English Language Arts: Revision Skills (TEKS.ELA.9-12.10.C)
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Texas High School ELA › English Language Arts: Revision Skills (TEKS.ELA.9-12.10.C)
Readers say the speaker desires escape and also not-escape, which, in the poem about a train window (which is not exactly a train, but a conceptual vehicle, maybe), creates a liminal effect that is, like, super present. The imagery is metonymy, except when it is synecdoche, which it probably is most of the time, though the poet—who might be the narrator, although they are not the same—keeps talking to you, which could be us but could be the self as other. This doubleness is really important and is probably why the ending lands: it lands because of a turn that turns back, a chiasmus of vibe. While the structure is stanzaic, while the line breaks torque the syntax, while the diction is plain yet ornate, while the tension is unresolved, while the diction is plain yet ornate, the poem nevertheless resolves by not resolving, which is the main thing that it does.
Which revision best reduces repetition, clarifies literary terms and references, and improves organization while preserving the nuanced claim about the poem's doubled desire and unresolved resolution?
The poem stages a doubled desire: the speaker wants to depart and to remain. Framed through a windowed journey, the second-person address oscillates between an imagined reader and a self cast as other. Much of the imagery works by synecdoche—parts (the hand on glass, the blur of fields) standing for the whole act of leaving—though occasional metonymies complicate that pattern. The ending turns and then deliberately returns, a restrained chiasmus that affirms tension rather than closure. Organized in tight stanzas whose line breaks torque syntax, the poem's plain diction accrues elegance without ornament. It resolves by articulating its refusal to resolve.
The poem is about leaving, and the speaker wants to get away. The window image tells us that leaving is the theme. The poet talks to you, the reader, and that's the main technique. The structure is stanzas and the diction is plain. In conclusion, the poem ends the way it ends, which is the point.
The poet, which is the narrator (they are identical anyway), uses metonymy, not synecdoche, everywhere: the train is a vehicle for the vehicle of thought. The address to you is just the writer talking to themselves, and the ending is closure that denies ambiguity. Therefore, the poem is actually resolved.
While the poem uses imagery, while the poem uses address, while the poem uses structure, while the poem uses diction, while the poem uses tension, it still ends unresolved. The writer wants to go and not go, which is interesting and creates liminality. The poem does this through language and devices.
Explanation
Choice A clarifies terms (distinguishing synecdoche from metonymy), fixes vague references, reduces redundancy, and organizes the analysis logically while preserving the nuanced claim about doubled desire and deliberate irresolution. B oversimplifies and loses the complex argument; C changes the interpretation entirely; D keeps repetitive structure and imprecision without resolving organizational issues.
Because the grid did not fail everywhere in the same way, the recent rulemaking intends to resolve it with comprehensiveness, which results in requirements that are both prescriptive and aspirational, and this makes stakeholders satisfied and not. The weatherization thing is specified for generators, except when it's guidance, and the timeline is hard until it becomes phased, which creates a mismatch that we keep calling alignment. The market redesign is said to procure firmness, a word that does not mean only firmness, and load-serving entities are told to buy it, which could be capacity or insurance, depending. Texans are promised reliability at least cost, which also does not mean at least cost. In practice, the rules ask rural co-ops and urban retailers to do the same things differently, and this is equitable, people say. If the Commission does this like this, we will get the thing that fixes the other thing.
Which revision most improves clarity of references, defines key terms, and organizes the policy argument without altering the author's core position on Texas grid winterization and market design?
Since failures varied, the new rules must be comprehensive. The weatherization thing will be done by generators, and timelines will be enforced. Firmness is required, and companies will get it. Texans will see reliability at least cost. Everyone will do the same things, which is fair. This will fix the grid.
Because complexity causes confusion, we should abandon market redesign and simply return to full central planning of the Texas grid. Weatherization can wait until after prices are stabilized. Equity means sameness, so all entities should have identical obligations.
