保险与生活博客

一天朋友告诉我,他的女儿写作获奖了. 很为她高兴. 我问她可以看一看原作吗? 他说当然可以. 并得到了朋友的同意在下面我会把她的文章附上

我朋友有两个女儿-9岁的D和15岁的X,

还在D3岁的时候, 我记得我问过她, “你喜欢看书吗?” “不喜欢, 书又不动, 有什么好看的.” “那喜欢看什么” “看电视, 看电视里面的动画片….”

后来大概过了一年多, 他爸告诉我他们都特别爱读书(周末至少一天泡图书馆, 而且每次都是四.五十本往家里借) ,  他告诉我, 他的女儿爱看书喜欢到去看奶奶的途中都要看书(只有几分钟的walking), 在路上有时不提醒差点撞到墙. 很着迷读书… 羡慕啊

可这喜欢读又喜欢写的还真难得,但是朋友告诉我. 不完全是这样, 大女儿开始也不喜欢写, 但是直到有一天发现写作不是负担的时候, 发现写作原来里面也有无穷乐趣的时候, 从被动写变成主动去写, 结果真的令做家长的兴奋. 他还告诉我, 你们玩的太多了, 因为我们家都喜欢周末出去玩. 很少去图书馆呆, 有去也是去借书. 其实我女儿的写作也不错, 还在六年级毕业的时候得了学校发给的一个写作奖.  我们没有象朋友那样督促,　所以进步得很慢,　或者说还有退步．．．

再说朋友的女儿的这次作文比赛，　具体信息可以看一看这个网站

http://www.thelearningpartnership.ca/page.aspx?pid=314

朋友告诉我,　他的女儿是分在９．１０年级的那个组,　而实际她的女儿是只有上９年级，最后成绩获得第四名,  朋友给我聊到,　他鼓励女儿：你的成绩应该可以给你更高一点,　因为他有读其它几个获奖的文章，都是有故事情节,带有很多感情色彩的东西加进去，而Ｘ的这篇文章属于纯的事实并且对他们举办这个活动的目的很有直接的促进作用:提高写作能力．．．．．turning point

我始终相信：＂Practice makes perfect.” 　读多了,　语感有了．．．．．慢慢写作也就提高了.．．．

再一次祝贺X获奖,　让我们一起来读一读她的获奖文章．　或许您能学到些．．．．

Writing Rules, Writing Revelations

       By X- Mississauga 2011

I used to hate writing.

Writing was, at best, another step I had to endure in order to complete my homework; at worst, a towering hurdle that I could barely overcome. It was an exhausting, repetitive, joyless task, one that made me grind my teeth every time I received a sheet of lined paper and an order to “be expressive”. I refused to see the point of jotting down tiny letters on paper just to get an idea through to someone else. Nor did I even bother to recognize literacy as a form of creation, even though I loved to read.

(It would be a long timed before I finally realize why my middle school called English class “Language Arts”.)

Not many people caught on to my lack of enthusiasm for writing, at first. Successfully plowing through more than twelve years of life without giving a thought to its importance, I had already arrived at grade seven before my dad realized just how incompetent my writing skills were—especially my grasp of English grammar, which had been downright atrocious. In a fit of parental indignation, he drove to the library and came back with a copy of English Grammar for Dummies.

“Read it,” he told me, plopping the book down on the table.

I just stared at it. “What? Why?”

“Do you know anything about grammar?” he deadpanned.

There was a short, sheepish silence before I responded. “No.”

“Exactly.”

Annoyed—partially because of the ever-present antagonism that all teenagers have but more so by the fact that I knew he was right—I grabbed the book and began to read.

I hadn’t realized, then, that my entire experience with literacy was about to change.

There was a lot of skill that I hadn’t known before that was poured into writing. Day after day, as I read through the entire book, a new interest in writing built itself on the foundations of proper grammar. It was as if the rigorous, unwavering rules finally linked together the different aspects of language, ones that, for me, had been completely detached from one another: reading, writing, speaking, listening. I started to take pride in the writing that I did for schoolwork. Started creating stories and poems in my spare time. I even started analyzing the writing that other authors did, picking apart their sentence structures and finding their grammatical flaws. My homework came back with better comments. My friends started complaining about how often I pointed out the errors in their essays.

And I, for once, learned to care about the writing I did.

“I’m done,” I told my dad one day, flipping the last page and closing the book with a kind of triumphant finality.

“Wasn’t it useful?” he asked rhetorically, as if he had expected the outcome.

“Well, I’ve realized that my writing used to suck.”

A sage nod. “Good.”

Grumbling, I stood up and threw English Grammar for Dummies into the library bag. My task, for the moment, was done. My learning experience had ended. And yet that singular learning experience, that one month with a grammar book, would link onto events for years to come, weaving a love of literacy through my life. Grammar was more than just “the rules”. It was the basis for an art—not with pictures; not with sound; not with movement; but with the emotionally charged values of letters and words and sentences and paragraphs, all joining together to convey endless possibilities.

Writing has ceased to be a burden for me. Instead, even in my first year of high school, it’s the highlight of every assignment, the solution to every problem, the outlet for every need. It’s a blank canvas waiting out the clutter of everyday life, with the potential to be anything, thrive anywhere, affect anyone.

Writing is thought; writing is action; writing is character.

Writing, for me now, is life.

another  good artile :

Dear Mother, Dear father

Albert Zhou,MBA, CFP