Essential Elements of Narrative Essays

Let’s go back to basics first. Generally speaking, there are four types of
essays: argumentative essays, descriptive essays, expository essays, and narrative
essays.

Narrative essays tell a vivid story, usually from one person's viewpoint. A narrative
essay uses all the story elements — a beginning, middle and ending, as well as plot,
characters, setting and climax — bringing them together to complete the story. The
focus of a narrative essay is the plot, which is told with enough detail to build to a
climax. Here's how:

• It’s usually told chronologically.

• It always has a purpose. Often, this is stated in your thesis statement in the
introductory paragraph.
• It may use dialogue. For more on that, here are the ins and outs on how to
punctuate dialogue correcctly.
• It’s written with sensory details and bright descriptions that involve the reader.
All these details relate in some way to the main point the writer is making.

Quick Tips on Writing a Narrative Essay

When writing a narrative essay, remember that you are sharing sensory and
emotional details with the reader.

• Your words need to be vivid and colorful to help the reader feel the same
feelings that you felt.
• Elements of the story need to support the point you are making. And, you
need to remember to make reference to that point in the first sentence.
• You should make use of conflict and sequence like in any story.
• You may use flashbacks and flash forwards to help the story build toward a
climax.
• It is usually written in the first person, but the third-person perspective may
also be used.

Tell Your Story

Use your next narrative essay to tell your story. It’s possible to focus on yourself,
while offering the reader some sort of lesson or truth. Encourage them to move past
terrible loss or maintain hope in a seemingly bleak foster system.

Narrative essays are close cousins to short stories. If you feel compelled to share
another story, fiction or nonfiction, with the world, check out Get Creative: How to
Write a Short Story. Who knows how many lives you’ll brighten and shape with your
words. Remember, there’s great power in them.
Example 1:
• Write a story about a person with a hidden talent.

Plink, plink... dark-red blood dripping down on the surface of the waters in this dark tunnel.
Soldiers, laying down and growling in sorrow. Some were sleeping forever on the ground with an
arrow attached to their chest. Some were battling.

“Emily!”, I shouted. Anxiously waited for her response. “Where are you?”, I questioned. “There
you are!”

“Brother, I’m scared. Please bring me home fast”, said Emily.

Emily was an innocent sixteen-year-old girl. Mom has ordered me to protect my little sister. I
was the prince of Elizabeth, a kingdom which was reigned by my great-grandfather Roshi. Our
palace was currently being raided by The Anarchies. I have been ordered by my honorable father
to slay the King of Anarchies in order to end this bloody war.

“Shaun, my majesty prince, we have found where the evil king is,” said my slave. I turned
around to my servant. Suddenly, Slice! My throat dripped with blood. A betrayal. Disgrace. I
kneeled. “Brother!”, a scream from Emily. I fell to the ground. As I was still conscious, I saw a
hidden talent in Emily. I was surprised. My angry sister immediately grabbed my razor-sharp
sword and stabbed the dishonored soldier. It was amazing when she managed to dodge all the
attacks. I took out my hand and grabbed my sister's foot. “Goodbye my gold coin,” I said. But my
sister looked at me strangely.

“It has been six years now since my brother, Shaun, died”, said Emily. The King of Anarchies is
still giving us pain. Emily was now a twenty-two-year-old woman. She was now a hardcore lady.
She has the ability to fight and kill five men alone. “Men of Strength, we shall go into the palace of
Anarchies and end this war today.”, she said.

Emily then brought five hundred troops carrying needle-sharp swords and arrows. The sky
started to cry. Heavy rainfall and thunder roaring in the skies. My precious Emily and her soldier
entered the palace and swept their way into the room where the wicked king stayed. Emily’s
soldiers surrounded the room.

Jake, the King of Anarchies, kneeled before her. He begged Emily. “Brother, I shall do this in
remembrance of you,” said Emily.

