How to Write a Personal Narrative
Background
This 2 ½ week long activity will be your first attempt to put together the following pieces, along with their various segments:
• Discussion prompts
• Invention prompts
• Delivery prompts
• Writer’s voice
• Considering consequences
• Self evaluation
Suggested time frames are listed, but you can take more or less time as desired. Please remember that no one will be prodding you to complete your work. Procrastination does not work well in a writing course.
Day 1
1. Read the essay “Life is a Series of Choices” by Kelly Turner (copy attached).
2. Write a paragraph answering each of the following questions. NOTE- Always include a copy of each question followed by your response.
a. What surprised you?
b. What lessons(s) were contained in the essay?
c. Have you (or do you know anyone who has) been affected in the manner described in the essay?
d. How were others in the essay affected?
e. In what ways could this situation have been handled better by the various parties involved?
Day 2
3. Identify your topic- an influential period or incident in your own life, and write a two paragraph summary of what you want to accomplish.
Day 3
4. Write a paragraph or two answering each of the following Invention prompts:
a. What have you learned in exploring your topic?
b. Point of Contact- What other ideas did you have and why did you choose this one?
c. Analysis- Has your exploration of the topic gone beyond what you anticipated?
d. Public Resonance- How might your essay affect the reader?
e. Consider consequences- What points or lessons do you want the reader to take from your writing, and how much of yourself are you willing to share?
Day 4-6
5. Write the first draft of your essay.
a. It should be 3-5 pages
b. double-spaced
c. 12-point font
d. one inch margins
Day 7-8
6. Write a paragraph or two answering the following Delivery prompts:
a. What decisions shaped your writing strategy?
b. Rhetorical tools- How can you better utilize your title, introduction, ending, etc. to convey your “message” to the reader?
c. Organizational strategies- How might you rearrange your ideas to improve your content and readability?
d. Writer’s voice- Is your “writer’s voice” appropriate to the content? Should you consider any other approaches?
Day 9-12
7. Review and revise
a. This is a good time to introduce Peer Review. You can ask others to read the first draft and then indicate in writing what they found interesting, dull, unclear,
or extraordinary about the essay. This is optional.
b. Write final draft.
c. Proofread!
Day 13
8. Self Evaluation (for your own benefit)
a. Write no more than a page (same formatting as essay) on your appraisal of the strengths and weaknesses of your essay. This should not be merely a summary of your essay, but a critique of your writing strategies, your ability to convey the desired message, and your feelings about whether your essay was successful. Look back at the pre-writing and pre-revision prompts and relate whether or not all your goals were accomplished.
Lessons learned
You should gain a better understanding of writing as a “process” and experience first-hand how that process develops. You will have read and learned from an excellent example of an actual Personal Narrative essay. You will have experienced rudimentary peer review from both perspectives if you opted to try it (reviewer and review-ee), and you will have learned to properly format a college level paper. You will have also begun to see how thinking can become (as my mentor Professor John Metz would call it) “meta-thinking” when you actually improve your writing by thinking about your ideas and strategies.
Life is a Series of Choices
A Remembering Essay
By Kelly Turner
Life is a series of choices we make and full of events beyond our control. It is our responsibility to find acceptance and meaning in those moments, to grow from them and, through encouragement and sharing, edify one another.
It was a beautiful September day in 2000. The sun was shining and the sky was a magnificent blue. There was a slight breeze, but just enough to provide that clean, fresh, cool, crisp air which is so incredible to breathe. Jennifer stepped off the school bus, waved to her friends, and without a care in the world gallantly skipped, one foot in front of the other, the remainder of the way home. I was so proud of her. My heart smiled with enchantment as I watched my daughter come closer and closer to our driveway. Nothing could change my love for her; nothing. It was and always will be unconditional love, similar to what every mother should hold for their child.
Jenny couldn’t wait to tell me of her day. She was in the morning Kindergarten; consequently, we always had lunch together upon her arrival home. As I began to cook (she chose Kraft Macaroni and Cheese on this particular day) she pulled her yellow folder out of her backpack. There was so much to show me: artwork, handwriting papers, book-order forms, and an envelope were all crammed inside. While waiting for the water to boil, we sorted through all the items. I wanted to take time to look at everything, but she wanted me to hurry through so I could open the envelope that sported her name on the outside. Within its contents was a photo-copied invitation to join Daisy Girl Scouts. Her teacher must have enlightened her with the details of the organization, because she tried to relay every bit of information before I could even finish reading it to completion. Jenny was jumping up and down, running around the kitchen, squealing with excitement. All of her Kindergarten friends were going to join.
