hour of the second day, the wreathed prowed ship had sailed over, so that the traveller saw the land. "Then quickly the people of the Westerns stepped upon the plain. They tied the sea-wood, they let down their shirts of mail, their war-weeds. They thanked God because that the waves had been easy to them." And now these new-come warriors were led to King Hrothgar. He greeted them with joy, and after feasting and song the Danes and their King departed and left the Goths to guard the hall. Quietly they lay down to rest, knowing that ere morning stern battle would be theirs.
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"Then under veils of mist came Grendel from the moor; he bare God's anger. The criminal meant to entrap some one of the race of men in the high hall. He went under the welkin, until he saw most clearly the wine hall, the treasure house of men, variegated with vessels. That was not the first time that he had sought Hrothgar's home. Never he, in all his life before or since found bolder men keepers of the hall. "Angry of mood he went, from his eyes, likest to fire, stood out a hideous light. He saw within the house many a warrior sleeping, a peaceful band together. Then his mood laughed. The foul wretch meant to divide, ere day came, the life of each from his body." Quickly then he seized a warrior and as quickly devoured him. But as he stretched forth his hand to seize another, Beowulf gripped him in his awful grasp. Then began a terrible combat. The hall echoed with cries and sounds of clashing steel. The Goths awoke, joining in the fight, but all their swords were of no avail against the ogre. With his bare hands alone Beowulf fought, and thought to kill the monster. But Grendel escaped, though wounded to death indeed, and leaving his hand, arm, and shoulder behind in Beowulf's grip. When morning came there was much rejoicing. Hrothgar made a great feast, at which he gave rich gifts to Beowulf and his friends. The evening passed in song and laughter, and when darkness fell the Danes lay down to rest in the hall as of old. But the evil was not over. Grendel indeed was slain, but his mother, an ogre almost as fierce as he, was ready to avenge him. So when night fell she hastened to the hall, and carried off Hrothgar's best loved thane. "Then was there a cry in Heorot. Then was the prudent king, the hoary warrior, sad of mood, when he learned that his princely thane, the dearest to him, no longer lived. Quickly was Beowulf fetched to the bower, the man happy in victory, at break of day." And when Beowulf heard the mournful tale he comforted the King with brave and kindly words, and quickly he set forth to the dreadful mere, the dwelling of the water-witch, Grendel's mother. And here he plunged in ready to fight.
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"Soon did she, who thirsting for gore, grim and greedy, for a hundred years had held the circuit of the waves, discover that some one of men, some strange being, was trying from above the land. She grappled then towards him, she seized the warrior in her foul claws." Then beneath the waves was there a fierce struggle, but Beowulf in the end conquered. The water-witch was slain, and rejoicing, the hero returned to Hrothgar. Now indeed had peace come to the Danes, and loaded with thanks and rewards, Beowulf returned homeward. Many years passed. Beowulf himself became king in his own land, and for fifty years he ruled well, and kept his folk in peace. Then it fell that a fearful FireDragon wasted all the land, and Beowulf, mindful of his deeds of old, set forth to slay him. Yet ere he fought, he bade farewell to all his thanes, for he knew well that this should be his last fight. "Then greeted he every one of the men, the bold helm bearer greeted his dear comrades for the last time. I would not bear sword or weapon against the worm if I knew how else I might proudly grapple with the wretch, as I of old with Grendel did. But I ween this war fire is hot, fierce and poisonous; therefore have I on me shield and byrnie. . . . Then did the famous warrior arise beside his shield, hard under helmet he bare the sword- shirt, under the cliffs of stone, he trusted in the strength of one man; nor is such an expedition for a coward." Fiercely then did the battle rage between hero and dragon. But Beowulf's sword failed him in his need, and it was like to go ill with him. Then, when his thanes who watched saw that, fear fell upon them, and they fled. One only, Wiglaf was his name, would not forsake his liege lord. Seizing his shield and drawing his sword, he cried, "Come, let us go to him, let us help our chieftain, although the grim terror of fire be hot." But none would follow him, so alone he went: "through the fatal smoke he bare his war helmet to the assistance of his lord."

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Fierce was the fight and long. But at length the dragon lay dead. Beowulf had conquered, but in conquering he had received his death wound. And there, by the wild seashore, he died. And there a sorrowing people buried him. "For him, then did the people of the Geats prepare upon the earth a funeral pile, strong, hung round with helmets, with war boards and bright byrnies as he had requested. Weeping, the heroes laid down in the midst their dear lord. "Then began the warriors to awake upon the hill the mightiest of bale-fires. The wood smoke rose aloft, dark from the foe of wood. Noisily it went mingled with weeping. . . . "The people of the Westerns wrought then a mound over the sea: it was high and broad, easy to behold by the sailors over the waves, and during ten days they built up the beacon of the war- renowned, the mightiest of fires. . . . Then round the mound rode a troupe of beasts of war, of nobles, twelve in all. They would speak about their King, they would call him to mind. They praised his valor, and his deeds of bravery they judged with praise, even as it is fitting that a man should extol his friendly lord, should love him in his soul, when he must depart from the body to become of naught. "Thus the people of the Geats, his hearth comrades, mourned their dear lord. They said that he was of the kings of the world, the mildest and gentlest of men, the most gracious to his people, and the most jealous of glory."

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ESSAY
An essay is generally a short piece of writing written from an author's personal point of view, but the definition is vague, overlapping with those of an article and a short story. Essays can consist of a number of elements, including: literary criticism, political manifestos, learned arguments, observations of daily life, recollections, and reflections of the author. Almost all modern essays are written in prose, but works in verse have been dubbed essays. The concept of an "essay" has been extended to other mediums beyond writing. A film essay is a movie that often incorporates documentary film making styles and which focuses more on the evolution of a theme or an idea. A photographic essay is an attempt to cover a topic with a linked series of photographs; it may or may not have an accompanying text or captions.