Stop! I spoke. I’m not actually dead Emily... I walked in front of her. “Six years ago, my betrayal
servant apparently killed a kidnapper. It was not me.” I said. “But you killed my evil servant,” I said.
I was very proud of you and you were still young. “Father told me to leave you for six years
because he sees a hidden talent in you,” I said. We then looked at Jake. My sister happily threw a
pocketknife and stabbed hard at Jake’s heart. The war finally ended.

“Oh, no wonder you looked different six years ago”, said Emily. “Brother, on this day. You shall
leave me again”, Emily giggled. I would not...
Example 2:

“We’re going on a trip!” said Uncle John.

Mary wasn’t fond of this idea. “I would rather stay home and STUDY!” opposed Mary.
During the semester break, Mary was forced to tag along with her siblings to her uncle’s.
Mary was never once an outgoing girl. She enjoyed spending her leisure time either reading
or studying. Besides, she wasn’t even interested in any sort of sports either. Uncle John
thought that bringing all of them on a trip would be a perfect opportunity for Mary to enjoy
the outside world. Since everyone showed up on D-day, Mary had no choice but to follow
along. She whispered to herself about how sure she was about how the trip was going to be
absolutely bonkers and a waste of time.

Their destination was the aloha paradise - Hawaii. Since Hawaii was located on an island,
they had to travel there by a ferry. While everyone brought swimsuits wearing bucket hats,
sunglasses, swimming trunks we have here Mary with a luggage full of hoodies and
sweatpants. Her cousins joked about how while everyone was on a trip to paradise she was
on a trip to Antarctica. While everyone was enjoying themselves on the ferry enjoying the
stunning scenery and all, Mary locked herself up in the guest room busy reading up the
new materials for the next semester. The journey to Hawaii would take around three to
four hours.

The long-awaited moment. The sunset from Hawaii. Everyone rushed out to the deck with
their phones and cameras but Mary was unaware of the mesmerizing sunset that was
happening at the moment. Uncle John hurried back down to the guest room and dragged
Mary out of the room. Looking half awake, Mary had no idea what was going on. Uncle
John wanted it to be memorable for Mary so he covered her eyes with his delicate hands.
When they finally reached the top of the deck, he made sure Mary had the best view.
Finally, he let go of his palms and showed her the sunset that took everyone’s breath away.

Minutes and minutes passed but Mary did not make a single sound. Her cousins and
Uncle John started to worry. They couldn't decipher whether she was in awe or was she
disappointed. Her eyes spoke nothing. After some time, she finally looked back. This time,
her eyes were teary. This was the first time in her life that she got to witness something as
beautiful as this. No one, not even herself thought that a person like her would get teary-
eyed over a literal sunset.

And finally, Hawaii is right in front of our eyes! The place looked exactly like how it was
portrayed in commercials, TVs, and movies! Golden sand and the crystal-clear sea, it was
paradise for everyone.
Example 3:

A Teeny, Tiny Treasure Box

The next short narrative essay takes a different approach. Instead of living in a comfortably loving
home, the writer had to deal with the uncertainty of the foster system. Here’s a short lesson on hope:

She took me by the hand and walked me into the lobby like a five-year old child. Didn’t she
know I was pushing 15? This was the third home Nancy was placing me in - in a span of
eight months. I guess she felt a little sorry for me. The bright fluorescent lights threatened
to burn my skin as I walked towards a bouncy-looking lady with curly hair and a sweetly-
smiling man. They called themselves Allie and Alex. Cute, I thought.

After they exchanged the usual reams of paperwork, it was off in their Chevy Suburban to
get situated into another new home. This time, there were no other foster children and no
other biological children. Anything could happen.

