This is part two of a series on writing short fiction. One of my favorite forms of short fiction to read is the narrative essay. For indie authors who wish to earn actual money from their writing, the narrative essay is often more salable and appeals to a broader audience.
Narrative essays are drawn directly from real life, but they are fictionalized accounts. They detail an incident or event and talk about how the experience affected the author on a personal level.
One of my favorite narrative essays is 1994’s Ticket to the Fair (now titled “Getting Away from Already Being Pretty Much Away from It All“) by David Foster Wallace, published in Harpers. I’ve talked about this particular piece before. It’s a humorous, eye-opening story of a naïve, slightly arrogant young journalist’s assignment to cover the 1993 Iowa State Fair, told in the first person.
Wikipedia summarizes Ticket to the Fair this way: Wallace’s experiences and opinions on the 1993 Illinois State Fair, ranging from a report on competitive baton twirling to speculation on how the Illinois State Fair is representative of Midwestern culture and its subsets. Rather than take the easy, dismissive route, Wallace focuses on the joy this seminal midwestern experience brings those involved.
Wallace went to the fair thinking it would be a boring event featuring farm animals, which might be beneath him. But it was his first official assignment for Harpers, and he didn’t want to screw it up. What he found there, the people he met, their various crafts, and how they loved their lives profoundly affected him, altering his view of himself and his values.
As we find in Wallace’s piece, the primary purpose of an essay is thought-provoking content. The narrative essay conveys our ideas in a palatable form, so writing this kind of piece requires authors to think.
Just like any other form of short fiction, a narrative essay has content and structure. It has
- an introduction,
- a plot,
- characters,
- a setting,
- a climax.
Choose your words for impact because writing with intentional prose is critical. A good narrative essay has been put into an entertaining form that expresses far more than mere opinion. They sometimes offer up deep, uncomfortable views. The trick is to offer them in a way that the reader feels connected to the story. Once they have that connection, they will see the merit of the opinions and viewpoints.
So, narrative essays are a way of sharing our personal view of the world, the places we go, and the people we meet along the way.
- Names should be changed, of course.
Literary magazines want well-written essays on a wide range of topics and life experiences presented with a fresh point of view. Some publications will pay well for first rights.
Authors make their names by being published in a reputable magazine. You must pay strict attention to grammar and editing to have any chance of acceptance. Never send out anything that is not your best work.
After you have finished the piece, set it aside for a week or two. Then, return to it with a yellow highlighter and a fresh eye. Print it out and read it aloud, checking for dropped and missing words. In this case, I do NOT recommend the narrator function of your word processing program.
In the process of reading aloud, you will find:
- Spelling—misspelled words, autocorrect errors, and homophones (words that sound the same but are spelled differently). These words are insidious because they are actual words and don’t immediately appear out of place.
- Repeated words and cut-and-paste errors. These are sneaky and dreadfully difficult to spot. Spell-checker won’t always find them. They make sense to you, the author, because you see what you intended to see. For the reader, they appear as unusually garbled sentences, and you will stumble over them as you read aloud.
- Missing punctuation and closed quotes. These things happen to the best of us.
- Digits/Numbers: Miskeyed numbers are difficult to spot when they are wrong unless they are spelled out.
Don’t be afraid to write with a wide vocabulary, as people who read these publications have a broad command of language.
- However, we never use jargon or technical terms that only people in certain professions would know unless it is a piece for a publication catering to that segment of readers.
Above all, be a little bold. I enjoy reading David Foster Wallace and George Saunders because they are adventurous in their work.
And finally, we must be realistic. Not everything you write will resonate with everyone you submit it to. Put two people in a room, hand them the most exciting thing you’ve ever read, and you’ll get two different opinions. They probably won’t agree with you.
Don’t be discouraged by rejection. I follow several well-known authors via social media because what they have to say about the industry is intriguing. They’re journalists who submit at least one piece weekly, hoping they will sell one or two a year. One says she aims for one hundred rejections a year because two or three stories or essays are bound to strike a chord with the right editor during that time.
Rejection happens far more frequently than acceptance, so don’t let fear of rejection keep you from writing pieces you’re emotionally invested in.
