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NARRATIVE WRITING

What is narrative writing?

  • A narrative essay tells a story.
  • This could be the story of something that happened to you, in which case you would use first person narration.
  • Alternatively, it could be a completely fictional story, written about something that happened to someone else, in which case you would use third person narration.

Hints that will help you to write a good story

  • Your opening paragraph is the most important part of your story. You need to work and re-work this so that it will make your potential reader want to continue reading.
  • Your essay length is limited to 300 – 350 words in Grade 10. (In grade 12 the essay has to be between 400 and 450 words in length.) That is not very long, so do not introduce too many characters. You should try to limit yourself to two characters – three, if you absolutely have to.
  • A novelist (who is also a narrator) has time in which to build the storyline. The short story writer, which is what you are at school level, does not have the luxury of time or space. You should exclude descriptive passages that are not essential to your story. Your content should include only that which is absolutely essential to the story line.
  • A good story would have an original / unusual / humorous plot. Plan this very carefully before you start writing. Unplanned stories tend to turn into long, rambling (BORING!) tomes. Keep the writing taut and controlled.
  • Provide a time frame and setting early in your essay. These do not have to be stated explicitly. You can feed these into the story quite subtly by providing details that speak for you.
  • Your plot should build up to a climax, after which you should conclude almost immediately. (What single event happens to the main character to change the direction of her life on that day?)
  • Your concluding paragraph should have definite links with the opening paragraph and it should be effective and memorable.
  • Remember that each paragraph should develop one idea only. In other words, each paragraph should have ONE clear topic sentence. (Consult your notes on sentence and paragraph structure.)

In the following pages you will find examples of good story-telling practice, some of them written by learners of your age.

Read the following 54-word story!

HEADED FOR TROUBLE
The scantily clad hitch-hiker knew she was in trouble the moment she stepped into the car.
The driver gazed disapprovingly at her costume. “Looking for some fun?”
“No … I’m just going to the beach.”
“Think so? Well I’ve got other plans for you, sweetie, and they don’t include beaches.”
“Guess I’m grounded, huh, Mom?”

This story could now easily be expanded into a full 350-word essay but it can stand as a full narrative using only 54 words – it can be done!

The Poet as Narrator

The following three poems all tell stories. Each poem uses techniques that could just as easily be used in prose stories.

  1. Eight o’clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.
Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.
A.E. Housman

In the poem above, Housman, despite being extremely economical with words (only 51), is able to say a lot about the attitude of the man (“he”) and the people in the town. The man is obviously unrepentant – the best he can do is to “(curse) his luck”. He wanted to do something and was caught. The townspeople are unsympathetic towards him, something which is not stated directly, but which is fed to us through verbs like “sprinkle” and “tossed”. Their careless attitude is suggested by these actions which convey meaning in a very subtle way.

Housman’s poem is an excellent example of a writer’s using specially chosen words to carry the storyline economically. This is why a good writer needs an extended vocabulary. Work at expanding your vocabulary!

  1. Relatively Speaking

Suddenly the grass before my feet
shakes and becomes alive.
The snake
twists, almost leaps,
graceful even in terror,
smoothness looping back over smoothness
slithers away, disappears.
-And the grass is again still.
And surely, by whatever means of communication
is available to snakes,
the word is passed:
Hey, I just met a man, a monster, too;
must have been, oh, seven feet tall.
So keep away from the long grass,
it’s dangerous there.
Ian Mudie (New Zealand 19th century)

This is another short poem which tells a story and shows the prose writer a few good techniques.

  1. Firstly, note how the poet gets straight to work. There is no long ramble that leads us to where he is walking through the grass. The poem starts where he is already there in the grass and there is action immediately. Bear this in mind when you are writing stories. Get to the story in the opening line – do not take a few paragraphs to get to the actual point of the story!
  2. There is a lovely “twist in the tale” – instead of the man rushing off to tell his friends about his frightening experience of nearly tangling with a snake, we read about the snake telling HIS kind, in grossly exaggerated terms, about how he met up with a seven-foot-tall monster. This is a good example of how irony can provide humour. This is a “snake story” with a difference. Imagine how well it would work as a prose essay!
  3. There is a misconception that good writinghasto have long, jawbreaking words – that the more there are, the better the essay is. That is not always true. The above story, told in poetic form, proves that. This is a simply told, easily accessible piece of writing with not a single “big, impressive word” in either stanza. The Housman poem on the previous page is, in terms of language usage, more sophisticated, but the Mudie poem does not need sophisticated vocabulary – it is telling its story in order to amuse the reader, not to impress. It works just as well, doesn’t it?
  4. The above poem proves that humour can provide winning writing. If you can always be relied on to see the funny side of situations, then this could be your natural outlet. However, a word of warning is needed – forced humour is not funny! So if you have a naturally serious approach to life, stick with that.

