empowering young writers online


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From third person viewpoint to first person viewpoint

Change the following paragraphs to first person viewpoint. Hint: Refer to the main character as “I.” The story should sound like it’s happening to you.

Regan Jones stood in front of the entire sixth-grade class, listening to them clap and whistle and pound their feet. Approval fueled by energy. Nothing sounded sweeter.

After waving to her friends in the front row, Regan glanced around the gym-like room. Old-fashioned streetlights encircled the green-carpeted square where everyone sat. Brightly painted storefronts lined the sides of the room, reminding Regan of her favorite mall. And in the back right corner, treadmills and stationary bikes waited for her behind the glass walls of the exercise center.

Profit Town. She couldn’t wait to take charge of it. Mrs. Kramer had insisted on another speech first, but she didn’t say it had to be long. Regan gave them two sentences.

“Thanks for voting for me. I’m honored to be your mayor and I promise to serve you all well.”

Something in the back of the room began to vibrate and hum.

Regan, who barely heard it, quickly forgot about the hum when a boy started chanting, “Ray-Gun. Ray-Gun. Ray-Gun.”

Smiling, she scanned the crowd. Was it Connor James?

* * *

From first person viewpoint to second person viewpoint

Change the following paragraphs to second person viewpoint. Also change the verb tense from past to present. (It will sound better that way. Trust me.) Hint: Refer to the main character as “you.” The action should sound like it’s happening to your reader.

When I stumbled out of bed for another box of Kleenex, my big toe scraped against something blazing hot. Biting back a scream, I turned on my light and examined my toe. It wasn’t cut, but it looked like a ripe tomato with blisters. I crouched on my bed and scanned the floor.

No chunks of glass. No barbed wire. No flames or cinders. Nothing that could turn my toe into a swollen vegetable. Until I poked through the piles of used, soggy Kleenex. The rock Aunt Myk gave me five days before was buried under the third wad. And it was glowing.

That’s right. Glowing. Like the glow sticks police officers give to little kids on Halloween. But it wasn’t shimmering yellow. It was glaring turquoise.

Even though my toe blasted a thousand pain-filled warnings to my brain, I reached out to touch the glow. Within seconds my hand and most of my arm were throbbing too.

I limped to the bathroom, ran cold water all over my foot and most of my fingers, grabbed more Kleenex and hobbled back to my room.


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