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| Chapter Books and Easy readers: Samples of text |
Excerpt from The Diary of Jarrod Crisp,
a humorous story with an environmental
twist.
a humorous story with an environmental
twist.
Sunday, 6th June, 11:53 pm
Service Station in Mareeba
Finally! We’re on our way to Cape York.
I’m looking for bunyips and Uncle Dave’s looking for Golden-shouldered Parrots. They’re endangered.
He’s writing an article about them for Mum’s magazine.
Uncle Dave always takes me on his research trips. I’m a good camper and I keep a journal. Uncle
Dave says that if I’m writing everything down, he doesn't have to remember as much. It saves him brain space.
I have to write fast while Uncle Dave is getting fuel. I wish I could write while we’re driving, but the Land
Rover’s too bumpy. My head’s hit the roof three times, and we’re not even off the bitumen yet.
When I can’t write, I practice my whistling. I might be getting better but it’s hard to tell. I sound like ‘PHHHHHT’
and I have to keep wiping off the windscreen so I can see.
We left home about an hour ago. Mum was on her way to the magazine, but she had time to check
that we had about seven changes of clothes, food for a month, three extra torches and twelve packets of
batteries.
We’re only going for four days.
She said, ‘Look after each other,’ like she always does, but this time she put both hands on my
shoulders and said, “Do not go swimming.” Her nose was cold when it touched mine and she said
“Anywhere.” I could smell her morning coffee.
Yeah, Mum. Like I would. I might want to see a bunyip, but I do not want to be eaten by a crocodile.
Cape York Peninsula has heaps of crocodiles. The freshwater crocs are ok. They’re smaller and not as scary
as the saltwater ones. Saltwater crocodiles can get huge, up to six metres. They aren’t afraid of soft, squishy
humans, especially if we happen to be in their territory. Mum doesn’t have to worry. I will not be swimming.
Service Station in Mareeba
Finally! We’re on our way to Cape York.
I’m looking for bunyips and Uncle Dave’s looking for Golden-shouldered Parrots. They’re endangered.
He’s writing an article about them for Mum’s magazine.
Uncle Dave always takes me on his research trips. I’m a good camper and I keep a journal. Uncle
Dave says that if I’m writing everything down, he doesn't have to remember as much. It saves him brain space.
I have to write fast while Uncle Dave is getting fuel. I wish I could write while we’re driving, but the Land
Rover’s too bumpy. My head’s hit the roof three times, and we’re not even off the bitumen yet.
When I can’t write, I practice my whistling. I might be getting better but it’s hard to tell. I sound like ‘PHHHHHT’
and I have to keep wiping off the windscreen so I can see.
We left home about an hour ago. Mum was on her way to the magazine, but she had time to check
that we had about seven changes of clothes, food for a month, three extra torches and twelve packets of
batteries.
We’re only going for four days.
She said, ‘Look after each other,’ like she always does, but this time she put both hands on my
shoulders and said, “Do not go swimming.” Her nose was cold when it touched mine and she said
“Anywhere.” I could smell her morning coffee.
Yeah, Mum. Like I would. I might want to see a bunyip, but I do not want to be eaten by a crocodile.
Cape York Peninsula has heaps of crocodiles. The freshwater crocs are ok. They’re smaller and not as scary
as the saltwater ones. Saltwater crocodiles can get huge, up to six metres. They aren’t afraid of soft, squishy
humans, especially if we happen to be in their territory. Mum doesn’t have to worry. I will not be swimming.
Excerpt from Long-Leg Gloption.
a humorous story about magic gone
wrong
a humorous story about magic gone
wrong
Jackson was the only wizard at Deep Puddle Elementary School. He wasn't like the other wizards he
knew. He didn't make worms dance or frogs sing. He didn't turn puppies into unicorns or canaries into eagles.
Jackson made gloptions.
A gloption is thicker, gooier and quite a bit smellier than a potion. Jackson had a gloption for itches and
one for skinned knees. He had a gloption that helped with math and a gloption that made you want to eat
cabbage. He even had a gloption that stopped Aunt Clara's lipstick from sticking to your face.
“There is a gloption for everything,” Jackson said.
One day on his way to school, Jackson passed two skinny legs hiding in a bush. He peeked through the
leaves.
“Who’s in there?” he said.
The bush jiggled. “It’s me,” Simon Pillbox whispered. “I’m hiding from Big Bruce.”
“Is he twirling you again?” Jackson frowned.
Simon Pillbox nodded. “Whenever he sees me, he yells ‘Airplane ride!’ Then he grabs me under the
arms and swings me around. I hate those rides. They make me feel sick."
Jackson helped Simon out of the bush.
“Have you told him to stop?” he said.
Simon shook his head. “No.”
“So tell him.” Jackson said.
“He’ll get mad," Simon said
“You need a gloption.” Jackson tapped his chin.
knew. He didn't make worms dance or frogs sing. He didn't turn puppies into unicorns or canaries into eagles.
Jackson made gloptions.
A gloption is thicker, gooier and quite a bit smellier than a potion. Jackson had a gloption for itches and
one for skinned knees. He had a gloption that helped with math and a gloption that made you want to eat
cabbage. He even had a gloption that stopped Aunt Clara's lipstick from sticking to your face.
“There is a gloption for everything,” Jackson said.
One day on his way to school, Jackson passed two skinny legs hiding in a bush. He peeked through the
leaves.
“Who’s in there?” he said.
The bush jiggled. “It’s me,” Simon Pillbox whispered. “I’m hiding from Big Bruce.”
“Is he twirling you again?” Jackson frowned.
Simon Pillbox nodded. “Whenever he sees me, he yells ‘Airplane ride!’ Then he grabs me under the
arms and swings me around. I hate those rides. They make me feel sick."
Jackson helped Simon out of the bush.
“Have you told him to stop?” he said.
Simon shook his head. “No.”
“So tell him.” Jackson said.
“He’ll get mad," Simon said
“You need a gloption.” Jackson tapped his chin.