Tone

Tone: an author’s attitude toward the subject, characters, or readers of a literary work What are different “tones” writing can have?

Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich My tone word: suspenseful My example: “I stood in the kitchen, the knife with peanut butter in my hand, ready to use it on whoever’s shadow was lurking around the corner.”

Tone: an author’s attitude toward the subject, characters, or readers of a literary work Tone is shown by word choice and language It is expressed by using sensory detail and imagery Words and phrases that paint pictures for you, that give you a lot of visuals They apply to your senses We want to use words that describe the way….? Look at your graham crackers.

Graham crackers Write down two words to describe what it 1 – looks like 2 – feels like 3 – smells like 4 – tastes like (go ahead and eat it) 5 – sounds like (when you eat it)

Through the Tunnel - Tone Going to the shore on the first morning of the holiday, the young English boy stopped at a turning of the path and looked down at a wild and rocky bay, and then over to the crowded beach he knew so well from other years. His mother walked on in front of him, carrying a bright-striped bag in one hand. Her other arm, swinging loose, was very white in the sun. The boy watched that white, naked arm, and turned his eyes, which had a frown behind them, toward the bay and back again to his mother. When she felt he was not with her, she swung around. "Oh, there you are, Jerry!" she said. She looked impatient, then smiled. "Why, darling, would you rather not come with me? Would you rather . . . " She frowned, conscientiously worrying over what amusements he might secretly be longing for which she had been too busy or too careless to imagine. He was very familiar with that anxious, apologetic smile. Contrition sent him running after her. And yet, as he ran, he looked back over his shoulder at the wild bay; and all morning, as he played on the safe beach, he was thinking of it.

He did not ask for permission, on the following day, to go to his beach. He went, before his mother could consider the complicated rights and wrongs of the matter. A day's rest, he discovered, had improved his count by ten. The big boys had made the passage while he counted a hundred and sixty. He had been counting fast, in his fright. Probably now, if he tried, he could get through that long tunnel, but he was not going to try yet. A curious, most unchildlike persistence, a controlled impatience, made him wait. In the meantime, he lay underwater on the white sand, littered now by stones he had brought down from the upper air, and studied the entrance to the tunnel. He knew every jut and corner of it, as far as it was possible to see. It was as if he already felt its sharpness about his shoulders. He sat by the clock in the villa, when his mother was not near, and checked his time. He was incredulous and then proud to find he could hold his breath without strain for two minutes. The words "two minutes", authorized by the clock, brought the adventure that was so necessary to him close. In another four

Sixteen - Tone Now don't get me wrong. I mean, I want you to understand from the beginning that I’m not really so dumb. I know what a girl should do and what she shouldn't. I get around. I read. I listen to the radio. And I have two older sisters. So you see I know what's what. I know it's smart to wear tweed skirts and tight fitting sweaters and ballerina shoes. And I know that your hair should be short with that look of careful carelessness, and the peasant hankie should be draped cleverly around your neck, fastened with a ring. Now, me, I never wear a hankie, it makes my face seem too wide. I'm not exactly too small-town either. I read the Broadway columns. You get to know what New York boy is crazy about what Hollywood actress on the West Coast and what starlet is currently the prettiest and who eventually, will play Joan of Arc. It gives you that worldly feeling. I know that it is absolutely forbidden to wear coloured ankle-socks with highheeled shoes or use Evening in Paris perfume with a tweed suit. But this isn't what I wanted to tell you. I just wanted to give you the general idea that I'm not so dumb. It is important that you understand that.

But he'd said, "I'll call you. " That's what he said, "I'll call you But he'd said, "I'll call you." That's what he said, "I'll call you." I couldn't sleep all night. And that was last Thursday. Tonight is Tuesday. Tonight is Tuesday and my homework is done and I darned some stocking that really didn't need it, and I worked a cross-word puzzle and I listened to the radio and now I'm just sitting. I'm just sitting because I can't think of anything else to do. I can't think of anything, anything but snowflakes and ice skates and a yellow moon and Thursday night. The telephone is sitting on the corner table with its old black face turned to the wall. I don't even jump when it rings any more. My heart still prays but my mind just laughs. Outside the night is still—so still I think I'll go crazy. And so I'm sitting here and I'm not feeling anything. I'm not even sad because all of a sudden I know. I can sit here now and forever and laugh and laugh while the tears run salty in the corners of my mouth. For all of a sudden, I know, I know what the stars knew all the time—he will never, never call—never.

Tone in Phase 1: The Human Reason