Over the next few weeks, Allie, Alex, and I fell into quite a nice routine. She’d make
pancakes for breakfast, or he’d fry up some sausage and eggs. They sang a lot, even
danced as they cooked. They must have just bought the house because, most weekends,
we were painting a living room butter yellow or staining a coffee table mocha brown.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. When would they start threatening a loss of
pancakes if I didn’t mow the lawn? When would the sausage and eggs be replaced with
unidentifiable slosh because he didn’t feel like cooking in the morning? But, it never
happened. They kept cooking, singing, and dancing like a couple of happy fools.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Allie decided it was time to paint the brick fireplace
white. As we crawled closer to the dirty old firepit, we pulled out the petrified wood and
noticed a teeny, tiny treasure box. We looked at each other in wonder and excitement. She
actually said, “I wonder if the leprechauns left it!” While judging her for being such a silly
woman, I couldn’t help but laugh and lean into her a little.

Together, we reached for the box and pulled it out. Inside was a shimmering solitaire ring.
Folded underneath was a short piece of paper that read:

“My darling, my heart. Only 80 days have passed since I first held your hand. I simply
cannot imagine my next 80 years without you in them. Will you take this ring, take my
heart, and build a life with me? This tiny little solitaire is my offering to you. Will you be my
bride?”

As I stared up at Allie, she asked me a question. “Do you know what today is?” I shook my
head. “It’s May 20th. That’s 80 days since Nancy passed your hand into mine and we took
you home.”

It turns out, love comes in all shapes and sizes, even a teeny, tiny treasure box from a
wonderfully silly lady who believes in leprechauns.
Example 4: telling story

Lying rather uncomfortably on the examination table while facing the painfully bright
ceiling lights, I fidgeted nervously, desperately trying to ignore the gloominess of the
situation. I attempted to focus on staying warm in the bitterly cold room, but the events of
just a few months prior kept running through my head—the intense pain, my overwhelming
fear, and the frantic scrambling of surgeons and nurses in the Emergency Room. The
doctors told me I had broken a vertebra in my lower back. Briefly, I now smiled thinking
about the innocence of my response to the news: “So I have to wear a brace now when I
play football?”
Waiting for the doctor now, I became unbearably impatient. I had waited for three months
to find out whether or not I would be cleared to play football again, but the thought of
waiting another five minutes seemed impossible. Then Dr. Pittinger entered the room. He
was friendly, but perceptibly uncomfortable, almost sad. The question remained unasked
and unanswered as we went through the standard procedures of a physical and I could tell
that I had cleared all of the tests. The time had finally come for him to tell me whether or
not I could play. His eyes focused on his clipboard for a moment, and he then lifted his
head, frowning. He spoke slowly and softly, but still rather matter-of-factly, as he told me
that I would never be able to play football again.
The realization sunk in immediately. I wasn’t surprised, or at least I shouldn’t have been,
but that did not make the order any easier. I refuted the idea wholeheartedly, and for
months after I was released, I continued to condition with the football team in hopes of
returning the next year. I woke up every morning at five to be at the gym by six for rehab.
Even though I was ashamed to wear my back brace, I wore it devotedly, with some sort of
false hope that the more I wore it, the quicker and better it would heal the broken
vertebrae. At night, I slept on the floor because my bone doctor told me that sleeping on a
firm surface was good for my back.
I was determined to play again.
Nonetheless, in the end, just as the doctor ordered, I never played another quarter of
football. After several nights in a row of coming home from conditioning barely able to
walk, I finally gave in. For a while, giving up felt like an admittance of defeat rather than the
acceptance of a truth that should have been painfully obvious, but over time, I realized that
like most of the difficult decisions I have made and will have to make, life would go on.
Rather than focus on what was undeniably unattainable, I understood that even though this
particular option was no longer open to me, I had countless other choices to make in its
place.
Example 5:
“You’re not important, you’re not important, and you’re not important.” The words
tumbled from my lips as I pointed to Andrew, the nerdy kid with glasses, Jason, the wannabeskater boy,
and Randy, the lanky guy with buck teeth. “I just need to ask Billy a few questions
for this survey,” I continued, pushing haughtily through the group as I searched for their leader,
my friend Billy. As I questioned Billy, I saw some boys dribbling a soccer ball around the
football field and I heard the giddy buzz of the girls’ conversations. Jason, Randy, and Andrew
leaned against the metal chain-link fence, almost in a daze under the glare of the mid-May sun.
After I finished chatting with Billy, I jauntily walked away without another glance at the rejects
that he called his friends.