Only in the Philippines We Filipinos are known to be hospitable and that we value our families so much. We never forget to wear a smile because of the positive attitude that we possess amidst our problems or even after disasters come our way. These are the main reasons why we should be proud of our race. Because our population is mostly composed of Roman Catholics, our faith and the traditions of the Church become part of our everyday living. From the switchingon of the suns light until the back-up lighting from the moon, we practice our Christian values and beliefs -----this is evident in our prayer recitals. We celebrate every special occasion with great preparations, one of which is the Christmas season. When darkness falls and overrules the sunlight, sparkling eyes rove around the new sights to behold. This usually starts on the first day of September and is only seen in the Philippines. Playful rainbow colors enthusiastically move about in the dark grey walls which were once lifeless and cold. This is but one of the marvelous sights as the most-awaited celebration comes near. The material things are but usual things to be excited about; it is the different kind of freshness in the air, as if each place we go had been sprayed with the sweetest scent of the most expensive perfume, which makes Christmas a one
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of a kind celebration. People from all walks of life unite in decorating their homes, inside and out. For the rich ones, dancing colors of green, red, yellow and blue from an expensive lantern rule the night. Human-sized Santa Clauses projected the best smiles as they sit under a humongous Christmas tree bejeweled with gaudy Christmas balls. On the barrio setting, branches of real trees are placed in the living room dangled with only eight to ten ball candies making it the sweetest Christmas tree ever. From the upper corners of the paintless walls, the stringed hand-made paper decors waltzed to the happy tunes of Christmas songs played on local radio stations. Little children roam the streets and like baby moths they circle the amplified light posts which had been magically turned into a Christmas light post with its boasting Christmas lights. For the month of October, lovely voices are heard from children and choir groups roaming at night and singing Christmas carols. As the month of December comes, another most-awaited activity is the Simbang Gabi, the Holy Mass celebrated for 9 consecutive nights as a preparation for Christmas Eve. These are only some main activities that we long for as it reminds us how special Christmas is. So, what is Christmas for us Filipinos? With our long preparation and celebration any one can say that it is the longest festival in our country. For young Filipinos, it is the time when most grins are seen, parents are less likely to scold them, school works do not give too much pressure because theres none, candies and chocolates fill their stomachs, ninangs and ninongs finally appear with their heart-warming gifts, best dresses are worn and new shoes pamper their feet. For older ones, this is the time when thank you becomes a common expression, sweat shirts and long sleeves which were kept in the deepest part of the closet are finally worn, and friends, both old and new, finally meet for the longest time. Christmas is more than just a celebration; it is a blissful way of welcoming the coming of our savior Jesus Christ. As one united nation bonded with faith in God and love for family, we signify this season as a very special occasion as it is the time when we share precious moments together with our loved ones. Filipinos love Christmas but it does not mean that we should only get excited and prepare for the activities on the month of December, it means that
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we should feel the Christmas spirit all the time of the year and do good deeds each day of our lives.

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FABLE
Fable is a literary genre. A fable is a succinct fictional story, in prose or verse, that features animals, mythical creatures, plants, inanimate objects or forces of nature which are anthropomorphized (given human qualities such as verbal communication), and that illustrates or leads to an interpretation of a moral lesson (a "moral"), which may at the end be added explicitly in a pithy maxim. A fable differs from a parable in that the latter excludes animals, plants, inanimate objects, and forces of nature as actors that assume speech and other powers of humankind. The fable is one of the most enduring forms of folk literature, spread abroad, modern researchers agree, less by literary anthologies than by oral transmission. Fables can be found in the literature of almost every country.

The Tortoise and the Hare The Hare was once boasting of his speed before the other animals. "I have never yet been beaten," said he, "when I put forth my full speed. I challenge any one here to race with me." The Tortoise said quietly, "I accept your challenge." "That is a good joke," said the Hare; "I could dance round you all the way." "Keep your boasting till you've won," answered the Tortoise. "Shall we race?" So a course was fixed and a start was made. The Hare darted almost out of sight at once, but soon stopped and, to show his contempt for the Tortoise, lay down to have a nap. The Tortoise plodded on and plodded on, and when the Hare awoke from his nap, he saw the Tortoise just near the winning-post and could not run up in time to save the race. Then the Tortoise said: "Slow but steady progress wins the race."

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FANTASY STORIES AND FAIRY TALES

The fantasy stories and fairy tales are pretty much like the fables but they may or may not have a moral. Also the fairy tales and the fantasy stories include characters such as wizards, witches, monsters, elves, goblets, and prince, princesses and fairies which live in an imaginary world where everything is beautiful and perfect. The story usually involves a hero who fights a villain and eventually wins the battle. Or it may be a fantasy love story involving a villain. The fantasy stories are also mostly for children.

Hansel and Gretel Once upon a time a very poor woodcutter lived in a tiny cottage in the forest with his two children, Hansel and Gretel. His second wife often ill-treated the children and was forever nagging the woodcutter. "There is not enough food in the house for us all. There are too many mouths to feed! We must get rid of the two brats," she declared. And she kept on trying to persuade her husband to abandon his children in the forest. "Take them miles from home, so far that they can never find their way back! Maybe someone will find them and give them a home." The downcast woodcutter didn't know what to do. Hansel who, one evening, had overheard his parents' conversation, comforted Gretel. "Don't worry! If they do leave us in the forest, we'll find the way home," he said. And slipping out of the house he filled his pockets with little white pebbles, then went back to bed. All night long, the woodcutter's wife harped on and on at her husband till, at dawn, he led Hansel and Gretel away into the forest. But as they went into the depths of the trees, Hansel dropped a little white pebble here and there on the mossy green ground. At a certain point, the two children found they really were alone: the woodcutter had plucked up enough courage to desert them, had mumbled an excuse and was gone. Night fell but the woodcutter did not return. Gretel began to sob bitterly. Hansel too felt scared but he tried to hide his feelings and comfort his sister. "Don't cry, trust me! I swear I'll take you home even if Father doesn't come back for us!" Luckily the moon was full that night and Hansel waited till its cold light filtered through the trees.

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"Now give me your hand!" he said. "We'll get home safely, you'll see!" The tiny white pebbles gleamed in the moonlight, and the children found their way home. They crept through a half open window, without wakening their parents. Cold, tired but thankful to be home again, they slipped into bed. Next day, when their stepmother discovered that Hansel and Gretel had returned, she went into a rage. Stifling her anger in front of the children, she locked her bedroom door, reproaching her husband for failing to carry out her orders. The weak woodcutter protested, torn as he was between shame and fear of disobeying his cruel wife. The wicked stepmother kept Hansel and Gretel under lock and key all day with nothing for supper but a sip of water and some hard bread. All night, husband and wife quarrelled, and when dawn came, the woodcutter led the children out into the forest. Hansel, however, had not eaten his bread, and as he walked through the trees, he left a trail of crumbs behind him to mark the way. But the little boy had forgotten about the hungry birds that lived in the forest. When they saw him, they flew along behind and in no time at all, had eaten all the crumbs. Again, with a lame excuse, the woodcutter left his two children by themselves. "I've left a trail, like last time!" Hansel whispered to Gretel, consolingly. But when night fell, they saw to their horror that all the crumbs had gone. "I'm frightened!" wept Gretel bitterly. "I'm cold and hungry and I want to go home!" "Don't be afraid. I'm here to look after you!" Hansel tried to encourage his sister, but he too shivered when he glimpsed frightening shadows and evil eyes around them in the darkness. All night the two children huddled together for warmth at the foot of a large tree. When dawn broke, they started to wander about the forest, seeking a path, but all hope soon faded. They were well and truly lost. On they walked and walked, till suddenly they came upon a strange cottage in the middle of a glade. "This is chocolate!" gasped Hansel as he broke a lump of plaster from the wall. "And this is icing!" exclaimed Gretel, putting another piece of wall in her mouth. Starving but delighted, the children began to eat pieces of candy broken off the cottage. "Isn't this delicious?" said Gretel, with her mouth full. She had never tasted anything so nice. "We'll stay here," Hansel declared, munching a bit of nougat. They were just about to try a piece of the biscuit door when it quietly swung open. "Well, well!" said an old woman, peering out with a crafty look. "And haven't you children a sweet tooth?"

