***The NARRATIVE ESSAY***
A Narrative Essay is an essay (story if you like that term better) that SHOWS or TELLS a story in a logical manner using vivid, appealing words. The writer of a narrative story can be called the narrator (storyteller). The narrator's job is to SHOW or to TELL the story. The storyteller can be compared to an audience member at a play; he/she reports what they observe. It is very IMPORTANT that the writer employ a logical style--get the reader from the beginning to the end of story without losing him/her.
A Narrative Essay must have the following:
- At least ONE introduction paragraph that tells what the essay will be about.
- A Hook that grabs the readers attention; this should occur early on in the story.
- At least THREE (can be more) supporting paragraphs that SHOW or TELL the story.
- At least ONE concluding paragraph; every story needs an ending.
Things for the writer to use in writing the NARRATIVE:
- Use description (readers like vivid language; it helps them to visualize the story.)
- Be logical in showing/telling the story. Don’t confuse the reader.
- Don’t overdo. Writing is about using the fewest words possible. Being too wordy turns readers off.
Things a WRITER should do:
- Brainstorm (Jot down things that help you to remember what you want to write about).
- Proofread what you will be turning in to me.
- Identify your audience; who are you writing for? These should determine your style, use of words, etc.
- The writer must follow the essay recipe.
---STUDENT SAMPLE---
The Great Paw Paw
Memory. The dictionary defines it as the mental ability to recall past experiences. We think of it as that picture we saw, the words she said. Who in your life is so vivid in your memory that you could describe him or her without a second thought? For me, it’s my grandpa. But when I was small, I couldn’t say “Grandpa,” so 13 years ago, Theodore Lazarus became Paw Paw.
To all the grandkids, Paw Paw was full of fun and games. We all remember his favorite expressions, the ones that would pop out each time we saw him. Luckily, we visited Paw Paw quite often. We often overheard his little squabbles. “No way, José!” Paw Paw would yell; in response, we would shout back, “Yes way, José!” and burst into giggles. My younger siblings and cousins would tell Paw Paw about school, or ballet, or baseball, or their pet iguana, and just when they got into the story, he’d roar, “No kiddin’!” with a huge smile on his face. Paw Paw helped us remember that life should be fun.
Being the oldest of all the grandchildren, I remember more than my siblings and cousins do, but we all remember how predictable Paw Paw’s clothes would be. Most likely, he’d be wearing a white cotton shirt under another shirt, which was the kind that is red or blue, has one or two breast pockets, is plaid or striped, with buttons down the front. Being loose, it covered his big, round belly. He’d be sitting in the tall wooden chair in the corner by his desk, shouting into the black telephone with the big buttons. Or, if he wasn’t there, he’d be in his black leather recliner, watching a game on TV. Sometimes he’d let us snuggle next to him.
When Paw Paw wasn’t relaxing, he’d be in the backyard garden, weeding and pulling, planting and potting, until the time came in the spring or summer when the garden came alive with the colors of the flowers and vegetables he raised. I remember his old, worn hands that did everything: built the wooden tree house for me to play in, built the toolshed, plugged in the Barbie car so it would be ready for me to ride when I came over, fixed the DVD player so I could watch “Wee Sing,” and just played blocks with his grandchildren. He always took time to play with us.
He would never tell us, but I know he was proud of all his nine grandkids. We ranged in age from 1-12 when he died last summer of a severe stroke. When I remember Paw Paw now, I think of the pictures on Grandmother’s cabinet—pictures of me and Paw Paw when I was two years old and the only grandchild. In one picture, we’re lying on the bed, me in my flowered pajamas, him in his usual outfit. I had my bottle in one hand, the Sunday comics in the other (upside down!). He was reading the comics to me so we could laugh together. I will remember that for the rest of my life, and I will remember that he always loved me.