The following story was written by Laura Hartmann (B2 – 2011)

Choose Wisely

It was the same Friday night ritual; Chinese in front of the TV. Max was upstairs, probably asleep. I looked around. Dave was sitting in his chair, his fat, hairy stomach stretching the string vest he always wore under his shirt. I wrinkled my nose and looked at my mother. She was sitting up straight in her chair. She ate her chicken daintily, careful not to smudge her make-up. She had to look perfect, so he wouldn’t leave her again. I screwed my fortune into a ball and threw it at the TV screen. Dave jumped. “Atlanta! Pick it up!” he barked. I glared at him. “Atlanta,” he said again his voice getting dangerously low. My mom stiffened and looked at me, her eyes begging. “Atlanta, please honey?” I ignored them and walked out of the family room. I could hear him muttering but he didn’t come racing after me his hand raised. Too absorbed in his programme. Maybe if he had punished me it would never have happened. Maybe.

I sat on the low wall outside, waiting for my boyfriend, Declan, to pick me up. He was taking me to my first night club. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t wanted to go at all, but Declan had wanted me to, so I was going. I closed my eyes and listened for the familiar purr of his motorbike. I don’t know how long I sat and waited there, my eyes closed. I opened my eyes and stood up. I looked left, I looked right. I started to bit my thumb nail. Where was he? I looked back at the house, the family room light still on. I frowned and started down the street. I couldn’t understand it. Declan had said he would come! A scary thought crossed my mind. Maybe Declan was in trouble! I quickened my pace and then broke into a run. Maybe he needed my help right that very second! Maybe.

I ran, panting slightly, down the street where Essencewas situated. The club was brightly lit. I looked around at the people sitting on the wall smoking. No Declan. I forced myself to grab the handle of the door and open it. The noise from inside hit me in a gigantic wave. I stumbled back a few steps. I turned to go back but a crowd of scantily-clad girls pushed me inside. The music was deafening and I was being pushed towards the dance floor. I looked around frantically for Declan. Maybe he was sick and had forgotten to call me. Then I spotted a familiar head of black hair. It was Declan!

He was talking to a girl with brown hair. I pushed through the crowd. I watched as he handed her something in a small packet. Then something made me stop. Someone mad me stop. Declan’s best friend, Jake, had just pushed past me and was storming towards Declan. I watched in horror as he punched Declan straight in the face. I screamed for Declan. He was on the floor, looking dazed. I grabbed Jake’s arm. “Why did you do that?” I shouted. He smiled grimly. “Declan just doesn’t know when to stop.”

People around me gasped as the outside door burst open and a group of men came in. They pushed through the crowd towards us, throwing people out of their way. Declan leapt to his feet and grabbed my hand. He shoved me towards a fire exit door. “Go, don’t ask questions,just go!” He handed me a bag and we ran. I turned to see them grab Jake and I screamed. We burst through the doors and ran into the alley behind the club. The crowd poured out behind us. There was a sudden chorus of sirens and police cars pulled up. Girls were screaming, people were running as fast as they could. Declan swore, his grip on my arm making my eyes water. The world spun and I fell to the ground.

I was sitting in a small room. Two policemen were watching me closely. I could see my mom sitting outside, Max playing at her feet. I watched a tear slide down her cheek and looked away. My heart hurt. I looked back at the men. One of them stood up and showed me a bag, the bag Declan had given me. “Do you know what is in this bag?” I shook my head. “Cocaine, Miss George,and a large amount of money.” My jaw dropped. “Is it yours?” My eyes widened. “No, no, he gave it …”

I covered my mouth with my hand. I had already said too much. “Bring them in,” the man said. Declan and Jakewere brought in. I gasped. One of the men laughed. “Recognise someone?” I bit my lip. The other one, who had been sitting in silence, leaned across the table. “Just point at him sweetheart, it’s okay.” Declan looked at me. My heart was beating. I knew what I had to do. I lifted my hand and pointed. Declan looked straight at my finger that was pointing at …

Jake.

They led him away. He didn’t protest, maybe later, but no one believed him. Declan found some new, naïve girl after that and never spoke to me again. It’s been two years but it’s still fresh in my mind – the day I sent an innocent man to jail.