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"Come in! Come in, you've nothing to fear!" went on the old woman. Unluckily for Hansel and Gretel, however, the sugar candy cottage belonged to an old witch, her trap for catching unwary victims. The two children had come to a really nasty place. "You're nothing but skin and bones!" said the witch, locking Hansel into a cage. I shall fatten you up and eat you!" "You can do the housework," she told Gretel grimly, "and then I'll make a meal of you too!" As luck would have it, the witch had very bad eyesight, and when Gretel smeared butter on her glasses, she could see even less. "Let me feel your finger!" said the witch to Hansel every day to check if he was getting any fatter. Now, Gretel had brought her brother a chicken bone, and when the witch went to touch his finger, Hansel held out the bone. "You're still much too thin!" she complained. When will you become plump?" One day the witch grew tired of waiting. "Light the oven," she told Gretel. "We're going to have a tasty roasted boy today!" A little later, hungry and impatient, she went on: "Run and see if the oven is hot enough." Gretel returned, whimpering: "I can't tell if it is hot enough or not." Angrily, the witch screamed at the little girl: "Useless child! All right, I'll see for myself." But when the witch bent down to peer inside the oven and check the heat, Gretel gave her a tremendous push and slammed the oven door shut. The witch had come to a fit and proper end. Gretel ran to set her brother free and they made quite sure that the oven door was tightly shut behind the witch. Indeed, just to be on the safe side, they fastened it firmly with a large padlock. Then they stayed for several days to eat some more of the house, till they discovered amongst the witch's belongings, a huge chocolate egg. Inside lay a casket of gold coins. "The witch is now burnt to a cinder," said Hansel, "so we'll take this treasure with us." They filled a large basket with food and set off into the forest to search for the way home. This time, luck was with them, and on the second day, they saw their father come out of the house towards them, weeping. "Your stepmother is dead. Come home with me now, my dear children!" The two children hugged the woodcutter. "Promise you'll never ever desert us again," said Gretel, throwing her arms round her father's neck. Hansel opened the casket. "Look, Father! We're rich now . . . You'll never have to chop wood again." And they all lived happily together ever after.

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FOLK TALE
A folk tale or legend originating and traditional among a people or folk, especially one forming part of the oral tradition of the common people. Any belief or story passed on traditionally, especially one considered to be false or based on superstition.

The Monkey and the Turtle A Monkey, looking very sad and dejected, was walking along the bank of the river one day when he met a turtle. "How are you?" asked the turtle, noticing that he looked sad. The monkey replied, "Oh, my friend, I am very hungry. The squash of Mr. Farmer were all taken by the other monkeys, and now I am about to die from want of food." "Do not be discouraged," said the turtle; "take a bob and follow me and we will steal some banana plants." So they walked along together until they found some nice plants which they dug up, and then they looked for a place to set them. Finally the monkey climbed a tree and planted his in it, but as the turtle could not climb he dug a hole in the ground and set his there. When their work was finished they went away, planning what they should do with their crop. The monkey said: "When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and have a great deal of money." And the turtle said: "When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and buy three varas of cloth to wear in place of this cracked shell." A few weeks later they went back to the place to see their plants and found that that of the monkey was dead, for its roots had had no soil in the tree, but that of the turtle was tall and bearing fruit. "I will climb to the top so that we can get the fruit," said the monkey. And he sprang up the tree, leaving the poor turtle on the ground alone. "Please give me some to eat," called the turtle, but the monkey threw him only a green one and ate all the the ripe ones himself.

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When he had eaten all the good bananas, the monkey stretched his arms around the tree and went to sleep. The turtle, seeing this, was very angry and considered how he might punish the thief. Having decided on a scheme, he gathered some sharp bamboo which he all around under the tree, and then he exclaimed: Crocodile is coming! Crocodile is coming!" The monkey was so startled at the cry that he fell upon the sharp bamboo and was killed. Then the turtle cut the dead monkey into pieces, put on it, and dried it in the sun. The next day, he went to the mountains and sold his meat to other monkeys who gladly gave him squash in return. As he was leaving them he called back: "Lazy fellows, you are now eating your own body; you are now eating your own body." Then the monkeys ran and caught him and carried to their own home. Let us take a hatchet," said one old monkey, "and cut him into very small pieces." But the turtle laughed and said: "That is just what I like. I have been struck with a hatchet many times. Do you not see the black scars on my shell?" Then one of the other monkeys said: "Let us throw him into the water." At this the turtle cried and begged them to spare his life, but they paid no heed to his pleadings and threw him into the water. He sank to the bottom, but very soon came up with a lobster. The monkeys were greatly surprised at this and begged him to tell them how to catch lobsters. "I tied one end of a string around my waist," said the turtle. "To the other end of the string I tied a stone so that I would sink." The monkeys immediately tied strings around themselves as the turtle said, and when all was ready they plunged into the water never to come up again. And to this day monkeys do not like to eat meat, because they remember the ancient story.

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HISTORICAL FICTION
Historical fiction tells a story that is set in the past. That setting is usually real and drawn from history, and often contains actual historical persons, but the main characters tend to be fictional. Writers of stories in this genre, while penning fiction, attempt to capture the manners and social conditions of the persons or time(s) presented in the story, with due attention paid to period detail and fidelity. Historical fiction is found in books, magazines, art, television programming, film, theatre, video games and other media. Historical story presents readers with a story that takes place during a notable period in history, and usually during a significant event in that period. Historical fiction often presents actual events from the point of view of fictional people living in that time period.

History of Taj Mahal History of Taj MahalThe Taj Mahal of Agra is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, for reasons more than just looking magnificent. It's the history of Taj Mahal that adds a soul to its magnificence: a soul that is filled with love, loss, remorse, and love again. Because if it was not for love, the world would have been robbed of a fine example upon which people base their relationships. An example of how deeply a man loved his wife, that even after she remained but a memory, he made sure that this memory would never fade away. This man was the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, who was head-over-heels in love with Mumtaz Mahal, his dear wife. She was a Muslim Persian princess (her name Arjumand Banu Begum before marriage) and he was the son of the Mughal Emperor Jehangir and grandson of Akbar the Great. It was at the age of 14 that he met Mumtaz and fell in love with her. Five years later in the year 1612, they got married. Mumtaz Mahal, an inseparable companion of Shah Jahan, died in 1631, while giving birth to their 14th child. It was in the memory of his beloved wife that Shah Jahan built a magnificent monument as a tribute to her, which we today know as the "Taj Mahal". The construction of Taj Mahal started in the year 1631. Masons, stonecutters, inlayers, carvers, painters, calligraphers, dome-builders and other artisans were requisitioned from the whole of the empire and also from Central Asia and Iran, and it took approximately 22 years to build what we see
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today. An epitome of love, it made use of the services of 22,000 laborers and 1,000 elephants. The monument was built entirely out of white marble, which was brought in from all over India and central Asia. After an expenditure of approximately 32 million rupees (approx US $68000), Taj Mahal was finally completed in the year 1653. It was soon after the completion of Taj Mahal that Shah Jahan was deposed by his own son Aurangzeb and was put under house arrest at nearby Agra Fort. Shah Jahan, himself also, lies entombed in this mausoleum along with his wife. Moving further down the history, it was at the end of the 19th century that British Viceroy Lord Curzon ordered a sweeping restoration project, which was completed in 1908, as a measure to restore what was lost during the Indian rebellion of 1857: Taj being blemished by British soldiers and government officials who also deprived the monument of its immaculate beauty by chiseling out precious stones and lapis lazuli from its walls. Also, the British style lawns that we see today adding on to the beauty of Taj were remodeled around the same time. Despite prevailing controversies, past and present threats from Indo-Pak war and environmental pollution, this epitome of love continuous to shine and attract people from all over the world.

