How Do I Tell My Story What is it A Personal Narrative is a form of writing in which the writer relates an event incident or experience in his or her own life The events of a personal narrative are most often presented in chronological order the order in which they actually occur ID: 404238
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Slide1
Personal Narrative
How Do I Tell My Story?Slide2
What is it?
A Personal
Narrative
is a form of writing in which the writer relates an event , incident, or experience in his or her own life.
The
events of a personal narrative are most often presented in chronological order, the order in which they actually occurred in time.
A
personal narrative incorporates vivid descriptive details as well as the thoughts, feelings, and reactions of the writer.Slide3
Characteristics of the Personal Narrative
focuses
on
one experience
shows the purpose clearly in that the importance of the event is clear to the reader expresses the writer's thoughts and feelings throughoutis written in first person "I"
has manly
relevant sensory details
(things for the reader to
see, hear
, feel, smell, taste)
must have
dialogue
in order for the reader to feel like they are there
must have why it is important and/or
how it affected the writer Slide4
Parts of a Personal Narrative
All personal narratives should have the following:
A
beginning
that grabs the reader's interest; sometimes gives background information and a hint about the meaning or importance of the event.
A middle that tells about important events, describes people and places, and tells the writer's thoughts and feelings.An ending in which the writer explains the outcome and shows the meaning of the experience (what
they learned from it). Slide5
Choosing a Topic
write about something you remember well
write about something that has meaning or importance to you
write about something you
care
to have read by others Let’s look at an example…Slide6
Learning to Drive
"
Oooooahhhhh
," I yawned sleepily. " Mom, it's too early to get up."
"No it's not, Honey. You have to get up and get ready for school"
I got out of bed and trudged downstairs to begin preparation for school. I was six years old at the time, and my brother, Billy, was four. When I came back down, I was grouchy for no apparent reason. "How come we gotta go to school all the time," I questioned. "So that you can learn and get a good job when you grow up." "But I don't like it," I complained stubbornly. " That's just part of life, Ryan. Now go and brush your teeth and I'll be in there in a minute to comb your hair."
I did as I was told.
Billy
was also in the bathroom brushing his teeth.
"Do you like going to school,
Billy
?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, " It's fun!"
"Well I sure don't."
Mom combed our hair, and we were ready to go to school.
"Come on boys, we are going to be late," yelled Mom from the kitchen.
"Wait a second, " I yelled back for no particular reason.
"No, come right now," she demanded.
"We're coming, we're coming."Slide7
We grabbed our lunches and headed outside and down the stairs to the dark-green Volvo. It was a rather brisk day, so I wore a jacket.
To understand this story, you have to be able to visualize my driveway. It started out going perpendicular to the road towards the backyard at a slant. Then, it went left and then left again into the garage. From up above, this probably looked something like a squared-off U.
For some reason, that day the car was parked at the end of the straight part of the driveway facing the yard. The yard continued at a downward slant until the point where our woods began.
The three of us loaded into the car. Mom turned it on, and we started to pull out of the driveway. Just as we entered the road, Mom said, "OOPS. I forgot my purse. I must have left it in my bedroom."
We pulled back down the driveway and Mom went inside to get her purse.
Billy and I were left alone in the car. Out of curiosity, we both climbed into the front seat. "Hey, Wyan
, what's
dat
stick?" asked
Billy.
What he was referring to as a stick was really a gear shifter.
"I don't know, but I dare you to push on it."
Slide8
So, with my encouragement, Billy pushed the stick. You can probably guess what happened next. We began to roll down our backyard. Billy had knocked the car out of gear and there was just enough of an angle for the car to roll. Billy stuck his head out of the window and was now screaming. I was so frightened I couldn't even move.
CRUNCH!
we both heard. It was the sound of my bike being smashed like an ant under the wheels of the car. We were rolling at a speed less then ten miles per hour, but it was enough to scare two young boys half to death. The car hit a tree, and we stopped with a loud thud.
Neither of us were injured, and the car just had a few scratches. My bike had been totally demolished, though. Mom came running up behind us and cried "Oh my gosh, boys, are you all right?"
"Yeah," we replied with panic-stricken voices.
In the end, I got a new bike which was better than the one before, so I was happy. We were late for school, but my Mom took care of that. Also, Billy and I were denied the privilege of entering a vehicle without an adult accompanying us, but we were not too upset.
I learned the hard way that I should not touch or bother anything that I am not fully familiar with.
Billy
learned not to listen to everything I tell him to do, and Mom learned not to leave two young boys alone in a car.