Thea writting review 10 ppt

A “U” essay is a writing sample that fails because

of one or more of the following:

■ failure to address the assigned topic

■ illegibility

■ written primarily in a language other than

English

■ length insufficient to score

A “B” essay is a writing sample left completely

blank (that is, the test-taker did not respond at all).

Following are examples of scored writing sam￾ples. (Note: There are some deliberate errors in all the

essays.)

Sample “4” essay

Courage and cowardice seem like absolutes. We are

often quick to label other people, or ourselves, either

“brave” or “timid,” “courageous,” or “cowardly.”

However, one bright afternoon on a river deep in the

wilds of the Ozark mountains, I learned that these

qualities are as changeable as mercury.

During a cross-country drive, my friend Nina

and I decided to stop at a campsite in Missouri and

spend the afternoon on a float trip down Big Piney

River, 14 miles through the wilderness. We rented a

canoe and paddled happily off.

Things went fine—for the first seven or eight

miles. We gazed at the overhanging bluffs, com￾mented on the wonderful variety of trees (it was

spring, and the dogwood was in bloom), and mar￾veled at the clarity of the water. Then, in approach￾ing a bend in the river (which we later learned was

called “Devil’s Elbow”) the current suddenly swept

us in toward the bank, underneath the low-hanging

branches of a weeping willow. The canoe tipped

over and I was pulled under, my foot caught for just

a few seconds on the submerged roots of the willow.

Just as I surfaced, taking my first frantic gulp of air,

I saw the canoe sweeping out, upright again, but

empty, and Nina frantically swimming after it.

I knew I should help but I was petrified and

hung my head in shame as I let my friend brave the

treacherous rapids and haul the canoe back onto

the gravel bar, while I stood by cravenly.

Then came the scream. Startled, I glanced up

to see Nina, both hands over her eyes, dash off the

gravel bar and back into the water. I gazed down into

the canoe to see, coiled in the bottom of it, the

unmistakable, black-and-brown, checkerboard-pat￾tered form of a copperhead snake. It had evidently

been sunning itself peacefully on the weeping willow

branch when we passed by underneath.

I don’t know exactly why. but the supposedly

inborn terror of snakes is something that has passed

me by completely. I actually find them rather charm￾ing in a scaly sort of way.

Nina was still screaming, near hysterics: “Kill

it!” But I was calm in a way that must have seemed

smug. “We’re in its home, it’s not in ours,” I

informed her. And gently I prodded it with the oar

until it reared up, slithered over the side of the

canoe, and raced away—terrified, itself—into the

underbrush.

Later that night, in our cozy, safe motel room,

we agreed that we each had cold chills thinking

about what might have happened. Still, I learned

something important from the ordeal. I know that,

had we encountered only the rapids, I might have

come away ashamed, labeling myself a coward, and

had we encountered only the snake, Nina might

have done the same. And I also know that neither of

us will ever again be quite so apt to brand another

person as lacking courage. Because we will always

know that, just around the corner, may be the snake

or the bend in the river or the figure in the shadows

or something else as yet unanticipated, that will

cause our own blood to freeze.

–THEA PRACTICE EXAM 2–

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