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JOURNAL
Journal is a written record of incidents, experiences, and ideas. Writers often keep journals to record observations and explore ideas that may eventually be developed into more formal essays, articles, and stories.

April of 2008 Journal Writing Example

04/17/2008 This would be a lot easier if kids would cooperate. But I guess it comes with being a Mom. (But it makes it even more important for me to be an examples for my girls.) I actually eat a lot in response to the stresses of being a mom. Miss behaviour, or having my buttons pushed- drives me to binge- sometimes its the only way that makes me feel ok. It's comfort... or maybe more like "numbness". Later that day...ok so I gave in and made brownies. The kicker is that while they were cooking I must have left my bedroom door open! My Niece got up to the computer and pushed a crazy amount of buttons and was talking on my fax machine headset! I was fuming! I set her in a timeout (kind of not nicely) and had to undo all the things she had done to my computer. My temper flared up hard-core-- and those brownies were calling me. So... I had a little binge. but I did stop myself before my second brownie! A small success. Again later that day...-make that.... Im not sure how many more brownies! But the best part is that grabbing my journal and writing is helping me use my hand for holding a pen rather than stuffing brownies in my mouth. If I didn't have this to write in, the whole pan would be eaten! So in a way I've had another success.

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LEGENDS
Legends are the stories of a single person whose life is depicted as extraordinary in the plot. The legends may be fictional or non-fictional. Legends can also be about an exceptional incident regarding a person or they may be a series of incidents involving a single person, a family or a group of people. Legends are passed from generation to generation. Mostly legends are non-fictional incidents to which a touch of fiction to create an element of interest to the listener has been added.

The Legend of the Pineapple Fruit There was a pretty little girl called Pina who was pampered by her mother as an only child. Everything that Pina asked for, Pina got. Everything that Pina scoffed at was taken away. No one in her village was ever so spoiled as Pina. No one was ever such a snobbish child. She was so lazy, and she had never stirred a finger to work in her life. Pinas mother was perfectly happy that way, for Pina remained dependent on her as a spoiled child. But one day, Pinas mother fell ill and there was no one to take care of Pina. She resolved that she would get well immediately for Pinas sake but she knew she would need help. "Pina, Pina," she called weakly, from her cot. "Come here a moment. I have something to ask of you." Pina had never been asked to do anything in her life, and she was quite prepared to refuse, but she said anyway, "What is it, Mother?" "Pina," said the doting mother, "I am too sick to make you anything to eat. I am too sick to eat anything solid. I need you to cook lugaw for me, Pina. It is very easy: just put some rice in a pot, pour some water in with it, add a pinch of sugar, and leave the mixture to boil for a while." "Oh, thats too hard! I wont do it," Pina said firmly. "You have to, Pina!" her mother pleaded. "What will your poor Nanay eat?"

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But Pina was immovable. At length her mother resorted to shouting if only to catch her attention. Moping, Pina dragged her heavy feet down the stairs to gather the things she needed to make lugaw. She managed to find the rice, the water, the bowl, the sugar but she could not find the ladle anywhere. How was she supposed to cook lugaw without a ladle? "Nanay, where is the ladle?" Pina shouted. "It is beside the other kitchen utensils, Pina, you know where I keep them," her mother weakly shouted back. But the ladle was not anywhere near the other kitchen utensils, and Pina was too lazy to look for it elsewhere. "I cant find the ladle, mother," she complained. "I guess I wont be cooking without the ladle." "Oh, you lazy child," Pinas mother wept. "You wont even look! I hope you grow a thousand eyes so youll be able to find it!" After saying these words, Pinas mother noticed that the house had fallen silent. Pina was no longer griping downstairs! That was a marvel. Perhaps she was already cooking. Pinas mother would be happy if the child would cook her anything, even if it were burnt. But a long time had passed, and still the house was silent, and still Pinas mother could not smell the cooking coals burning. She began to get worried. With all her meager strength she called out for Pina. Pina did not come, but the neighbors heard her pitiful cries, and they decided to drop by to see what was wrong. They took care of Pinas mother in the childs place. "Where is Pina?" Pinas mother asked at once. "Where is my child?" "Oh, you know that girl," they assured her, "she must be in some friends house, having a good time. She hates responsibility. She may only be a little angry at you because you had asked her to work. It will pass, and she will come home. Pinas mother rested easily with that thought, and she recovered quickly. But she was up and about and asking all around town for her precious little child, and still Pina had not returned.

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One sunny day, while Pinas mother was cleaning their back yard, she saw a strange yellow fruit about as large as the head of a child that had sprung up from the ground. "How curious!" she thought, and bent to examine it. The strange, spiny yellow fruit, she saw, had a thousand black eyes. "A thousand eyes...!" she gasped, remembering a mothers curse carelessly let out. "My Pina!" But there was nothing to be done. Imagine a thousand black eyes and not one of them seeing, and not one of them being able to shed a tear. Pinas mother, who still loved the child more than anything in the world, decided to honor her memory by taking the seeds of the strange yellow fruit and planting them. When after a while there was more of the fruit, Pinas mother gave her harvest away to everyone she knew. Thus Pina, in another form, became generous to others. To this day the Filipinos call the yellow fruit pinya, after the pretty spoiled child.

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MINI-SAGA
A minisaga, mini saga or mini-saga is a short piece of writing containing exactly 50 words, plus a title of up to 15 words. However, the title requirement is not always enforced and sometimes eliminated altogether. Mini sagas are alternately known as microstories and ultra-shorts. The idea was originally made up by writer Brian Aldiss and the newspaper The Daily Telegraph, which has held several minisaga competitions. Minisagas are used in business, as an educational tool, a creative outlet, and a source of entertainment. They are not poems, but rather "Bite sized lessons for life and business." They are often used to stimulate creativity, stretch your thinking, determine the essential elements of a story, or enhance discipline in writing. They are often funny or surprising.

