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Serga [27]
2 years ago
9

What makes a good narrative

English
1 answer:
MissTica2 years ago
8 0

Answer:

Strong characterization, vivid use of detail, and the creation of an emotional, conflict-driven plot can all ensure the success of a narrative with readers. Conflict: The Fire of Fiction A good narrative is about people dealing with problems.

Explanation:

PA BRAINLIEST

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Which quote from the text best supports the answer to part a the night the ghost got in
GREYUIT [131]

Answer:

PART A

B. Lying is acceptable when it’s meant to protect someone you care about.

C. “‘Just what the hell is the real lowdown here, Bud?’ he asked. I decided to be  frank with him. ‘We had ghosts,’ I said.” (Paragraph 12)

Explanation:

brainly.com/question/18536001

Hope this helps.

3 0
3 years ago
Write a letter to the
r-ruslan [8.4K]

Answer:

a

Explanation:

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3 years ago
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Ano po yung conflict ng "My Father Goes to Court".
Crank

Answer:

My Father Goes To Court (Carlos Bulusan)

When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the island of Luzon. Father’s farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine floods, so several years afterwards we all lived in the town though he preferred living in the country. We had as a next door neighbour a very rich man, whose sons and daughters seldom came out of the house. While we boys and girls played and sang in the sun, his children stayed inside and kept the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the window of our house and watched us played, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house to eat.

Now, this rich man’s servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the aroma of the food was wafted down to us form the windows of the big house. We hung about and took all the wonderful smells of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our whole family stood outside the windows of the rich man’s house and listened to the musical sizzling of thick strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbour’s servants roasted three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped into the burning coals gave off an enchanting odour. We watched the servants turn the beautiful birds and inhaled the heavenly spirit that drifted out to us.

Some days the rich man appeared at a window and glowered down at us. He looked at us one by one, as though he were condemning us. We were all healthy because we went out in the sun and bathed in the cool water of the river that flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we wrestled with one another in the house before we went to play. We were always in the best of spirits and our laughter was contagious. Other neighbours who passed by our house often stopped in our yard and joined us in laughter.

As time went on, the rich man’s children became thin and anaemic, while we grew even more robust and full of life. Our faces were bright and rosy, but theirs were pale and sad. The rich man started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing too. Then the children started to cough, one after the other. At night their coughing sounded like the barking of a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wondered what happened. We knew that they were not sick from the lack of nourishment because they were still always frying something delicious to eat.

One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there a long time. He looked at my sisters, who had grown fat in laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were like the molave, which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and ran through his house, shutting all the windows.

From that day on, the windows of our neighbour’s house were always closed. The children did not come out anymore. We could still hear the servants cooking in the kitchen, and no matter how tight the windows were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and drifted gratuitously into our house.

One morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper. The rich man had filed a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the town clerk and asked him what it was about. He told Father the man claimed that for years we had been stealing the spirit of his wealth and food.

When the day came for us to appear in court, father brushed his old Army uniform and borrowed a pair of shoes from one of my brothers. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a chair in the centre of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on a long bench by the wall. Father kept jumping up from his chair and stabbing the air with his arms, as though we were defending himself before an imaginary jury.

The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble; his face was scarred with deep lines. With him was his young lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge entered the room and sat on a high chair. We stood in a hurry and then sat down again.

After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge looked at the Father. “Do you have a lawyer?” he asked.

“I don’t need any lawyer, Judge,” he said.

“Proceed,” said the judge.

The rich man’s lawyer jumped up and pointed his finger at Father. “Do you or you do not agree that you have been stealing the spirit of the complaint’s wealth and food?”

“I do not!” Father said.

“Do you or do you not agree that while the complaint’s servants cooked and fried fat legs of lamb or young chicken breast you and your family hung outside his windows and inhaled the heavenly spirit of the food?”

“I agree.” Father said.

“Do you or do you not agree that while the complaint and his children grew sickly and tubercular you and your family became strong of limb and fair in complexion?”

“I agree.” Father said.

4 0
3 years ago
A key message of “Frederick Douglass” is all human beings have a deep need for:
ASHA 777 [7]
The answer is d because he was a activist who fought for African american rights
4 0
3 years ago
Read 2 more answers
"George Washington Carver was an artist long before he became a scientist" explains how
RUDIKE [14]

Answer:

The first sentence is written in the passive voice, with a passive verb. George is the subject, so what is being done to him is the passive verb. The less passive form of the sentence would be similar to "Mrs. Millholland gave George Washington Carver piano lessons." This is the active verb, since it is being done/has been done by a person rather than a subject being acted on.

Explanation:

4 0
2 years ago
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