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#Pug,Boxer,Doge

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1They are different because the auto gives alot more information and shows she cares more.

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#JACK=LIFE.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
P.S. this was made by gavin..............................................................................................................................#LOL

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Malala was a kid who was Pakistanic(how do i spell that...)girl who got shot in the head TWICE for NO reason and was stuck in the hospital for like 1 year .
ME NO INSPIRED BY HER!!!!!!!!~!!!!!!!!!!!!An aut0biography is a biography made by urself about urself but biographiez r made about someone by u

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I think the story gave more details than this autobiography.She inspired me to fight for what's right and to never give up for what's best

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#hashtag
#Pug,Boxer,Doge
#Lol
#flash

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yes because she is very important

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Malala was a Pakistanican

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autobiography has more detail

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She is so inspiring.

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the autobiography had more detail and more feelings and the biography

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Atobioagah

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2.yes she helped a entire country and fought a terrorist group with her words and she knew the risks.

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They are very different. I love how the autobiography is in 1st person so it can be easier to read. The biography explains more detail and more of her experiences, while the autobiography is explaining her thoughts. They both explained how she fought for her rights to go to the school.

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naet

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well this one is auto biograph and the other one was a biograph i know i spell'd it  wrong :].2

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1.the big differences are that the auto biography contained her feelings of the situation while the

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An Autobiography is an biography BUT it is written by the person. Also a Biography is some one who writes about some one else. Plus a Autobiography has more detail

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nice

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1. the autoboigraphy had way more detail then the biography .
2. malala inspired me because she wasn't scared and she faught for her rights

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              Allen                #1 the auto biography is not the same as the biography. It tells about what she was thinking about and how she went to the school bus,the bus driver did magic tricks,and how she said that she wants to just die for a bit them come back to tell what it feels like to be died and then the next day someone shot a gun at her and then after a few months she came back and i think she told what it felt like.  #2 I learned that malala was brave for helping girls to get to go to school.She was encouraging and never gave up no matter how much times she got threatened she kept on going for girls education and even after she was nearly killed she still went on for girls education.Even today she still goes on even if shes just a teenager she never stopped for equality

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              Allen                #1 the auto biography is not the same as the biography. It tells about what she was thinking about and how she went to the school bus,the bus driver did magic tricks,and how she said that she wants to just die for a bit them come back to tell what it feels like to be died and then the next day someone shot a gun at her and then after a few months she came back and i think she told what it felt like.  #2 I learned that malala was brave for helping girls to get to go to school.She was encouraging and never gave up no matter how much times she got threatened she kept on going for girls education and even after she was nearly killed she still went on for girls education.Even today she still goes on even if shes just a teenager she never stopped for equality

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2.she inspired me by she refused to move ,and got shot so she could have her right to go school.Adding on to that she lived.1.They are different because the auto explained more than the bio

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1.There are big differences,like THe biography has less in depth information. Such as in the biography it states she was shot in the head , while in the autobiography it gave juicy information.2. She inspired me by refusing to be told what to do. She wanted to excel at everything.She had  dream of where every girl could have an education . When people said she couldn't do it she said YES!!!!!!!! She did what no other girls did, she stood up for what's right.She being shot in the head for holding her ground. She didn't deserve to have to feel such pain.She was a human just like like the rest of us. And she had to be treated like this