Example by Daniel Pink When I was shot, fear seized me at first. No surprise that. But once I realized I wasnt going to die despite the thermonuclear pain and widening puddle of weirdly warm blood my mind recalibrated. And one thought, comforting yet disturbing, leapt into my head: I need to Tweet this.

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MOLBO STORY
A molbo story is a tale about molboers, the inhabitants of Molboland. Geographically this is an area called Mols in Denmark, typically a kind of an ethnic joke. The folklore tales of the molboers called molbohistorier (molbo stories) have existed in Denmark at least since the 18th century. The first 13 molbostories were published in the book Beretning om de vidtbekiendte Molboers vise Gierninger og tapre Bedrifter (tales of the wellknown molboers wise and brave actions) in 1771 by the publisher Christian Elovius Magnor, who by permission of the Danish king Christian VII had started the printing press viborg bogtrykkeri in the Danish city of Viborg. This folklore was originally passed on by oral tradition, so its original authors and those who collected these stories for publishing is not known today. Many new molbo stories have subsequently been made and published by other publishers.

Molbohistorier gamle og nye by Oskar Braaten The molbos have a long way to the forest so they must rise early to collect wood. One morning some of them drove to the forest to bring home a tree they had bought. But on the way the one who drove first happened to lose his axe, and when the others saw that, they thought he threw it away on purpose, so they threw away their axes as well. Now, as they stood in the forest, they had nothing with which to chop, they didn't know what to do at all, and they certainly didn't want to come home empty-handed. Finally one of them had the brilliant idea to pull the tree down; but as they hadn't brought a rope, one of them had to climb the tree and lay his head in the cleavage between two branches then the others were to pull his legs until the tree yielded. Very well, they pulled and they pulled, and eventually they all fell backwards, including the chap they had been pulling, only he had no head. This they couldn't fathom, they went searching and searching, but no, they didn't find the head, because it was stuck in the tree. Well, that couldn't be helped, now it was time to return home. And so they laid the headless man in the wagon and took him home to his wife and asked if she was sure that her husband had brought his head when he left home this morning. "I can't remember that right now!", said the wife; but then she thought for a while:

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"Oh yes, he did bring his head!" she said. "He ate cabbage with it this morning before he left." MYTGHOLOGICAL STORIES
The mythological stories are the stories of gods and heroes which may or not have really happened. These are the stories that are believed to be drawn from incidents that might have occurred hundreds and thousands of years ago and for which no true evidence is available. The stories of Greek, Roman and Egyptian gods are mythological stories. For example the stories of Pandoras Box, sphinx at the gate of Thebes etc. are the mythological stories of the Greek mythology.

The Midas Touch There was once a dreadfully ugly beast called Silenus. He pranced over the mountains on a pair of hairy goats legs. A long tail swished behind him. But from the waist up, he was a man, more or less. His big belly bounced up and down as he ran along. A pair of horns sprouted out of his bald and shiny head. Quite often, slobber dribbled from his thick and purple lips. In short, this delightful creature was a satyr. Silenus was a friend of Dionysus, the God of Wine. Dionysus often used to gather his wild band of followers in the woods for a noisy, riotous party. They included satyrs as well as Maenids, who were wild women of the woods. They would bang drums, blow pipes and horns, and crash cymbals and they danced themselves into a mad frenzy. But above all, they liked to drink wine. One time after Silenus had been partying all night, he staggered out of the woods, and into the palace grounds of Midas, king of Phrygia. He lay down between the rose bushes and fell into a deep sleep. Around mid-morning Princess Zoe was walking through the gardens collecting rose blossoms. She saw the hairy hoof of Silenus sticking out from among the bushes, and she thought that a poor sick goat had come into the garden to lie down. As he was dirty and smelled not very nice, she called the gardener. When he came, he pulled on the leg and found, not a goat, but a satyr.
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Ugh, hes horrible, exclaimed Zoe. Throw him on the compost heap.

Ah, Id better ask the king before I do that, said the Gardener. After all, a satyr can bring good fortune. When King Midas learned that there was a satyr sleeping in the rose garden, he ordered that he be given a bed in the palace until he felt better. The servants carried him on a stretcher to the best guest room. And there he remained, snoring loudly and smelling like well, a goat for almost another day. When finally he arose, he staggered into the palace kitchen and noisily demanded cheese, eggs, and wine. The cook wanted to chase him out with a meat cleaver, but steward held him back saying that the satyr was a guest of the King. Silenus took the wine and went wandering around the palace leaving dirty hoof prints as he went. When the Queen saw him, she was horrified: Who or what is this vile creature thats come to stay with us? she asked the King. Midas replied that he was a friend of Dionysus, and everyone must treat him great courtesy. Although Princess Zoe and the Queen did their best to stay out of the way of the satyr, King Midas entertained his guest, eating and drinking with him until late at night, and playing music on the pan pipes. All in all, Silenus stayed with Midas for a week. And no one was more pleased about this show of hospitality than Dionysus, because in his eyes, anyone who honoured Silenus, honoured Dionysus. A few days after Silenus had left, Midas was walking in his rose garden when he heard some strange but lovely music. He followed the sound and discovered a perfectly beautiful man sitting on the grass and playing a pipe. He knew right away that the stranger was one of the gods and he fell down on one knee. The god said: Get up man. Im not one for ceremonies.

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I wish to reward you. What gift would you like more than any other in the world? Power isnt really my thing, but I can offer you wine, women or song. I need money, said Midas.

Money. What good comes of money? asked the god. Well of course a god like you has no use for money, said Midas, But we mortals can never have enough of it. I wish that everything I touched turned to gold. And although Dionysus thought it was a foolish wish, he granted it with the words: Midas, all that you touch shall turn to gold. The god disappeared, and King Midas rejoiced in his curse. He reached out and touched a rose blossom and it turned to gold. He picked up a stone, and that too became golden. Even a clod of earth became gold. He plucked an apple from a low branch, and it immediately became cold and shiny. He held it in his hand and said: Oh, how pure and perfect it is. And then he tossed the golden apple over his shoulder, and hurried into the palace to try his touch on random objects: columns, statues, furniture, doorknobs. The servants heard his voice laughing and shouting: Gold, Glorious Gold! And they wondered what had got into the king. Princess Zoe heard him too. She found him turning peas into little golden nuggets. Father. What has happened? she asked. The most wonderful thing, he replied. And he hugged her. But this was not what he had expected. He was holding not his daughter in his arms, but a cold, still statue.

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Distraught, he went to the fountain to wash his hot tears from his face. But as he scooped up the water in his hands, it turned into liquid gold. Now he realised the cruelty of his gift. He called out: Lord Dionysus. Save me from this cursed metal!