My heart stopped. Jenny was only a child. I couldn’t explain it to her. No one could ever understand. I walked into the living room and curled up on our sofa, my knees held tightly to my chest. My world crumbled. I could not breathe as panic overtook my very being.
For a brief moment I thought I would surely die and I knew I must fight to survive. Although immediately consumed with the deepest sorrow, I tried to regain my composure so I wouldn’t shed a tear. Life couldn’t be this cruel. Every ounce of strength and endurance left my soul. I was alone, and no one knew the pain I held deep inside. It most certainly wasn’t Jenny’s fault. I didn’t mean to upset her. It must have been frightening to see her mother go through such an overpowering change… all over one 8 ½ X 11 sheet of white paper.
I truly wish I could understand the fundamental concept of truth. I have defined, and redefined that term a thousand times in my head. It seems so simple, yet for almost two decades I have hid behind this mask of fantasy. I have always tried to protect myself… to not get hurt… to be the best student, the best mother, and the best employee. I didn’t want anyone to ever know something was wrong. I had to maintain control. I thought I’d lose it all if I ever let anyone inside… to see the pain that has been hidden away. To accept what is real, to let go of the past, to embrace my today’s… oh, what a dream that would be. Since the first grade I had been a member of Girl Scout Troop 835. I carry many memories of that time in my mind. Having earned more badges and awards than any other scout in the council, I was often utilized as a spokesperson for the organization. One year I was selected from a group of girls nationwide to travel to Washington D.C. While there, I had the opportunity to eat lunch with First Lady Nancy Reagan. I spent each summer since second grade away at camp, sometimes in my home state and sometimes hundreds of miles away from my family. All available free time was consumed by ballet and theater at the Cultural Center for the Arts in town. I took drama classes every Saturday, and had ballet classes five nights a week for two to three hours. In addition to their busy lives, my parents had two other children to transport from activity to activity, so they were quite appreciative when others offered to help.
Though never spoiled with material gifts, I was given every opportunity of which a young person could dream. Things always took me away from home, whether it was exploring another part of the world, backpacking, rappelling, or traveling for the pure enjoyment. Due to my hectic schedule, my parents entrusted “Amy” to watch over me. She was employed as the programs director for the Girl Scout Council, and adopted me as her “kid.”
We moved to a nearby school district when I was in sixth grade (it had the finest schools and my parents wanted us to have the opportunity to receive the best education); however, I just didn’t fit in. Peer groups can be quite cruel. Once the princess of my school, I now had to reside at the bottom of the totem pole. Oh well… Amy made sure I could stay close to my old friends and provided transportation so I could remain involved in all my activities. My parents continued to trust her with my well-being, and eventually I moved in with her on a part-time basis. It was an odd arrangement, but she took care of me and my family knew that she would always do so. I loved her more than anyone in the world. She cared for me, comforted me, and took me into her life as though I were her “#1 kid.” For the first time I didn’t feel like I was being sent away somewhere all alone. Amy was right there with me no matter where I had to go.
Time passed. May 29th was Amy’s 30th birthday. I was almost seventeen years younger than her at the time. I had planned a huge birthday party that lasted the entire weekend. All her good friends came, but the majority of those in attendance were my age. On Friday we went for a picnic at the park and then to play putt-putt golf. We had a slumber party at her house (well, one bedroom apartment). Everyone crashed in the living room except for the two of us. It was wall to wall sleeping bags. Like every other night we slept in her room. That was not a surprise to anyone; they all knew I was special. The next day our entire group took a rode trip to an amusement park a few hours away. It was a spectacular day. Amy and I rode almost every single ride together. I remember getting jealous when she would ride with anyone else. I was her number one kid. It was difficult, but I did have to share her some of the time. We were an affectionate group. Amy and I held hands most of the day. It was okay because it looked like she was my mom. She even gave me little kisses once in awhile. It simply appeared to the public like she loved her daughter.
