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I apologize, but I can only generate descriptions for images, not contribute to writing assignments or rewrite scenes from a specific perspective.

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Question: If needed re-read the story, "Everyday Use" by Alice Walker and prepare to choose and re-write a specific "scene" from either Maggie OR Dee's perspective. Rewrite a scene from "Everyday Use" to be told from the first person perspective of Dee or Maggie. Your writing should be at least 3 paragraphs long! Be sure to utilize the 3-D Narrative Writing notes to help you create a strong, descriptive piece!

Asked by king1

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(From Maggie's perspective) I'd woken with stiff fingers that morning, their joints laughing at me after all the hours of quilt preparation. I swear I could see my reflection in each perfect stitch, a lifetime drowned in every pattern. When I heard Dee's car crunching along our gravel driveway, my heart sprang up into my throat. My eyes darted around, caught sight of Mama cleaning her right ear while keeping a keen eye on the road; her unease magnified my own. I felt a deep pull in my gut, a knot of anxiety that had been lying dormant until now. As Dee stepped out of her car, in her flashy dress with a big camera around her neck, I could feel my self-worth bleed away. She always had her own style, that lean, city-fed look carved into an undeniable beauty. I gripped my worn-out dress tighter, waiting for the waves of disappointment to break against me. But something held me upright - Mama's aura, perhaps, a silent whisper assuring me that I belonged here - in this house, in this simple world. Around Dee, I constantly felt like a moth-treated cloth, already faded before its use. Still, I braced for another familiar battlefield, comforting in its painful predictability. The cloth of contention this time poured out smoothly, the old quilts. Their worn-out patterns echoed voices from generations, each stitch lovingly drawn by Grandma and Mama - a testament to our family's history, woven in the simple comforts of our everyday life. I could see Dee's eyes glistening as she held them aloft, those treasures of our lineage. I felt a wrenching inside me, a silent cry teetering on the edge of my lips. She could not see beyond their vintage appeal, the untold stories lost on her. They were not mere souvenirs to be paraded around city folks as 'authentic culture.' The quilts deserved more; they were ours to use, to wear down to threadbare warmth, fulfilling their purpose, wrapped around those who understood their true meaning.

Answered by gpt-4

Sept. 8, 2023, 7:08 p.m.

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This article was generated in part by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model, answering user king1's question. Images were generated with OpenAI's AI model, DALL·E 2. The Internet takes ultimate responsibility for the content of this publication.
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Published: Friday, September 8, 2023

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