And Dionysus heard him and took pity on the foolish King. He appeared sitting on the edge of the fountain and said: Go to the river that flows by the great city of Sardis. Make your way up stream until you come to the source. Plunge your head and body at the same moment into the foaming fountain, where it gushes out, and wash away your foolishness. Midas did as he was told. And when he plunged into the stream, the banks and the flowers that grew on them became yellow and golden. But Midas emerged from the waters free of his wish for riches and gold. And as long as he lived, he rejoiced in all that was simple and natural.

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NEWS
News is the communication of selected information on current events which is presented by print, broadcast, Internet, or word of mouth to a thirdparty or mass audience.

SONA should address poverty, corruption By LESLIE ANN G. AQUINO If there are two issues in the country that Catholic prelates want President Aquino to address in his State of the Nation Address (SONA) on Monday, July 22, its poverty and corruption. Cubao Bishop Honesto Ongtioco and Sorsogon Bishop Arturo Bastes said the President should address the issue of poverty especially since many Filipinos continue to be poor despite the so called economic growth. The benefits of a good economy should trickle down to the poor and unemployed. As of now, the poor and many people do not feel the good economy, said Ongtioco.

Inclusive growth. Reason: despite the economic growth, the poverty incidence is still huge, said Bastes. The call comes as many continue to question why Filipinos remain poor despite the Aquino governments supposed strong gains in the economy as shown by the strong 7.8 percent growth during the first quarter of the year. Caloocan Bishop emeritus Deogracias Iniguez and Jaro Archbishop Angel Lagdameo, on the other hand, are interested in hearing Aquino give an update on the issue of corruption. Hopefully, the culture of corruption can be discussed. But I wonder whether he will consider that, said Iniguez.

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I reiterate the suggestion that the pork barrel be better used for common good and that there be honesty and transparency in reporting its use. Those who misuse pork barrel must either be deprived of it or be dealt with justly, said Lagdameo. To recall, the issue on pork barrel and corruption became the center of media reports after the pork barrel scam was exposed, wherein several lawmakers were supposedly involved in funding fake non-government organizations (NGOs), days before the SONA. On Monday, Aquino is set to deliver his fourth SONA and it is expected that the Presidents speech will re ect on the real status of the country.

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NOVEL
A novel is a long prose narrative that describes fictional characters and events in the form of a sequential story, usually. The genre has historical roots in the fields of medieval and early modern romance and in the tradition of the novella.

Twilight Stephenie Meyer Published 2005 434 Pages

Synopsis When seventeen year-old Bella Swan leaves sunny Arizona to live with her father in the small and gloomy Pacific North-West town of Forks she doesnt expect to like it. After all she has made excuses not to go there enough times over the past few years. If living in Forks, with its constant mist and rain, wasnt bad enough she will have to make a whole new set of friends and settle into a new school. Bella soon makes some new friends at school but when she sees a boy called Edward Cullen sitting with his brothers and sisters in the cafeteria she is instantly intrigued. Edward is stunningly attractive, almost inhumanly beautiful, and yet he is an outsider too. Although Edward and his family have lived in Forks for two years they have never really been accepted by the townsfolk. At first Edward is aloof, sometimes it almost seems like he cant stand to be in the same room as her, but eventually they strike up an unlikely friendship. Even as Bella falls hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Edward, she still cant work out exactly what makes him so different to everyone else. On a trip to the beach, Bella is told of the local legend about the cold ones, a group of blood drinkers who have sworn off hunting humans but are still not welcome on Indian land because vampires are not to be trusted. Realising
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Edward is vampire changes nothing for Bella, she knows that she still loves him even if hes not human. Edward and his whole family are vampires. Edward himself was made a vampire when he was seventeen years-old, although that was at the end of World War I. For Edward his love for Bella is both a delight and a torment. A delight because she is the first person he has loved since he was made a vampire. A torment because although he has sworn off human blood and only hunts animals the craving for human blood never truly leaves him and the very scent of her also stirs his hunger for blood.

The Review Twilight is the story of Edward and Bellas romance. Forget any vampire romance you have read before, Twilight is so unique it is almost like its in its own genre. The book is marketed at Young Adult readers but it has the ability to cross age barriers and will satisfy both teenagers and adults alike. The story is told in first person from the perspective of Bella, so the reader only ever know what she knows, making Edward and his family a mystery that is slowly unravelled throughout the book. Even by the end of the book I was still thirsting for more of the Cullen family back story - hopefully their characters might be developed further in future books. Bella herself is a well written and realistic character, shy and lacking in confidence, her sarcastic inner voice narrates the story for the reader. Twilight is simply and yet beautifully written. The descriptions of Forks leave you feeling like you can almost smell the damp air and hear the rain falling on the roof. The romance between Edward and Bella is both touching and compelling. There is a melancholic feel to their impossible love, yet at the same time they both are unwilling to give up hope that their relationship is not doomed. The book reaches a fever pitch of excitement as the romance between Bella and Edward turns into a frantic race to stay alive.
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I have heard Twilight described as a vampire story for people who dont like vampire stories and I think I would agree with that. This book really has something for everyone. Young adult readers, vampire fans or romance readers will all find Twilight to be an appealing story. For a Young Adult novel the book is quite long but dont let that put you off reading it because each page is to be savoured. Believe me, this is one book that you wont want to end.

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PARABLE
A parable is a succinct story, in prose or verse, which illustrates one or more instructive principles, or lessons, or (sometimes) a normative principle. It differs from a fable in that fables use animals, plants, inanimate objects, and forces of nature as characters, while parables generally feature human characters. It is a type of analogy. Parables are favoured in the expression of spiritual concepts. The bestknown source of parables in Christianity is the Bible, which contains numerous parables in the Gospels section of the New Testament, Jesus' parables. Examples of Jesus' parables include "the Good Samaritan" and "the Prodigal Son". Mashalim from the Old Testament include the "parable of the ewe-lamb" told by Nathan in 2 Samuel 12:1-9, and that of "the woman of Tekoah" in 2 Samuel 14:113. Parables also appear in Islam. In Sufi tradition, parables ("teaching stories") are used for imparting lessons and values. Recent authors such as Idries Shah and Anthony de Mello have helped popularize these stories beyond Sufi circles. Modern stories can be used as parables. A mid-19th-century parable, the "Parable of the Broken Window", exposes a fallacy in economic thinking.

The Story of the Prodigal Son There was a very rich person. He had two sons. The first son was hard working. He always obeyed his father. He was very good and nice person. But the second son was totally different from the first son. He was lazy. He did not work in his fathers field. He was disobedient to his father. He wanted to lead a gay and free life. One day, the younger son said to his father. Father, give me my share of property. The father felt very sad. He divided the property. The second son took his share of property. He left home with his share. He went to a distant land. There he made a lot of friends. He spent his property lavishly on his friends, foods and drinks. He had many bad habits too. He wasted all the money. Soon he was left with no money. His friends saw this. They all deserted him one by one.