This is where you have the opportunity to cross the invisible line between amateur and professional. Always take the high ground—if an editor has sent you a detailed rejection, respond with a simple “thank you for your time.” If it’s a form letter rejection, don’t reply.
What should you do if your work is accepted but the editor wants a few revisions?
If the editor wants changes, they will make clear what they want you to do. Editors know what their intended audience wants. Trust that the editor knows their business.
Make whatever changes they request.
Never be less than gracious to any of the people at a publication when you communicate with them, whether they are the senior editor or the newest intern. Be a team player and work with them.
And when you receive that email of acceptance—celebrate! There is no better feeling than knowing someone you respect liked your work enough to publish it.
Credits and Attributions:
Wikipedia contributors. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again [Internet]. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia; 2023 Sep 4, 00:32 UTC [cited 2023 Nov 20]. Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=A_Supposedly_Fun_Thing_I%27ll_Never_Do_Again&oldid=1173714712.
Knowing my intended word count helps me create a story, from drabbles to novels. For me, it works in stories with a traditional arc as well as those with a circular arc.
In a circular narrative, the story begins at point A, takes the protagonist through life-changing events, and brings them home, ending where it started. The starting and ending points are the same, and the characters return home, but they are fundamentally changed by the story’s events.
At this point, our first protagonist knows that he must resolve the problem and protect his people, which he does. There is more to his side of the story, of course. But this is a story with two sides. Aeddan’s point of view is not the entire story.
Word choices are essential in showing a world and creating a believable atmosphere when limited to only a small word count. I had challenged myself to write a story that told both sides of a frightening encounter in 1000 words, give or take a few. I wanted to expand on the theme of dragons and use it to show two aspects of a place whose national symbol is the Red Dragon (Welsh: Y Ddraig Goch).
We all know the best stories have an arc of rising action flowing smoothly from scene to scene. Those changes are called transitions and are little connecting scenes. Conversations and indirect speech (thoughts, ruminations, contemplations) often make good transitions when a hard break, such as a new chapter, doesn’t feel right.
We know dialogue must have a purpose and move toward a conclusion of some sort. This means conversations or ruminations should provide a sense of moving the story forward. These are moments of regrouping and processing what has just occurred. Dialogue and introspection are also where the protagonist and the reader learn more about the mysterious backstory.
So now that we know what must be conveyed and why, we find ourselves walking through the Minefield of Too Much Exposition.
When I began writing seriously, I was in the habit of using italicized thoughts and characters talking to themselves to express what was happening inside them.
If you aren’t careful, you can slip into “head-hopping,” which is incredibly confusing for the reader. First, you’re in one person’s thoughts, and then another—like watching a tennis match.
Crockpot soups are high on the menu here at Casa del Jasperson. I do most of the work for dinner in the morning and get it out of the way along with the other housework, and then I can write and whine about writing.
The work inspired by a visual prompt often has nothing to do with the image. But it has everything to do with the nature of storytelling. The ability to explain the world through stories and allegory emerges strongly in artists of all mediums—painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, and dancers.
These jolly rogues have such vivid personalities that the viewer immediately feels a kinship. Who were they? Did they keep their day jobs? Or were they charming moochers living off the kindness of friends?
And what other symbolism was incorporated in this painting that art patrons in the 17th century would know but we who view it through 21st-century eyes wouldn’t? Eelko Kappe’s article on this painting, 
The well of inspiration has gone dry.
Arcs of action drive plots. Every reader knows this, and every writer tries to incorporate that knowledge into their work. Unfortunately, when I’m tired, random, disconnected events that have no value will seem like good ideas.
As you clarify why the protagonist must struggle to achieve their goal, the words will come.
On Monday, I had to drive to Seattle to take the hubby for a consult with a neurosurgeon. Getting to the doctor was fine. It was a matter of spending one hour sitting in traffic trying to leave Olympia and another hour of actually rolling forward once we made it past the Nisqually River. I had planned ahead for that, so we were on time. The upshot is no back surgery for him unless there is no other option, as Parkinson’s patients do very poorly after surgeries.
So, what am I writing today? I’m working on the second half of a novel I began writing seven years ago, so all the world-building and character creation has happened. The plot for this half is evolving. I know the ending, and over the next thirty days, my characters will take me from this high point in the middle, through several hurdles yet to be determined, to that final victory.
