Lesson 32: Great Verbs Projectable Lesson Tim Hargis © 2012

Hello! Today we are going to continue our focus on paying attention to individual words and how that can help add details to our writing.

We are going to continue our study of words by thinking about different parts of speech.

Today we will focus on verbs and how using great verbs is another easy way to get details into our writing.

What exactly is a verb?

There are a few different kinds of verbs. We are going to focus on verbs that are action words.

Here are a bunch of verbs: run scream dance jump sing eat

When we write, we want to use exciting verbs.

So, ran is an okay verb… ran

So, ran is an okay verb…but zoomed is a more exciting verb. ran zoomed

So, are sprinted, jogged, raced, and bolted. ran zoomed sprinted jogged raced bolted

So, while you write, be thinking about using some really exciting verbs.

Today I am going to share a piece of my writing with you. I have two versions of it for you to read.

The first version does not use many great verbs. In the second version, I revised it, thinking about using more great verbs.

Tiny (Draft # 4) By Tim Hargis “Is he here? Is he here?” I stood in the kitchen of our home and stared at the unopened box of Purina Puppy Chow on the counter. I was six years old and had just gotten off the school bus with my sister, Angie, who was nine. I knew the box of Purina Puppy Chow could only mean one thing—that our puppy was here, but I had a hard time believing it. He wasn’t supposed to get here until the weekend, when my Aunt Bessie was supposed to bring him down to us from her home in Dayton. Her dog had had puppies, and we were going to get one. While I stood in the kitchen screaming about the box of Purina Puppy Chow sitting on the counter, my sister ran into the living room. I eventually followed her, and there, in a cardboard box on the floor, was our new baby poodle. Because Angie had gotten there before me, she got to pick him up first. I wanted to be the first to hold him because he was really supposed to be my dog. I stood there with my hands in the pockets of my Levi’s just waiting for my chance to hold my new puppy. I watched as my sister petted our little dog’s curly fur that was as black as the midnight sky and as our dog licked her face, his tongue, so tiny and pink like a stick of bubble gum you would find in a pack of baseball cards, moving in and out of his mouth, and licking my sister on the cheek, nose, ear and mouth.

Finally it was my turn. I held him in my arms. I felt his soft fur next to my cheek. I watched his short, stubby tail wagging. I listened to his whimpering. My sisters thought I should give him a French name like my aunt did with the new puppy that she kept. She named her dog “Monique.” My sisters wanted me to name my new dog “Pierre” or “Claude” or something like that. I thought those were crazy names for a dog. I decided to name him “Tiny” because, well, he was tiny. Tiny and I were best friends my whole time growing up. I had him from the time I was in kindergarten until my sophomore year in college when he finally died. We played fetch and chase together. He slept with me at night. He cheered me up when I was sad. I will always remember my dog, Tiny.

Okay, here is my second version where I tried to revise it and use some great verbs.

Tiny (Draft # 5) By Tim Hargis “Is he here? Is he here?” I stood in the kitchen of our home and stared at the unopened box of Purina Puppy Chow on the counter. I was six years old and had just gotten off the school bus with my sister, Angie, who was nine. I knew the box of Purina Puppy Chow could only mean one thing—that our puppy was here, but I had a hard time believing it. He wasn’t supposed to get here until the weekend, when my Aunt Bessie was supposed to bring him down to us from her home in Dayton. Her dog had had puppies, and we were going to get one. While I stood in the kitchen screaming about the box of Purina Puppy Chow sitting on the counter, my sister raced into the living room. I eventually followed her, and there, in a cardboard box on the floor, was our new baby poodle. Because Angie had gotten there before me, she got to pick him up first. I wanted to be the first to hold him because he was really supposed to be my dog. I stood there with my hands in the pockets of my Levi’s just waiting for my chance to hold my new puppy. I watched as my sister petted our little dog’s curly fur that was as black as the midnight sky and as our dog licked her face, his tongue, so tiny and pink like a stick of bubble gum you would find in a pack of baseball cards, darting in and out of his mouth, and slurping my sister on the cheek, nose, ear and mouth.

Finally it was my turn. I held him in my arms. I felt his soft fur next to my cheek. I gazed at his short, stubby tail wagging. I listened to his whimpering. My sisters thought I should give him a French name like my aunt did with the new puppy that she kept. She named her dog “Monique.” My sisters wanted me to name my new dog “Pierre” or “Claude” or something like that. I thought those were crazy names for a dog. I decided to name him “Tiny” because, well, he was tiny. Tiny and I were best friends my whole time growing up. I had him from the time I was in kindergarten until my sophomore year in college when he finally died. We played fetch and chase together. He slept with me at night. He cheered me up when I was sad. I will always remember my dog, Tiny.