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At that time, there was a famine in that land. He could not get any job. None of his friends gave him food or money. He was forced to take up a very mean job. His job was to feed the pigs. Very often he ate the food kept for the pigs. He was very sad about his present conditions. He soon began to think of his father and his brother. He said to himself, In my fathers house, even the servants have enough food. They get good shelter too. But here, I am struggling for food and shelter. I will go back to my father. I will beg him to take me as his servant. So decided, the prodigal son set out for his fathers house. In the meantime, his father was always thinking of his second son. He would sit near the windows. He would look out at the road, expecting his son to return home. One day his father saw his son coming at a distance. He ran out of his house in great joy. He met his son on the way. His son knelt down. He said, Father, I am not fit to be your son. Take me as your servant. His father lifted his lovingly. He embraced him. He turned to his servants. He said, Bring the best robe. Put it on my son. Put a ring on his fingers and shoes on his feet. Kill the fatted calf. Prepare a feast. Let us eat and enjoy. My son was lost. Now he is fount. The elder son was returning from his work. He heard the sound of the music and dancing from his house. He asked one of his servants about it. His servant told his, Your brother has come. Your father is rejoicing at his return. A fatted calf has been killed to prepare for a delicious feast and the celebration. The first son was angry. He refused to enter his house. The father came out. He begged his elder son to come in for rejoicing. The elder son said, I have obeyed you all these years. I have done all your works. But you never gave me even a kid to enjoy with my friends. This son wasted all your money and property. And you order a fatted calf for him! His father replied, My dear son, you are always with me. All my property is yours. Your younger brother was dead. Now he is alive. He was lost. Now he is found. Therefore should we not rejoice?

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The elder son understood the love behind the words of his father. He forgot everything about his younger brother. He decided to take part in the celebration. He was happy.

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PLAY (THEATRE)
A play is a form of literature written by a playwright, usually consisting of scripted dialogue between characters, intended for theatrical performance rather than just reading. Plays are performed at a variety of levels, from Broadway, Off-Broadway, regional theatre, to Community theatre, as well a University or school productions. There are rare dramatists, notably George Bernard Shaw, who have had little preference whether their plays were performed or read. The term "play" can refer to both the written works of playwrights and to their complete theatrical performance.

McDennys Diners Set in 1950s style diner, McDennys, in the present day England. BERYL is sitting at the back of a u shaped booth. She is tucking into a large burger and reading a gas bill Enter LYNDA, SUSAN and RODERICK LYNDA: (speaking to SUSAN and ROD as they make their way over to BERYL) ...put your back into it man, I said, use some elbow grease, dont just tickle it, I want to see my face in it... Hi Beryl... BERYL hides the burger under the table BERYL: Oh hi SUSAN: (sits at the table at the left side of BERYL) He was doing his best. ROD: Hi LYNDA: I dont want to see any smear marks and dont bend the aerial or Ill stop it out of your wages. LYNDA and ROD sit to the right of BERYL SUSAN: Lynda, I think youre being a bit harsh. Hi Beryl LYNDA: If youre going to do something, do it right thats what I say. Enter waiter carrying a large portion of fries
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WAITER: (To BERYL) your large fries Madam LYNDA: Beryl? BERYL: Theyre not mine WAITER: Sorry? BERYL: No, you must be mixing me up with someone else. WAITER: (looks around the empty room) BERYL: I didnt order any. WAITER: Oh, but you did.

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POETRY
Poetry is a form of literary art which uses aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of languagesuch as phonaesthetics, sound symbolism, and metreto evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, the prosaic ostensible meaning. Poetry uses forms and conventions to suggest differential interpretation to words, or to evoke emotive responses. Devices such as assonance, alliteration, onomatopoeia and rhythm are sometimes used to achieve musical or incantatory effects. The use of ambiguity, symbolism, irony and other stylistic elements of poetic diction often leaves a poem open to multiple interpretations. Similarly, metaphor, simile and metonymy create a resonance between otherwise disparate imagesa layering of meanings, forming connections previously not perceived. Kindred forms of resonance may exist, between individual verses, in their patterns of rhyme or rhythm.

Laboratory Robert Browning I NOW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly, May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely, As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy-Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

II He is with her; and they know that I know Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear Empty church, to pray God in, for them! -- I am here.

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III Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste, Pound at thy powder, -- I am not in haste! Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things, Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

IV That in the mortar -- you call it a gum? Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come! And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue, Sure to taste sweetly, -- is that poison too?

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REPORT
Report is a document that presents information in an organized format for a specific audience and purpose. Types of reports include memos, minutes, lab reports, book reports, progress reports, justification reports, compliance reports, annual reports, and policies and procedures.

Police Report On Friday July 19th, 2013, the Colorado Springs Police Dept was called to a private residence to investigate a personal robbery that took place at the ENT Federal Credit Union, located at 3125 Jet Wing Dr. Upon contact with the victims, they reported they were at the ATM in the drive thru lanes of the ENT Federal Credit Union. While conducting a transaction, two unknown males approached their car from the shadows on the west side of the building. Suspect #1 contacted the victim who was sitting in the drivers seat. The suspect displayed a handgun and demanded the victim give him money. The victim complied handing over an undisclosed amount of cash. The second suspect went around to the passenger side of the car demanding the victims cell phones. Victim #2 was subsequently struck in the head by the gun of suspect #1. Victim #1 was then struck in the neck area by suspect #1. An approaching car scared the suspects away. They fled the area toward the east. K-9 was utilized despite the significant amount of time that elapsed. The K-9 search provided negative results. Victim #2 sustained minor a laceration to the top of the head. Victim #1 sustained minor pain to the neck. Suspect #1 is described as an unknown Hispanic male approx. 505, 150lbs, wearing all black clothing, sunglasses and a bandana over his face. Suspect #2 was described as an unknown Hispanic male wearing all black clothing, a tank top over his face and sunglasses. If anyone has information regarding this incident please call the Colorado Springs Police Dept at 444-7000.

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SHORT PROSE
Short prose is a generic term for various kinds of very short fictional prose; short prose may or may not be narrative. Short prose pieces are considerably shorter than a short story, i.e., usually less than c. 1,000 words. Because of their small size, short prose pieces can attain high levels of lexical density and may thereby resemble prose poems, but the focus in short prose is less on language itself (and thus on rhythm, metre, or other phonological effects) than on the rapid presentation of a situation. A piece of short prose may contain drama, but it normally differs from a vignette in that it has no necessary associations with theatre or character. Because plot is peripheral to, or non-existent in, short prose, a short prose piece differs from a sketch story in that it does not necessarily invite the reader to imagine what came before or what follows after. Finally, because a piece of short prose does not necessarily have characters, conflict, or resolution, it usually differs from the short story, flash fiction and micro fiction as these are usually defined.

The successful novelist Much of that summer she stood guard duty at the palace. Rifle-barrel straight in spurred boots, her hair in a net under a polished coal-scuttle, she featured in many a tourist photo. Watching the people, she found stories in all of them. The middle-aged couple holding hands like teenagers married, but not to one another. Here together, a stolen holiday. The girl in the party dress, alone in the street looking for White Rabbit. The well-dressed man crumpled on a bench all his wealth gone. Folly and greed. Later the novelist would say: That was when I learned my craft.