I’m settling into the new office. In my old house, my ramshackle desk was in the Room of Shame, a jumbled mess of a storeroom. My new desk is not duct taped together and has the right amount of storage for what I need.
Today, the office/guestroom walls are barren, but I hope to have all the family pictures hung by the end of this week. The hide-a-bed sofa and side chair make a pleasant conversation area or guest room, whichever is needed. All I lack is my new desk chair, which is on its way here from Norway. (Yes, I splurged on a Stressless desk chair since I spend most of my time sitting in front of my computer.) It should be here in a week or two, and I can hardly wait as my current desk chair loses its appeal after an hour or so.
What are some of my planned treats? Cranberry and walnut shortbread, for one thing. Shortbread is so easy and affordable to make that it always surprises me when people don’t. I have veganized all of my old traditional recipes, so everyone can sneak a treat now and then.
Getting those ideas out of your head now is what is important. The bloopers and grammar hiccups can all be ironed out in the second draft.
Yes, we do need to show moods, and some physical description is necessary. Lips stretch into smiles, and eyebrows draw together. Still, they are not autonomous and don’t operate independently of the character’s emotional state. The musculature of the face is only part of the signals that reveal the character’s interior emotions.
Bad advice is good advice taken to an extreme. But all writing advice has roots in truth. So, when it comes to making revisions, consider these suggestions:
I recommend investing in a grammar book, depending on whether you use American or UK English. These books will answer your questions, and you won’t be in doubt about how to use the standard punctuation readers expect to see.
I recommend checking out the NaNoWriMo Store, which offers several books to help you get started. The books available there have good advice for beginners, whether you participate in November’s writing rumble or want to write at your own pace.
I study the craft of writing because I love it, and I apply the proverbs and rules of advice gently. Whether my work is good or bad—I don’t know. But I write the stories I want to read, so I am writing for a niche audience of one: me.
Magic or the supernatural are core plot elements in most of my work. I see them as part of the world, the way the Alps were a core plot element in the story of the 
Hannibal paid a heavy price for bringing his superweapons (elephants) to the battle. The ability to use magic should come at some cost, either physical or emotional. Or it should require coins or theft to acquire magic artifacts. 
It’s fair to write stories where magic is learned through spells if one has an inherent gift, and it’s also fair to require a wand. That is how magic was always done in traditional fairy tales and J.K. Rowling took those worn-out tropes and made them new and wonderful.
I can suspend my disbelief when magic and supernatural abilities are only possible if certain conditions have been met. The best tales featuring characters with paranormal skills occur when the author creates a system that regulates what the characters can NOT do.
A crucial reason for establishing the science of magic and the paranormal before randomly casting spells or flinging fire is this: the use of these gifts impacts the wielder’s companions and influences the direction of the plot, creating tension.
or the paranormal in your NaNo novel, how can you take these common tropes in a new direction?
First, what sort of world is your real life set in? When you look out the window, what do you see? Close your eyes and picture the place where you are at this moment. With your eyes still closed, tell me what it’s like. If you can describe the world around you, you can create a world for your characters.
What does the outdoor world look and smell like? Is it damp and earthy, or dry and dusty? Is there the odor of fallen leaves moldering in the gutters? Or have we wandered too near the chicken coop? (Eeew … get it off my shoe!) If an author can inject enough sight, sound, and scent into a fantasy or sci-fi setting, the world will feel solid when I read it.
What about transport? How do people and goods go from one place to another?
Names and directions might drift and change as you write your first draft. Also, if they’re invented words, consider writing them close to how they are pronounced.
When someone asks me what a book I wrote is about, my mind grinds to a halt as I try to decide what to say. I could give them the rundown of the plot, which is the arc of events the characters experience.
The story writes itself when I begin with a strong theme and solid characters. A 19th-century writer many have heard of but never read, 
When
Love is only one theme, yet it has so many facets. Other themes abound, large central concepts that build tension within the narrative.
Sometimes, we can visualize a complex theme but can’t explain it. If we can’t explain it, how do we show it? Consider the theme of “grief.” It is a common theme that can play out against any backdrop, whether sci-fi or reality based, where humans interact on an emotional level.
Life in the Realm of Fantasy 