Open Question: cardiovascular news report topic and designing a hook for your news report.?
this is what i did, but my teacher took points off, some help please?
Cardiovascular diseases [CVDs], too young to die?
Today, Tomorrow, Who will be Next!
By 2030, almost 23.6 million people will die from CVDs, mainly from heart disease and stroke.
11/13/2009
name
DIRECTIONS:
determining your cardiovascular news report topic and designing a hook for your news report.
When we watch television, there are often commercials or media clips provided by the network that are designed to get us interested in upcoming shows or stories. These attention-grabbing methods are referred to as the hook of the story and are designed to grab a viewer’s attention. A hook will often incorporate an introductory statement, shocking statistics, or ?sneak peak? of the broadcast.
1. Choose the cardiovascular topic for which you will complete your news report. You might consider focusing your news report on the importance of the cardiovascular system and fitness, choosing cardiovascular activity at different life stages, the importance of monitoring your heart rate, or cardiovascular diseases and prevention. If you have difficulty deciding on a topic for your broadcast, be sure to talk with your instructor for ideas.
2. View sample hooks.
3. Create a hook that you will use to introduce your news report that will engage and hook your audience. In your hook you may wish to include a shocking statistic, a quote from a celebrity or trusted public person, an outrageous comment, a related event, an interesting fact, or an unanswered question. Keep your hook short. You want to tease viewers with just enough information to keep them watching.
Mon, 23 Nov 2009 05:43:51 GMT
Open Question: Is this not the longest poem you have ever seen within reason?
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore –
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
” ‘T is some visitor, ” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door–
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore–
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore–
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before:
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating.
” ‘T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door–
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door–
That it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
“Sir, ” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore:
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”– here I opened wide the door–
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering fearing.
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before:
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word “Lenore!”–
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore–
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore–
‘T is the wind an nothing more!”
Open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door–
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just a bove my chamber door–
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore–
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door–
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpoor.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered–
Till I scarcely more then muttered, “Other friends have flown before –
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utteres is it only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never - nevermore.’”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door,
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore–
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er
But whose velvet-violet lining with lamp-light gloating o’er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God has lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite the nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet
Mon, 23 Nov 2009 04:16:55 GMT