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STORY PUN
A story pun (also known as a poetic story joke or Feghoot) is a humorous short story or vignette ending in an atrocious pun (typically a play on a wellknown phrase) where the story contains sufficient context to recognize the punning humor. It can be considered a type of shaggy dog story.

Burning Bush "Hey guys" Bush said eagerly "Do I have time to start another war? Huh? Huh?" All heads turned to the ceiling. "Ok, ok, I get it ... how about some sanctions then ... Huh? Huh? ... Our guy in Iraq ... what's his name? Ah yes Maliki ... he just got no respect. We made him Prime Minister and the nerve of that guy telling us to set a date for withdrawal.... when the oils runs out, buddy ... when the oil runs out... what an idiot ... yeh ... I want to bar all their exports ... except oil of course ... that will show him who's the boss" "You should check with Obama before you do anything. Mr. President" "What about Burma ... Huh? ... Huh? Everybody hates that country with those suppressive generals in charge. Locking up what's her name ...Sue Me ... uh ... Suu Kyi for so many years and killing those monks ... We can bar the export of their gemstones and whatever other crap they have over there." "You should check with Obama before you do anything. Mr. President" "Ok ... ok... get him on the line ... he owes me a big one ... he knows damn well that the only reason he got elected was because of me ... yeh ... I know what all of you all are thinking ... but you're wrong ... God told me to create all this mess so that Obama will be elected ... it was God's plan all along and I followed it perfectly ... so there!" "Obama on the line, sir" "Hi Barry ... I need to check with you on this .... " and Bush explains his sanction plans.
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"So Barry ..." he whispers "I'll look like a lame duck if I don't do something ... you owe me Barry ... please Barry ... please .... Ok then, at least say your name ... why? ... No reason at all ... just say your name ...PLEASE JUST SAY YOUR NAME WILL YOU! ... Thanks Barry ... bye bye" "What did he say, sir?" a general asked. With a smile, Bush replied "Bar Iraq or Burma" (Barack Obama)

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SHORT STORY A short story is a brief work of literature, usually written in narrative prose. Emerging from earlier oral storytelling traditions in the 17th century, the short story has grown to encompass a body of work so diverse as to defy easy characterization. At its most prototypical the short story features a small cast of named characters, and focuses on a self-contained incident with the intent of evoking a "single effect" or mood. In so doing, short stories make use of plot, resonance, and other dynamic components to a far greater degree than is typical of an anecdote, yet to a far lesser degree than a novel. While the short story is largely distinct from the novel, authors of both generally draw from a common pool of literary techniques. Short stories have no set length. In terms of word count there is no official demarcation between an anecdote, a short story, and a novel. Rather, the form's parameters are given by the rhetorical and practical context in which a given story is produced and considered, so that what constitutes a short story may differ between genres, countries, eras, and commentators. Like the novel, the short story's predominant shape reflects the demands of the available markets for publication, and the evolution of the form seems closely tied to the evolution of the publishing industry and the submission guidelines of its constituent houses. The short story has been considered both an apprenticeship form preceding more lengthy works, and a crafted form in its own right, collected together in books of similar length, price, and distribution as novels. Short story writers may define their works as part of the artistic and personal expression of the form. They may also attempt to resist categorization by genre and fixed form.

A Winter Night in the Forest It was a winter night and the cool breeze is making animals seek some shelter and a cover on their bodies. The sparrows entered their nests, the rabbits went into their burrows, the parrots went into the holes on the tree trunks, and the squirrels hide into the shoots of the coconut tree. Thus all those birds and animals settled down to face the chill night. Dr. Dove was watching all these animals in the bright moon light from its whole on the nearby rocky hill.

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By mid night the chillness increased and a couple of crows had fallen seriously ill for the exposure to the severe cold.

As the Sun rises all the animals and birds started coming out and assembled at the bottom of the rocky hill. What a cold it was last night. The winter has just begun now. By January it would be very cold. If the cold winds blow like this we will certainly reduce in number said a crane that lives on the nearby thorn bushes. I could hear the sound of my teeth as I shivered in the night said a dog. Though we are big we too feel the cold said an elephant. Though I am in my Den I too felt it. Here comes an idea said Dr. .Dove by landing on a big stone. We all know that the Lion lives in a big den in this hill. I have seen another small den that can comfortable accommodate our Lion. It is just on the other side of this Hill. I feel that the Lion can leave this big den and occupy the small one so that those animals that have no home can take shelter in the big den. Thus they can protect themselves from exposing to the severe cold. As soon as Dr. Dove completed telling this, the lion roared and rejected the idea. I need this big den let animals seek shelter in the small den that you had located. Looking at the elephants Dr .Dove said Dear Lion this is only for the winter months and rainy days the rest of the time you can use this big den. The elephants trumpeted in support of this statement and urged the lion to agree. Seeing the unity and the support Dr. Dove got from the herd of Elephants the Lion said : OK I agree. The animals disbursed in search of food. It was night again. All those animals that have no home gathered in the big den and felt good to be there. As the night advances the cold winds blew more

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frequently and making the animals shiver even in the Den. Somehow they spent the night and gathered again at the bottom of the hill to share their experiences. Since the den is not so deep it can protect us partially from the severe cold. We have to live with it opined the deer. Having listened to this discussion, Dr. Dove said: I have another idea to help you keep warm. You all can collect the twigs and our elephant friends can bring dried logs in the forest to the den. As mid night one of you can make these twigs and dried logs into a small heap and set fire. Then the den gets the warmth from this fire. Great idea jumped a monkey. That night the animals make their own hearth and felt the warmth and slept comfortably. The animals make it a practice.

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VIGNETTE A vignette is a short impressionistic scene that focuses on one moment or gives a trenchant impression about a character, idea, setting, or object. This type of scene is more common in recent postmodern theatre, where less emphasis is placed on adhering to the conventions of theatrical structure and story development. Vignettes have been particularly influenced by contemporary notions of a scene as shown in film, video and television scripting. It is also a part of something bigger than itself. Like a vignette about a house belongs to a collection of vignettes or a whole story such as The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros.

Sample Vignette Excerpt

When I go home for the holidays, I am home again. I am a child again. Laughter fills my ears, the smell of food fills my nose, and views of my family fill my eyes. We play games, we tell stories. We celebrate not just the holiday, but our lives. We celebrate our family. I long for the holidays When we can come together and forget about the day. When I can go home and feel at home. When life slows down for a day or two. Sadness sometimes comes along with me I never want this time to end. I never want this time to change. I never want this time to pass. When I go home for the holidays, I am in limbo.
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I want to be one of the kids, but I know I am an adult. I can be one of the kids, and thats okay. Life is different during the holidays, life is magical. I celebrate this. I celebrate us.

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