To Write a Narrative

1. Question the communication situation.
   • Subject:Who is the story’s real or imagined main character (it may be you)?
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     To Write a Narrative

     1. Question the communication situation.
        • Subject: Who is the story’s real or imagined main character (it may be you)? What other characters are involved?
        • Purpose: Why are you writing this narrative? To reflect on an event? To share a story? To examine what a character learns?
        • Audience: Who will read the narrative?
     2. Plan your narrative.
        • What conflict or situation will the main character encounter?
        • What are the key plot points? How will the narrative begin, develop, and end? (See page 411 for the classic narrative structure.)
     3. Research the topic.
        • Searching: Consult primary and secondary sources as needed to learn about the location, setting, and other information that will make your narrative feel authentic and vivid.
        • Focusing: Decide on the tenor, or mood, for your narrative—tense, uneasy, fearful, happy, humorous, and so on.
        • Shaping: Consider the climax or outcome of the central conflict, during which the main character faces a great challenge and either succeeds or fails.
     4. Create the first draft.
        • Start by grabbing the reader’s attention, introducing the main character, setting the scene (location and time), and introducing conflict.
        • Follow with rising action that unfolds and builds the conflict.
        • Lead up to the climax, the most exciting part, where the main character confronts the situation head-on.
        • End with the resolution, showing how the character is changed by the events in the narrative.
     5. Improve your first draft.
        • Evaluate your first draft.

          Subject: Is the main character memorable?

          Purpose: Is the conflict interesting? Is the resolution revealing?

        • Revise your writing.

          Rewrite dialogue and action that does not fit the characters.

          Add missing details or background information.

        • Edit your revised writing.

          Replace general nouns and verbs with specific ones.

          Check your writing for accuracy.

     6. Present the final copy online or submit it to a contest.

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     Personal Narrative

     In this personal narrative, a student tells about what it was like to live through a tornado.

     Like a Freight Train Coming

     The beginning draws the reader in by starting in the middle of the action. The familiar scream of the tornado sirens was startling but not entirely unexpected. “A severe storm system is moving quickly southeast into our northeastern viewing area, producing hail, severe thunderstorms, and wind gusts exceeding 100 mph. Several funnels have been spotted near Montgomery and Labette counties,” cautioned a meteorologist from channel 7 not more than a half hour ago.

     It’s not like these warnings were uncommon. After all, this is Oklahoma, the heart of Tornado Alley. It wasn’t the first time we’d heard tornado sirens, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

     The writer provides context by sharing a flashback. A few years ago a mild twister passed through our city. We waited it out in our basement. It sounded no different than one of many severe storms passing through our area in mid-July—hissing winds, the patter of hail pelting windows, like a steady stream of paint balls. When the storm subsided, we peered outside to see uprooted trees, displaced branches, and a few shattered car windshields.

     Today felt like just another storm. It was dark, windy, and rainy, to be sure. Thunder cracked interminably, but it was nothing out of the ordinary, though our Jack Russell terrier, Bucky, whined and paced more feverishly than usual.

     The middle paragraphs begin to build suspense. I was sitting across from my dad at our kitchen table, methodically seizing control of Africa in an intense game of Risk, when we first heard the emergency sirens. Mom turned up the volume on the television to get the latest update when the lights began to flicker.

     “Better grab the flashlights and head downstairs,” Dad said.

     “But what about our game? I was about to conquer the world!” I protested to no avail.

     On our way to the staircase, I caught a glimpse outside. The sky had turned from dark gray to dark black to dark green, and rain whipped sideways.

     Mom, Dad, Bucky, and I quickened our pace down the stairs, trotted through our carpeted television and game room—my favorite room in the house—and into our windowless concrete storeroom. Tension increases, leading the reader toward the climax.

     Shortly after we closed and locked the door, we lost power, and the room went black. Above us I could hear what sounded like a train in the distance.

      

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     “It’s a twister,” Dad said calmly. Mom nodded in agreement, though she didn’t look so calm in the dim beam of the flashlight. The sound began to intensify, like the train was rolling closer. It grew louder and louder, and the ceiling began to shake. This was nothing like my first tornado experience.

     The narrative reaches its climax. Now I was officially scared, and I gripped a squirming Bucky tightly. Mom and Dad huddled next to me, as the sound turned more and more deafening, louder than any freight train I’d ever heard. For the next minute, it felt as if the whole world were shaking. I closed my eyes. My mind was numb.

     The next paragraphs offer the resolution. Then everything stopped. Silence blanketed the room.

     “Is everyone okay?” my dad finally asked, his voice barely recognizable. I’d never heard him so rattled.

     We all responded, “Yes.”

     After a few minutes of mostly stunned silence, we made our way back up the stairs. Most of the picture frames had fallen off the walls. Tiny red and blue Risk soldiers were scattered across the kitchen floor, accompanied by remnants of broken white dishes. Some drawers were half open, some cupboard doors were completely unhinged.

     Outside, our yard was a mess. Black shingles from our roof covered the lawn along with fallen branches and a mixture of splintered wood and trash. The trees that still stood were completely barren, a skeleton of themselves.

     Across the street we saw more devastation—homes with roofs ripped off, cars overturned. Our house certainly didn’t get the worst of it.

     The ending reflects on the experience and shares lessons learned. The tornado was rated an F-3, one capable of twisting and deforming skyscrapers. Luckily, no one in our city suffered severe injuries. People had been careful. They had sought shelter. Before this experience, I never fully realized the immense power of the weather and our earth. It made me feel small and helpless. Yet I also felt more grateful for my health, my family, and my community. During the weeks after the tornado, generous people throughout our city and state pitched in with the cleanup efforts and provided shelter and support to those who had lost their homes. I feel proud to be part of this great community and humbled by the earth we live on.