Many months after I had forgotten the events of that day, I somehow developed a crush
on the wannabe-skater, Jason. When Jason finally asked me to be his girlfriend, I was
ambivalent to the possibility of dating a guy who spiked his hair with blue gel, played the guitar,
and wore Army-green camouflage pants. Sure, I loved his sharp-witted humor, his zany antics,
and his compassionate ways, but our common interests were minimal and our social statuses
virtually never crossed. Reluctantly, I accepted Jason’s offer on the condition that no one, save
our close friends, would suspect that we were together. After imparting the news of what
seemed like an illicit relationship to our friends, Jason and I discussed their unique reactions.
Jason delicately explained that Andrew was less than thrilled. Fortunately, I read through
Jason’s euphemisms and recognized that Andrew abhorred me. Since I could not imagine what
atrocious thing I had said or done to arouse such antagonism, I asked Jason to enlighten me.
“Dani, don’t you remember that day last year when you came over to us and asked to talk to
Billy? Do you remember not talking to the rest of us and telling us that we weren’t important?”
Jason inquired. Suddenly I felt as if my heart had dropped to the very pit of my stomach—I
clearly remembered that day, but I never once considered the effect I had on Jason and his
friends.

Immediately, I began to realize that if Andrew remembered my disdainful words, Randy,

Jason, and anyone that I ever ridiculed probably remembered my taunting as well. But why had
I teased and mocked my peers? What horrendous things had they done to me? I laughed at
Randy, Andrew, Jason, and others because they were different from me; they were unusual and
dorky; they were enigmas to me. As I contemplated my words, I saw that my statements were
completely unfounded. Day by day, Jason and his friends became increasingly important to
me—I came to understand that they were amazing people whose company I enjoyed immensely.
Once I was completely aware of my misconception of Randy, Andrew, and Jason, I knew that I
must have made numerous other fallacies.

After thinking about my past, I attempted to calculate the number of potential friends I
had lost as a result of thoughtlessly judging people. The exact figure was impossible to
determine, but I knew it was enormous. I realized that if I continued to act in this manner, I
might miss the opportunity to develop friendships with incredible people, so I finally decided to
make a conscious effort to think carefully about how I treat others, to choose my words
prudently, and to be more accepting of others’ differences.

Today, almost four years later, I can see a distinctive change in myself. Instead of
mocking people for their unique traits, I embrace the diversity of people and am grateful that I
have the opportunity to know and encounter a limitless spectrum of people. Most importantly, I
have learned the true meaning of equality among people; I now am able to accept that I am
neither above nor below any other human being. I believe that I am now a tremendously tolerant
and open-minded person.

Examples of Descriptive Writing

The following sentences provide examples of the concreteness, evocativeness and plausibility of good
descriptive writing.

• Her last smile to me wasn’t a sunset. It was an eclipse, the last eclipse, noon dying away to darkness
where there would be no dawn.
• My Uber driver looked like a deflating airbag and sounded like talk radio on repeat.
• The old man was bent into a capital C, his head leaning so far forward that his beard nearly touched
his knobby knees.
• The painting was a field of flowers, blues and yellows atop deep green stems that seemed to call the
viewer in to play.
• My dog’s fur felt like silk against my skin and her black coloring shone, absorbing the sunlight and
reflecting it back like a pure, dark mirror.
• The sunset filled the sky with a deep red flame, setting the clouds ablaze.
• The waves rolled along the shore in a graceful, gentle rhythm, as if dancing with the land.
• Winter hit like a welterweight that year, a jabbing cold you thought you could stand until the wind
rose up and dropped you to the canvas.