Somewhere in a classroom near you, there is a middle school history teacher who loves to get her students excited from inside the project they're about to start. What I mean to say is that she works hard to put the student in the story from the very beginning. She relishes the first few minutes of introducing the topic to the students and works hard to find ways to keep students on the edges of their seats.
She moves around the room in a manner befitting the story. Some days she walks slowly and mournfully, while other days, she flits quickly around the room, eyes flashing with her voice echoing the mysteries of years and civilizations past. Watching each student carefully, she weaves her words carefully, revealing the juiciest portions of history's story, tantalizing her students to ask questions, to want to know more. Sometimes she answers those questions which spill forth from an eager student's lips moments before her story takes a turn to sweep up that very bit of detail into the fabric of her story. Sometimes her passion for the tale wells up through her eyes and causes her voice to waver for a moment. But that only creates goosebumps on her children's skin as they see that the story means so much to this wonderfully odd lady.
And just when the students can't wait a moment more for the story's conclusion, she pauses and smiles, knowingly. The students breathlessly ask, "What happened?" And at that point in the pause, smoothly, she caps off the project launch.
She lies to her students.
With that mischievous smile and teasing voice, she says, "I don't know. We have to find out!"
Little pockets of breath are exhaled forcefully and the students are hooked. They are compelled to do whatever it takes to know the rest of the story.