The grid had uneven failures, so rules must be aspirational and prescriptive; therefore, guidance should be guidance unless it isn't. Firmness is important, which might mean many things, and we want reliability at least cost, which might not be cheap. Rural co-ops and urban retailers can be equal by doing different things the same way. This alignment will fix the thing.
Because failures differed by region and asset type, the rules should separate binding standards from advisory guidance and match timelines to feasibility. Weatherization requirements for generators need hard deadlines and verification; discretionary practices should be labeled as such. In market design, define firmness as a specific reliability product and specify whether purchases function as capacity or hedging, so load-serving entities know what to procure. Finally, calibrate compliance pathways for rural co-ops and urban retailers to achieve comparable reliability without identical burdens. These steps align policy with outcomes while honoring the promise of reliability at the lowest practicable cost.
Explanation
Choice D clarifies vague pronouns and terms, separates standards from guidance, defines the contested term, improves organization (problem–clarification–solution), and preserves the author's nuanced stance. A is vague and reductive; B changes the policy position; C repeats confusion and leaves terms undefined.
On the night the storm rehearsed its arguments, the windows breathed, which was the house's way of remembering, or mine, or both, and the power blinked like an eyelid that wanted to mean something else entirely. I was older then and younger now; time folded like warm tortillas, which is to say: tender, or looping, or torn, or edible. The dogs made a sound that was a chord if chords could be fear. It was never about the weather, except the radar was a carnival and the sirens were processional and the word safe had suitcases. I walked from room to room carrying the flashlight, which was a lighthouse, which was a lie. After, the yard smelled metallic and also sweet, and the fence leaned the way an exhausted person leans on another who might be a fence. Nothing fell, but something had been dropped.
Which revision best reduces mixed metaphors, varies sentence structure, and clarifies images while preserving the piece's reflective mood and complex meaning?
That night there was a storm. The windows moved because of wind. I felt strange. The dogs were scared. The sirens were loud. I walked around with a flashlight. Afterward the yard smelled different and the fence leaned. Nothing major happened.
That night the storm argued at the glass, and the house seemed to remember. Power flickered. I felt time crease—tender and looping. The dogs' low howls braided into one uneasy note. It wasn't only weather: radar spun, sirens passed, and the word safe felt packed and ready. I walked the rooms with a flashlight that steadied more than it promised. Afterward, the yard smelled metallic and faintly sweet. The fence leaned into itself, as if tired. Nothing broke, yet something had clearly been let go.
On the argumentative storm-night, which is when windows breathed, the house remembered, which is me, which is also both, and then time folded like tortillas and also like paper and also like laundry. The dogs made fear-sound. The sirens were processional but fun, like a carnival. The flashlight was a lighthouse, a torch, a signal, a star.
It was about the weather after all. Storms do damage, and this one did too. The dog sounds were a chord in the key of fear. I carried a flashlight that was definitely a lighthouse, guiding me through this oceanic home. Time was a tortilla, edible but torn, which shows the author's hunger.
Explanation
Choice B preserves the reflective tone and central meanings while pruning mixed metaphors, clarifying referents, and varying sentences for rhythm and clarity. A drains imagery and engagement; C increases clutter and repetition; D alters meaning and extends strained metaphors, introducing new problems.
Members of the district board, in deliberating on the impending reconfiguration of the dual-language grant cycle, I am compelled to articulate that the program's continuation is not only a benefit but also a necessity, and this, which has already demonstrated outcomes in literature scores and parent engagement, would be diminished if this is paused. The community (particularly small businesses that utilize bilingual staff to scaffold tourism during festival seasons along River Walk-like corridors) anticipates graduates who can code-switch with grace, which is not merely cultural flourish but also economic infrastructure. Yet the memo that went out last month suggested that "realignment" might consolidate campuses; such a move, while fiscally concise, would, by concentrating, dilute. We should instead ameliorate resource disparities, not remove the mechanism. In talking with families, they said it feels like the ladder is being pulled just as they start climbing, and this is a perception that matters.