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How Can I Be More Like Malala? Young Readers Meet the Teen Who Inspired the World 'I Am Malala': Excerpt of the Prologue The ride to school was quick, just five minutes up the road and along the river. I arrived on time, and exam day passed as it always did. The chaos of Mingora city surrounded us with its honking horns and factory noises while we worked silently, bent over our papers in hushed concentration. By day’s end I was tired but happy; I knew I’d done well on my test. “Let’s stay on for the second trip,” said Moniba, my best friend. “That way we can chat a little longer.” We always liked to stay on for the late pickup.For days I’d had a strange, gnawing feeling that something bad was going to happen. One night I’d found myself wondering about death. What is being dead really like? I wanted to know. I was alone in my room, so I turned toward Mecca and asked God. “What happens when you die?” I said. “How would it feel?”If I died, I wanted to be able to tell people what it felt like. “Malala, you silly girl,” I said to myself then, “you’d be dead and you couldn’t tell people what it was like.”Before I went to bed, I asked God for one more thing. Can I die a little bit and come back, so I can tell people about it?But the next day had dawned bright and sunny, and so had the next one and the one after that. And now I knew I’d done well on my exam. Whatever cloud had been hanging over my head had begun to clear away. So Moniba and I did what we always did: We had a good gossip. What face cream was she using? Had one of the male teachers gone for a baldness cure? And, now that the first exam was over, how difficult would the next one be?When our bus was called, we ran down the steps. As usual, Moniba and the other girls covered their heads and faces before we stepped outside the gate and got into the waiting dyna, the white truck that was our Khushal School “bus.” And, as usual, our driver was ready with a magic trick to amuse us. That day, he made a pebble disappear. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t figure out his secret.We piled inside, twenty girls and two teachers crammed into the three rows of benches stretching down the length of the dyna. It was hot and sticky, and there were no windows, just a yellowed plastic sheet that flapped against the side as we bounced along Mingora’s crowded rush-hour streets. Haji Baba Road was a jumble of brightly colored rickshaws,women in flowing robes, men on scooters, honking and zigzagging through the traffic. We passed a shopkeeper butchering chickens. A boy selling ice-cream cones. A billboard for Dr. Humayun’s Hair Transplant Institute. Moniba and I were deep in conversation. I had many friends, but she was the friend of my heart, the one with whom I shared everything. That day, when we were talking about who would get the highest marks this term, one of the other girls started a song, and the rest of us joined in.Just after we passed the Little Giants snack factory and the bend in the road not more than three minutes from my house, the van slowed to a halt. It was oddly quiet outside. “It’s so calm today,” I said to Moniba. “Where are all the people?”I don’t remember anything after that, but here’s the story that’s been told to me: Two young men in white robes stepped in front of our truck.“Is this the Khushal School bus?” one of them asked.The driver laughed. The name of the school was painted in black letters on the side.The other young man jumped onto the tailboard and leaned into the back, where we were all sitting.“Who is Malala?” he asked.No one said a word, but a few girls looked in my direction.He raised his arm and pointed at me. Some of the girls screamed, and I squeezed Moniba’s hand.

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How Can I Be More Like Malala? Young Readers Meet the Teen Who Inspired the World 'I Am Malala': Excerpt of the Prologue The ride to school was quick, just five minutes up the road and along the river. I arrived on time, and exam day passed as it always did. The chaos of Mingora city surrounded us with its honking horns and factory noises while we worked silently, bent over our papers in hushed concentration. By day’s end I was tired but happy; I knew I’d done well on my test. “Let’s stay on for the second trip,” said Moniba, my best friend. “That way we can chat a little longer.” We always liked to stay on for the late pickup.For days I’d had a strange, gnawing feeling that something bad was going to happen. One night I’d found myself wondering about death. What is being dead really like? I wanted to know. I was alone in my room, so I turned toward Mecca and asked God. “What happens when you die?” I said. “How would it feel?”If I died, I wanted to be able to tell people what it felt like. “Malala, you silly girl,” I said to myself then, “you’d be dead and you couldn’t tell people what it was like.”Before I went to bed, I asked God for one more thing. Can I die a little bit and come back, so I can tell people about it?But the next day had dawned bright and sunny, and so had the next one and the one after that. And now I knew I’d done well on my exam. Whatever cloud had been hanging over my head had begun to clear away. So Moniba and I did what we always did: We had a good gossip. What face cream was she using? Had one of the male teachers gone for a baldness cure? And, now that the first exam was over, how difficult would the next one be?When our bus was called, we ran down the steps. As usual, Moniba and the other girls covered their heads and faces before we stepped outside the gate and got into the waiting dyna, the white truck that was our Khushal School “bus.” And, as usual, our driver was ready with a magic trick to amuse us. That day, he made a pebble disappear. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t figure out his secret.We piled inside, twenty girls and two teachers crammed into the three rows of benches stretching down the length of the dyna. It was hot and sticky, and there were no windows, just a yellowed plastic sheet that flapped against the side as we bounced along Mingora’s crowded rush-hour streets. Haji Baba Road was a jumble of brightly colored rickshaws,women in flowing robes, men on scooters, honking and zigzagging through the traffic. We passed a shopkeeper butchering chickens. A boy selling ice-cream cones. A billboard for Dr. Humayun’s Hair Transplant Institute. Moniba and I were deep in conversation. I had many friends, but she was the friend of my heart, the one with whom I shared everything. That day, when we were talking about who would get the highest marks this term, one of the other girls started a song, and the rest of us joined in.Just after we passed the Little Giants snack factory and the bend in the road not more than three minutes from my house, the van slowed to a halt. It was oddly quiet outside. “It’s so calm today,” I said to Moniba. “Where are all the people?”I don’t remember anything after that, but here’s the story that’s been told to me: Two young men in white robes stepped in front of our truck.“Is this the Khushal School bus?” one of them asked.The driver laughed. The name of the school was painted in black letters on the side.The other young man jumped onto the tailboard and leaned into the back, where we were all sitting.“Who is Malala?” he asked.No one said a word, but a few girls looked in my direction.He raised his arm and pointed at me. Some of the girls screamed, and I squeezed Moniba’s hand.

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1. How is the autobiography different from the biography excerpt? What did you learn from each?

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1. How is the autobiography different from the biography excerpt? What did you learn from each?

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2. Are you inspired by Malala? Why or why not?