ANIMAL FARM by George Orwell 144 pp. Penguin Group. £8.99. (Ages 13 and up) ISBN 9780141182704 Rating: ? Stars This book is set in a future when animals are much cleverer than now. And because of their cleverness, the pigs started a revolution against the humans. Pigs could speak fluently in English unlike the other animals, and that gave them the power to be leaders. But, the story that follows only happened a few years after that... Their first leader, Old Major, was kind and fair who knew animals should be equal. But when Napoleon became the leader it was very unpleasant. He made a rule that allowed the pigs to have better food and that forced all of the other animals to work crazily hard every day and night. That wasn’t enough, Napoleon wanted more power. He decided to kill his brother, Snowball, so that he would be the only leader. Snowball was admired because he came up with a clever idea to build windmill. Sn...
The Diary Of Willow Krimble
First Entry
Dear Diary,
Wow, this feels so weird. I’ve never written that before, which is really odd, since Grandma Trisha gave me this Diary two years ago. She knows how much I love to write. I’ve written a few short stories and a ton of poems, but I’ve never written in a diary before. With the strange events that have been happening to me lately, I just feel like I need to express certain things that I can’t share with anyone else, including my best friend, Razzel.
So, where to begin, Diary? Since I’m new at this, I’d feel a lot better if I gave you little bit of background info on myself – even though you are just a leather-bound notebook – no offense.
My name is Willow Krimble. I’m 13-years-old, I have freckles, bushy, almond-colored hair, and I have to wear a retainer for the next six months, even though I finally got my braces off. Sounds like your typical tween, right? Oh, I promise you, it gets more interesting, Diary. I wouldn’t exactly call my life “typical”. You see, for one thing, I was born without the bottom half of my left leg, so I’ve had to wear a prosthetic limb pretty much my whole life. It’s all I’ve ever known, so I don’t mind it. I often notice my classmates curiously staring at it, which isn’t my favorite pastime, but you get used to it. You never do get used to the insults, though. Shayla Stergus and Snella Burinbine, at school, think it’s pretty funny to call me things like “Prosthetic Princess”, or “One-Leg Wonder”. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bug me. I don’t have to tell you how powerful words can be. They can raise you to amazing heights, where you’re heart begs to remain, or they can drag you to a dark place, where it seems as if the tiniest flicker of hope will never shine again. Sorry to get so deep, there, Diary. It’s the poet in me, I guess.
But thank goodness for my best friend, Razzel Fiora; she’s had my back since we were three years old. She really looks out for me. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a best friend who’s skilled in the art of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, complimented by a sarcastic attitude. Comes in handy when someone refers to you as “Robo-Crutch”. Don’t laugh, Diary – not funny.
But enough about my middle school angst. Now that I’ve filled you in on the basics, I think I’m finally ready to share something else with you; something … peculiar … something … curious. You see, the retainer, untamable hair, and steel leg are just the back-story to Willow Krimble. Did I just refer to myself in the third-person? Sorry about that. Anyway, the real thing you should know about me is, lately … well … strange, unexplainable things have been happening around me, and I’m not sure I should tell anyone. But If I don’t share it with someone, I’ll just burst. That’s where you come in, Diary.
I always tell Raz everything, but suddenly being struck with the power to heal others isn’t information I need to be sharing with anyone just yet. You read that right; I can heal people. Well, at least I think I can. I’ve had three separate instances this week where two people, and one pet-shop guinea pig, were suddenly healed after I came in contact with them. Crazy, right? I mean, why me? What makes me so special? And why now?
Truth is, there was a time when I … well … okay, no one knows this, Diary; not my mom, my older brother, Wyatt, not even Raz, but when my dad was sick, just before he passed away, I wanted so badly to be able to take his illness away – to just pull it out of him and dispel it. I remember on my seventh birthday, when I blew out those candles, I wished with my entire soul, for him to get better. I remember gazing at his frail, withered appearance, after my vicious puffing extinguished the final thin, pink-swirled candle. I remember thinking I’d performed some wondrous magic. When you’re seven, you believe in that stuff – you believe in everything. Call it what you want: Magic, miracles, super powers, whatever… When you’re a kid, you can feel these moments when you think something amazing has just happened. Something that makes your heart feel like it just expanded wider than it ever has; that moment where nothing ugly in this world matters because all you can see is the beauty, surrounding it. That’s what you feel when you’re a young kid and something incredibly unexpected happens, like coming home to a freshly baked batch of chocolate chunk cookies for no particular reason … or getting a snow day off from school … or having your birthday wish come true…. But you should know, Diary, that my wish never did come true that year. That feeling I had when I blew out those candles, was totally premature. Or should I say, “immature”; just a little kid with a big wish. A wish that deep down, beyond that heart-swelling feeling, I knew would never really come true. Sorry to be such a downer, Diary, but if what I can do is truly real, then why did it happen now? Why not six years ago? Life is really strange that way, isn’t it? Things never turn out the way we map them out in our own minds, but I suppose there is a reason for everything that’s happening to me. Grandma Trisha always tells me: “Let life travel where it wants to go; just savor the journey.” I think I get my passion for writing from her, but don’t tell mom I said that.