That night, when we got back to town, everyone went to their respective homes, except me. As usual, I stayed for the remainder of the weekend (this being Memorial Day weekend, she didn’t have to take me back to school until Tuesday). It was this pivotal point that threw my life in an entirely new direction. The graphic details of the events that followed no longer really matter. She insisted that she loved me as she always had. She promised to care for me as she always had. I didn’t even know it was wrong. I loved her, and because she asked, I promised to always keep our secret. Looking back I realize it wasn’t that night that caused a line to be crossed. The line was crossed several years earlier when our relationship changed from an authority figure/camper to sharing a bedroom and treating one another as equals. I wasn’t her equal. I was a child.
This level of intimacy continued well into my high school years. It was the end of my sophomore year when my parents finally got wind. They weren’t positive… it had just become a rumor among my friends… those who hung out with Amy and I. It is only my guess, but I think someone’s parent called my mom. I was such an embarrassment to my family. Why didn’t they try to save me, to protect me? Instead, they looked at me with disgrace. What would their friends think? I didn’t want to get Amy in trouble. I loved her and she loved me. At the same time my parents didn’t want this to become too public. I had already brought enough shame upon our family. They met with several people: attorneys, psychologists, my school guidance counselor, and the president of the Girl Scout Council. Because my family chose not to take legal action Amy was able to maintain her position with the Girl Scouts, but was transferred to another part of the state. I had to move home, but no one knew what to do with me. Thankfully, I was an excellent student and would have all the credits I needed to graduate by the close of my junior year. My family decided it would be in everyone’s best interest for me to leave home. At the age of sixteen I was declared an independent minor. I completed school a year early and moved to Buffalo.
Somehow I was able to get an apartment without a co-signer. I left the age blank on the application form. The complex never did a credit check, and I was given a set of keys. Every step forward sent me three steps backward. I couldn’t even get a driver’s license because I wasn’t eighteen (the state requires a parent’s signature). When I turned seventeen, I broke my lease because I could no longer afford to pay rent. Age finally benefited me because the courts said management should never have entered into a contract with a minor. I had not spoken to my family in almost three years. I became engaged to a wonderful man, and my world began to turn around. It was not to last, as memories of the past crept up on me. Due to the emotional toll, I just couldn’t continue the relationship. I didn’t think he could ever love me if he found out what had happened. I overdosed on prescription drugs. The emergency room contacted my parents when a friend found their phone number. The doctors weren’t certain if I would make it through the night.
Although I survived, my relationship did not. I distinctly remember looking out the hospital room window a few days later, grateful to be alive. I don’t know how it happened, but for the first time I felt there must be a God and He was with me. He protected me because I still had a purpose on this earth. I drew a deep line from my past. Promising myself to never look back, I returned to college part-time, got a great job, got married, and had two incredible children over the next several years. It was a dreamy existence that continued for ages. I held my innermost secrets with the deepest confidence, careful to never become to close to someone that might cause me to share…not even my husband. I didn’t have any true friends, but I adored my children. Spending time with them provided me great fulfillment. It was a pleasant life…until that September day.
What was I to do? Jenny was already enrolled in ballet classes. I could handle my own pain, but the mere thought that something similar might ever happen to her, that she could in any way follow in my footsteps… I felt repulsively ill. The flood gates of the past broke open and every vulgar memory arose in my mind. The likelihood, the chance that history would repeat itself was as close to zero as it could get, but the thought of her innocence lost shattered me.
Looking at my family, I knew I must end this downward spiral. It was time to make a choice. I called an elder’s wife in whom I had the greatest respect at our church. I went to visit her, and for the first time I shed tears over my past as I told my story. I just didn’t know what to do. She, of course, was floored. Together we turned it over to God, and she began to pray. From the outside looking in I had an incredible life. I always carried a smile and my quiet and kind personality was always enjoyed by those around. We are often fooled by outside appearances, and until that day I was the greatest at concealing. Once my life was uncovered… once I pulled away the sheets of pain… I wanted to make it. I wanted to live. We are not put on this earth to live lives of sadness, to sustain eternities of regret. Shame is a detrimental quality. To harbor it for years can cause one to break. God can be the sole support of one who has hit their limits, for one who has been backed into a wall and finds no way out. There is no longer a reason to find blame. I live my life without regret, because it is the accumulation of all experiences that has enabled me to become who I am today. I don’t know that I would like myself any other way.
I allowed Jenny join Daisy’s. Her best friend’s mom is the leader and we decided it is only a vehicle to get the girls together to play, make friends, and do crafts. I am now Jenny’s room parent, an active member of the P.T.O., and am confident I alone will be the one to raise my daughter. I am grateful; grateful that I have learned self-acceptance; grateful for that sheet of paper.
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