听The following post by Shana Karnes is听reprinted with permission from the听
I was reading a weekly one-pager yesterday and came upon this little note from a student:
This student, Aleigha, had taken an elective writing class with me as a sophomore. Now, as a senior, she wanted to revisit the story she鈥檇 begun two years ago, and give it a different ending. I was surprised that Aleigha had remembered that story, and that its ending had nagged her for two years. I was even more surprised, as I started to read her one-pager, that I remembered her story, too鈥揳 fictional narrative in which two soulmates are torn asunder by circumstance. She鈥檇 ended the story unhappily, leaving the two protagonists separate. In this year鈥檚 one-pagers, though, she鈥檚 slowly bringing them back together.
Aleigha鈥檚 narrative was powerful to her, and personal, despite its fictional genre. Her peers鈥� feedback indicated that her characters鈥� situations were relateable鈥斺�搕hat everyone wants people in love to end up together, because it鈥檚 something we all strive for as humans. Narratives give us something to root for.
During a Google Hangout this summer, Jackie talked about her students鈥� writing of narratives, and how 鈥渢he transformative power of common stories鈥� brought out their best and most vulnerable writing. 鈥淓very child has a story to tell,鈥� agrees Don Graves. Because of this truth, narratives are my favorite genre to teach.
We all have a story to tell鈥攁 story that stays with us, that we can鈥檛 get out of our minds, no matter how long it鈥檚 been since the idea was seeded.
As my students write their narratives, I鈥檓 shocked by how naturally the words are flowing out of their pens. When the topic is powerful, I feel like I have little to do in the way of writing instruction鈥擨 simply have to get out of the way and let them write.
I have mini-lessons planned on pacing, setting, sensory details, and characterization. But I鈥檓 finding beautiful writing already extant in their drafts:
鈥淓very time I step onto the ice, it takes me to my childhood,鈥� Mitchell鈥檚 story begins.
Kaylee stuns me with: 鈥淭he musky smell of burning wood rose into the air as the sound of water crackling split the silence.鈥�
鈥淩ealizing you鈥檙e gay, and accepting you鈥檙e gay, are two very different things,鈥� another story leads with.
The brilliant Tom Newkirk explains why students are able to effortlessly write this way in Minds Made for Stories:
鈥淭he hero of the story is a narrative itself. . . . Narrative is there to help us 鈥榗ompose鈥� ourselves when we meet difficulty or loss. It is there to ground abstract ideas, to help us see the pattern in a set of numerical data, to illuminate the human consequences of political action. It is home base.鈥�
We make sense of the world by weaving its happenings into a story鈥攂y the time our students come to their notebooks with an idea, they鈥檝e already rehearsed this story many times. They are just bursting to tell it. It is home base.
While narrative may not be considered the most 鈥渞igorous鈥� of genres, I believe it is the most important one. It is the writing that demands to be done鈥搕he genre that is the most personally fulfilling, the most emotionally wrenching to write, but the most necessary to exorcise from our minds.
Let your students write their stories鈥斺�搘rite your own beside them鈥揳nd watch your community of writers bloom.
Shana Karnes currently teaches twelfth-grade English in Morgantown, West Virginia. Visit Shana鈥檚 blog at听, find her on Twitter at听, or talk books on GoodReads at听.