You should know, Diary, that I just paused for a ginormous yawn, so, clearly, I’m not going to figure this all out tonight. I’d better get to bed; I promised Raz I'd meet her at the library tomorrow to work on our homeostasis paper for Science Class. Well, Diary, thanks for listening. I feel a lot better now that I was able to share all of this with you. Maybe I’m crazy; maybe all of these things have just been a strange coincidence. Maybe I am just a typical kid, with an overactive imagination. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and, Diary … thanks for keeping my secret.
The winner of a signed copy of A Girl Named Willow Krimble is...
First Entry
Dear Diary,
Wow, this feels so weird. I’ve never written that before, which is really odd, since Grandma Trisha gave me this Diary two years ago. She knows how much I love to write. I’ve written a few short stories and a ton of poems, but I’ve never written in a diary before. With the strange events that have been happening to me lately, I just feel like I need to express certain things that I can’t share with anyone else, including my best friend, Razzel.
So, where to begin, Diary? Since I’m new at this, I’d feel a lot better if I gave you little bit of background info on myself – even though you are just a leather-bound notebook – no offense.
My name is Willow Krimble. I’m 13-years-old, I have freckles, bushy, almond-colored hair, and I have to wear a retainer for the next six months, even though I finally got my braces off. Sounds like your typical tween, right? Oh, I promise you, it gets more interesting, Diary. I wouldn’t exactly call my life “typical”. You see, for one thing, I was born without the bottom half of my left leg, so I’ve had to wear a prosthetic limb pretty much my whole life. It’s all I’ve ever known, so I don’t mind it. I often notice my classmates curiously staring at it, which isn’t my favorite pastime, but you get used to it. You never do get used to the insults, though. Shayla Stergus and Snella Burinbine, at school, think it’s pretty funny to call me things like “Prosthetic Princess”, or “One-Leg Wonder”. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bug me. I don’t have to tell you how powerful words can be. They can raise you to amazing heights, where you’re heart begs to remain, or they can drag you to a dark place, where it seems as if the tiniest flicker of hope will never shine again. Sorry to get so deep, there, Diary. It’s the poet in me, I guess.
But thank goodness for my best friend, Razzel Fiora; she’s had my back since we were three years old. She really looks out for me. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a best friend who’s skilled in the art of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, complimented by a sarcastic attitude. Comes in handy when someone refers to you as “Robo-Crutch”. Don’t laugh, Diary – not funny.
But enough about my middle school angst. Now that I’ve filled you in on the basics, I think I’m finally ready to share something else with you; something … peculiar … something … curious. You see, the retainer, untamable hair, and steel leg are just the back-story to Willow Krimble. Did I just refer to myself in the third-person? Sorry about that. Anyway, the real thing you should know about me is, lately … well … strange, unexplainable things have been happening around me, and I’m not sure I should tell anyone. But If I don’t share it with someone, I’ll just burst. That’s where you come in, Diary.
I always tell Raz everything, but suddenly being struck with the power to heal others isn’t information I need to be sharing with anyone just yet. You read that right; I can heal people. Well, at least I think I can. I’ve had three separate instances this week where two people, and one pet-shop guinea pig, were suddenly healed after I came in contact with them. Crazy, right? I mean, why me? What makes me so special? And why now?
Truth is, there was a time when I … well … okay, no one knows this, Diary; not my mom, my older brother, Wyatt, not even Raz, but when my dad was sick, just before he passed away, I wanted so badly to be able to take his illness away – to just pull it out of him and dispel it. I remember on my seventh birthday, when I blew out those candles, I wished with my entire soul, for him to get better. I remember gazing at his frail, withered appearance, after my vicious puffing extinguished the final thin, pink-swirled candle. I remember thinking I’d performed some wondrous magic. When you’re seven, you believe in that stuff – you believe in everything. Call it what you want: Magic, miracles, super powers, whatever… When you’re a kid, you can feel these moments when you think something amazing has just happened. Something that makes your heart feel like it just expanded wider than it ever has; that moment where nothing ugly in this world matters because all you can see is the beauty, surrounding it. That’s what you feel when you’re a young kid and something incredibly unexpected happens, like coming home to a freshly baked batch of chocolate chunk cookies for no particular reason … or getting a snow day off from school … or having your birthday wish come true…. But you should know, Diary, that my wish never did come true that year. That feeling I had when I blew out those candles, was totally premature. Or should I say, “immature”; just a little kid with a big wish. A wish that deep down, beyond that heart-swelling feeling, I knew would never really come true. Sorry to be such a downer, Diary, but if what I can do is truly real, then why did it happen now? Why not six years ago? Life is really strange that way, isn’t it? Things never turn out the way we map them out in our own minds, but I suppose there is a reason for everything that’s happening to me. Grandma Trisha always tells me: “Let life travel where it wants to go; just savor the journey.” I think I get my passion for writing from her, but don’t tell mom I said that.
You should know, Diary, that I just paused for a ginormous yawn, so, clearly, I’m not going to figure this all out tonight. I’d better get to bed; I promised Raz I'd meet her at the library tomorrow to work on our homeostasis paper for Science Class. Well, Diary, thanks for listening. I feel a lot better now that I was able to share all of this with you. Maybe I’m crazy; maybe all of these things have just been a strange coincidence. Maybe I am just a typical kid, with an overactive imagination. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, and, Diary … thanks for keeping my secret.
The winner of a signed copy of A Girl Named Willow Krimble is...
Shannon J!
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