Which revision most effectively improves clarity, organization, diction, and sentence variety while preserving the letter's complex intent?
Retain and strengthen the district's dual-language program during the grant reconfiguration. The program has improved reading scores and increased family participation, and local employers rely on graduates who move between Spanish and English during festival seasons. Last month's memo proposed consolidating campuses; that step would reduce access for families who cannot travel farther and would weaken the community ties that sustain the program. Instead, direct resources to campuses with shortages in certified teachers and materials, and publish a clear timeline so families know what to expect. This approach protects proven academic gains, supports neighborhood economies, and honors commitments already made.
Because budgets must come first, the district should consolidate dual-language campuses until costs stabilize. Once savings are realized, we can explore expansion and community partnerships to offset any short-term loss of access.
The dual-language program should be continued because it is good and necessary. It helps scores, and it helps businesses. The memo said "realignment," so we should ameliorate disparities and not remove mechanisms that are useful to stakeholders.
Please consult the attached charts of literacy gains and a compiled list of festivals that use bilingual staff. The data are self-explanatory; accordingly, I defer further argument until the next meeting.
Explanation
Choice A clarifies vague references (this, realignment), organizes claims logically, varies sentence structure, and replaces imprecise diction, all while preserving the original advocacy for maintaining and resourcing the dual-language program. The others either change the meaning (B), fix little while keeping jargon and ambiguity (C), or evade the argument and reduce engagement (D).
Although critics often claim the novella's chronology is fragmented, the real texture is syntactic: the narrator's spiraling sentences turn memory into momentum. This is why the scene by the river, which is earlier-but-later, matters; it, and the way it speaks, show how time is being not only told but also made. The paper will demonstrate that analepsis and prolepsis are not decorative but structural, except the terms are sometimes used interchangeably by readers, which is understandable but not helpful. This demonstrates a thing about reliability and also about ethics, because if the narrator cannot tell whether the clock chimed or didn't, then we, which is the audience, must decide if believing is an act of complicity. I will, in what follows, discuss three passages, and they are chosen because they are clear examples, and also because they have water, which, as some scholars suggest, is the book's most present absence.
Which revision most effectively addresses unclear references, misused critical terms, repetitive phrasing, and weak organization while preserving the essay's complex claim?
The story uses time for suspense, and the narrator is not reliable. I will look at three scenes to show this. Readers must decide what to believe, which raises questions about ethics and attention.
This essay argues that the novella's circling sentences create its experience of dislocated time. In the river scene—narrated later though set earlier—syntax turns recollection into event. I define analepsis (a return to earlier events) and prolepsis (a glance forward) as structural devices, not ornament. Across three passages, I track how uncertain details—the chimes, the current—test the narrator's reliability and pose ethical questions about what readers choose to accept. By organizing the analysis in plot order while quoting the narration as written, I show how form and time interlock.
I will use analepsis to mean flashback and prolepsis to mean flashforward, but I may switch if the text requires it. This essay will then discuss three watery passages and also the clock scene, which shows something about ethics.
Contrary to common opinion, the novella's time scheme is linear and transparent; the long sentences are decorative and unrelated to ethics. My argument focuses on plot accuracy rather than the narrator's claims.
Explanation
Choice B defines terms precisely, fixes vague pronouns and filler, organizes the analysis coherently, and keeps the original sophisticated thesis about syntax, time, and ethics. A oversimplifies and drains nuance, C tinkers with terminology without solving organization or clarity, and D alters the central claim.
In the hour when the pecan trees exhaled their pollen like fine chalk, the storm leaned its elbows on the horizon and then jumped the fence. I tried to count the seconds between flash and report, but the arithmetic kept changing its mind; it was a fickle numerator. The house, which had been patient all summer, sighed in its studs. I told it we were almost through with this, though what "this" was kept slipping—heat? grief? the waiting after a cancellation that no one had announced? My cousin's text pinged like a dropped penny in a well, which was a simile my grandmother would have scolded for showing off, and then I remembered her, or the idea of her, and felt somebody's shade sitting down. The rain arrived in paragraphs, and then, in another kind of syntax, it amounted to confession, and it was like the power line made a creek of light.