Brief Commentary

  1. This is a well-crafted story. There are small details that may seem unimportant but that are essential in creating atmosphere and possibly explaining the setting, such as the domestic scene sketched in the first paragraph – the abusive stepfather in his string vest, the nervous mother, trying to keep the peace between a husband she could lose yet again and her angry teenage daughter.
  2. There is a hint of fore-shadowing - “…it would never have happened”. The storyline is obviously going to build up to “it”, whatever “it” might be.
  3. The setting of most of the story is a rather sleazy club scene, clichéd but realistic – we hear the noise, we push through the crowds with the narrator and we run out of the fire-escape into the alley with this girl and the rest of the clubbers.
  4. The narrator is given the bag of drugs, so that the boyfriend won’t be caught with these in his possession but, of course, as it always happens, the girl IS caught and the police know that she is innocent. Up to this point, we are reading a story which we have read before – and then comes the twist, right at the end. The narrator, despite being used and abused by this really horrible young man, chooses to finger his friend rather than to do the right thing. (Look at the title – Choose Wisely.) She has, quite clearly, chosen most unwisely and will live with regret possibly for the rest of her life.
  5. Note the clear link between the opening and concluding paragraphs, the hallmark of a neatly planned essay.

The following story was written by a Grade 11 learner at Groote Schuur High School, Rizelle Duvenage.

As you read this story, take note of the following:

  • The settingis a predominantly Afrikaans community. Krugersdorp and Klerksdorp are mentioned and the banners displayed at this clash of the athletes are In Afrikaans. The man running one of the stalls (selling “pap en wors”) is referred to as “Oom Barend”. The athletes are Tobias, Willem and Lourens. “Nagmaal” (communion in the Dutch Reformed Church) is mentioned.
  • The writer made use, most effectively, of dialogue and punctuation to aid her in creating an atmosphere of general excitement and busy-ness.
  • The theme is universal. People are fickle. Young people are starting to experiment with romance and what appears to be love, but it is really infatuation, and the narrator happily shares her fickleness with her readers as she switches allegiance from the luckless Tobias to the unexpected winner – Lourens. And so an age-old truism is reinforced – the whole world loves a winner. Life is a very “cruel game” at times.

The Cruel Game

It was a typical autumn morning. The day broke over the yellowing veld. Winter was already clawing its way into the dying summer. Moos got the ’48 Ford out of the garage. Father’s pride was used only on special occasions. This was a special occasion: only once a year did Krugersdorp High compare its athletics with those of Klerksdorp High. I was too nervous to eat. I waited for Father as he finished his coffee.

*********

“On your marks! Get set! GO!”

The under 14s were stretching and jumping on the far side of the field. Our athletics meeting was in full swing. The guests of honour, Mr and Mrs de Waal, the principal of Klerksdorp High and his wife, were perched on high stools near the finishing line. Oom Barend had provided the multi-coloured umbrellas. KRUGERSDORP BO! and KLERKSDORP BO! decorated the pavilion. We are very proud of our pavilion, since we are one of the first schools in the Transvaal to have one.

“Event 45: Boy’s under 19100 metres to start at one o’clock!”

The crowds stormed to get Oom Barend’s pap en wors. All over the field friendly faces were gathered over steaming coffee and koeksisters. All the local gossip since the January Nagmaal was being exchanged.

Tobias and Willem strolled over the field. They would not eat or drink anything. Both did the 100 metres in under 10,2 seconds. Today the fitter would win. Everyone knew I was madly in love with Tobias Prinsloo – head over heels! He was the classic Valentino – tall, dark and handsome. My admiration knew no bound – neither did his athletic ability!

The social gatherings on the field were evaporating in the heat. Everyone took their seats again. Everyone was looking forward the main event of the day: the boys’ under 19100 metres. The tension between the schools was almost tangible.

“Boys’ under 19100 metres!”

Tobias and Willem took their places. Tobias’s muscles strained the thin cotton of his vest. His black hair shone in the sun. He was the perfect image of a Greek god.

“On your marks! Get set! GO!”

Tobias is running in slow motion. I cannot keep my eyes off the lean panther! He is winning! He is winning! And now? Oh no! No, please, Tobias!”

Tobias had fallen. Willem had twisted his ankle and fallen in Tobias’s path. Both of them sprawled on the ground.

And then a funny thing happened. My Greek god and my idea of a hero, were shattered. Tobias was just a schoolboy.

Lourens came first – the boy who, by rights, should have come third.

And suddenly I noticed Lourens’s blonde hair and his cute freckles.

Rizelle Duvenage

WINDING UP NARRATIVE WRITING