BOB, ABE and PAM

A BOB:
Someone who tells you you can't do something, someone who you want to think good of you. This person criticizes you and haunts you until you no longer believe in your dream. But, being a BOB, them criticizing you, although they don't know it, and maybe you don't, makes you want your dream more, often making you succeed. A BOB usually wants to be what you are too, and can't succeed, and makes them self feel better by hurting you. In other words, Do it for BOB!
Boastful
Oblivious
Backbiting

An ABE:
Someone who over-exaggerates you. There is nothing wrong with telling someone that their work is very pretty, or their writing is good when it isn't, to make them feel better, but an ABE make you have false expectations of your work. They don't say: "If you keep writing, you will make it someday," they say "You writing is the best I have ever read. It is even better than Jane Austen, my all time-favorite author. Listen to them, but only some parts. You will make it someday if you keep writing, but you need to remember that you have to keep trying.
Amazing
Brilliant
Extravagant

A PAM:
A PAM is the middle, the perfectly balanced. They tell you to keep going, that your work is great, but they give you feed back to help your writing. Everyone wants a PAM in their head. Sadly, lots of people shut them out.
Practical
Authentic
Middle-balanced

These are listed in order of how good they are, although ABE and BOB are almost just as bad as each other, it is better to have an ABE. you need to listen to both to be a PAM, and you need to be a PAM to finish, publish and sell your work! If you think your story isn't working, change your point of view as much as your story.

Prompt:
1. Make BOB, ABE and PAM into real people, with the same personalities. See what happens when you flesh them out.
2. Write down ten people who are very important in your life. Here is an example:
Mum, Dad, Best friend, friend,enemy, teacher, teacher,  Friend's Parents, Family friends, close other relatives. Write next to their names if they are a BOB, ABE, or a PAM, or if they don't really pay much attention to your writing. Write a sentence or two about why you chose that for them. If they have no involvement in your work, try telling them about it. If they are a BOB, and you think they could change, ask them what you could do to improve. If their answer is sarcastic, ignore them. They don't deserve to be part of your writing. If you think they are a PAM, show them your work, and keep note of the advice they give you!

Cross Country training-A true story

I wrote this for the meadowbank school 2012 year six end of year magazine- I hope you like it!

I dragged my feet reluctantly to the finish line, swallowing the bile that had risen inside my throat, anticipating what lay ahead. Exhaustion. De-hydration, possibly death.

I could hear Miss Fridd’s voice in the background, but what she was saying was muffled by the blood pumping in my ears, making me almost deaf.

My only sign that the death march had started was the other victims were running around me. Without warning, I realized my feet were moving as well, and at a dangerously fast pace, using up large amounts of my almost non-existent energy.

Everyone seemed to be in front of me. In what little thoughts I had, other than to keep running, I wondered how they were moving so fast without collapsing.

My arms pumped hard, threatening to elbow, and severely injure anyone who might have been lapping me. I could feel, rather than hear my short, jiggered breath as it passed through my dry throat.

My legs were screaming, refusing to go any more than a few centimeters with each step. I couldn’t start walking, not on my first lap, but I doubted I could have stopped them without collapsing on the spot. I resisted the long trip to the water fountain, which seemed like miles, not wanting a stitch.

That was when my pains activated. I put a hand to the place where my neck joined my shoulder, my skin clammy and cold, and would have winced, if not for my already cringed brow. Again, it was aching. 

I moved my hand back and forth, squeezing all the pressure points. Adding to the protests in my leg, a string had been attached from my thigh to my knee, and every time I moved, it was pulled taught. I squeezed my eye lids tight to avoid screaming out in agony.

I passed Miss Fridd, her voice screaming something to me, but I couldn’t hear. Probably shouting for me to keep going, and if I had had enough energy, I would have sighed.

My friends were all running towards me, and automatically, my mouth opened to shout congratulations to my friends, making myself feel miserable.

I started to despair over ever breathing again. All I was doing now was short gasps off air, barely enough to keep me from blacking me out.

Everything was going blurred. The passing figures were bursts of colour, and black spots were appearing everywhere, and bile rose into my mouth. I quickly swallowed it, and reached out for the nearest thing to steady me.

I fairly crawled the next few meters, before I set off again. My only hope was to get there fast, and put an end to what seemed this ever-lasting torture.

If possible, I was running even slower than before, my feet barely moving as I threw them down in front of me.

Slowly a specific figure became more focused, and I realized who it was. Jacqui, who had slowed down since I last saw her, was running at the same pace as I, or at least as close as she could get. I do not think it is possible to be running as slow, or slower, than I was.

She passed over a few jokes about how slow we were, and I laughed, although the laughter hurt my ribs, and I tried to resist the urge to laugh again, managing only in returning a comment.

Jacqui suggested running and walking, although I couldn’t tell her when we were walking that I was truly jogging, and when running, well, I suppose she noticed I was moving slower than her walk.

We passed Miss Fridd, who was screaming again. This time, I was able to make out some words like ‘run’ ‘walk’, and ‘keep going.’ As if we weren’t doing that already.

I wanted to sit down, relax, die, anything but run another lap, but my legs kept moving down the track, knowing that I had to ‘keep going.’

I was so exhausted, what before slightly resembled breathing, now more resembled grunting. Eventually, Jacqui said she wanted to run the rest of the way. I tried. I failed. She ran on ahead. Once at the top of the hill, which seemed more like a mountain, I started to run about as fast as a snail, then I stopped. I tried again, this time running more the pace of a dead snail, barely moving at all.

I carried on, my senses dull, all energy lost, and body aching. I went on for what seemed a life time before I reached what I supposed, was the end. Miss Fridd was screaming again, and I guess I did what she was telling me to do, because two words escaped my deafness. “You’re finished.”

I wanted to collapse, stop breathing, close my eyes for good, anything but walk back to class.