Which revision best retains the passage's layered meaning while reducing mixed metaphors, clarifying references, improving organization, and varying sentences?
The storm began. I counted seconds between lightning and thunder. The house creaked. A text came from my cousin. It rained hard. I thought of my grandmother. The power line sparked. We waited. Then it ended.
We were almost through with this storm, which was grief, or maybe heat, or perhaps waiting; it was all three, which proves storms are metaphors that jump fences while also sitting down like shades and making creeks of light with power lines.
As pollen lifted from the pecan trees, the storm crossed the horizon and came on. I tried to count the seconds between flash and thunder, but the math refused to hold steady. The house, patient all summer, sighed. We were almost through this stretch of heat and worry—that was the "this" I meant. My cousin's text chimed; I thought of my grandmother and felt her nearness. The rain arrived in steady pulses, then gathered into a fuller voice, like a confession. For a moment the power line flared, a brief ribbon of light.
As pollen lifted, the storm, which leaned its elbows on the horizon, jumped the fence; the arithmetic, which changed its mind, was a fickle numerator; the house, which had been patient, sighed; the rain, which arrived in paragraphs, made a creek of light.
Explanation
Choice C preserves the imagery and reflective tone but clarifies the antecedent of "this," trims mixed metaphors, sequences events coherently, and varies sentence rhythm. A flattens the style and ideas, B amplifies confusion and over-explains the metaphor, and D keeps the original tics and clutter.
Municipalities across the Gulf Coast are discussing reflective roofing mandates, but the proposal's explanation, as circulated, diffuses attention from the technical rationale. Peak demand, which ERCOT models as headed upward on late-summer afternoons, collides with roof surfaces that, in Houston especially, re-radiate stored heat into the boundary layer, so the grid is not only strained but trained into crisis. While a highly albedoed assembly can lower surface temperatures, some drafts of the ordinance wobble between $R$-value claims and solar reflectance, and then this slips into talk of glare and pilots near Hobby, which is adjacent but not the governing issue. The memo also repeats, three times, that "taxpayers win," which isn't a metric. What is needed is an explanation that sequences benefits (thermal comfort, demand reduction, durability) and pairs them with costs (retrofit, maintenance) while noting state guidelines on building envelopes; otherwise, residents will read the policy as cosmetic rather than structural.
Which revision most effectively clarifies technical terms, removes digressions, sequences claims and evidence, and preserves the policy's precise intent?
Given glare risks near airports and driver safety concerns, the city should prohibit high-reflectance roofs and focus solely on adding thicker insulation with higher $R$-values. Taxpayers win when we avoid experimental mandates.
High albedo means reflectance, and $R$-value is insulation. The ordinance should mention both and define the boundary layer, which is the air near the ground that has turbulence and stability connected to convection and diffusion.
Residents should trust that the city has modeled demand correctly. The memo lists benefits, costs, and state rules in a single overview paragraph to save space and avoid confusion about pilots and glare.
Explain the mandate with a clear sequence. First, distinguish $R$-value (resistance to conductive heat flow) from solar reflectance (fraction of sunlight reflected). Then connect reflective roofs to reduced late-afternoon cooling loads in Houston's heat island, using peak-demand data. Address the glare concern briefly as outside the policy's scope. Finally, pair benefits—lower indoor temperatures, demand reduction, longer membrane life—with costs—retrofit complexity and maintenance—and cite relevant state envelope guidelines. This framing keeps the policy's aim technical and persuasive.
Explanation
Choice D fixes terminology, removes the airport digression, orders the reasoning, and pairs benefits with costs while keeping the proposal's intent intact. A reverses the stance and changes meaning, B defines terms without organizing the argument, and C compresses content in a way that obscures clarity and evidence.