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A resource for outlining a narrative

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Narrative Writing Graphic Organizer With Link to Google Drive

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Oct 26, 2018 - Help students develop a structure for their narrative essays with this FREE graphic organizer! This useful tool provides a framework for students to develop their narrative topics. If you are looking for a complete no-prep Narrative Writing Unit, check out my 2-Week Narrative Writing Unit! Includes ...

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Writing a Conclusion to a Personal Narrative 

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Writing a Conclusion to a Personal Narrative 

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A video which details strategies for writing a narrative conclusion

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Writing an Introduction to a Personal Narrative 

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Writing an Introduction to a Personal Narrative 

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A video that details strategies for writing a narrative introduction

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Introduction Writing for Narrative Essay

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A video that details how to use language to achieve purpose in narrative writing

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Writing a Narrative: Part 1 Structure & Elements | EasyTeaching

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Video that details the elements and structure of a story

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Writing a Narrative: Part 1 Structure & Elements | EasyTeaching

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Anchor chart for the stages of writing

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Use this resource to translate words, and to find and check vocabulary

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Google’s service, offered free of charge, instantly translates words, phrases, and web pages between English and over 100 other languages.

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Use this resource to vary vocabulary and find precise words

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Thesaurus.com - The world’s favorite online thesaurus!

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Thesaurus.com is the world’s largest and most trusted online thesaurus for 25+ years. Join millions of people and grow your mastery of the English language.

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Student example of a narrative essay

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The House on Medford Avenue

I have lived in three places in my entire life. The first home I remember living in was mis abuelos house. I lived in the upper flat of their duplex until I was three years old. My brother was fifteen years old, and my sister was six years old. I am the youngest in my small family. We moved out of that house because mi abuela and my mother were not getting along very well. They argued constantly, screaming so loudly that the neighbor's windows started to shake. When we left, we only moved 20 blocks away. We moved into another duplex, but this time we stayed for one year. I saw a mouse rolling a ball of yarn through my room.

We moved to Medford Avenue when I was six years old. I vividly remember stepping out of our old Ford Taurus that was on the verge of dying at any moment and looking at my dream home in awe. It was beautiful like a flower just coming into bloom. I saw my Grandmother Vivian walk out of the amazing setting. It was another duplex. My new home was in the upper flat. My dreams slowly started to fade away like the steam floating off a cup of hot coffee. I was living with my grandmother, whom I had never really spoken to. I knew that I wasn't going to be happy there. I discovered that that was an understatement.
My Niece Is Born!
My brother is exactly 11 years and 9 months older than me. He met my sister-in-law when I was about three years old. I have known her basically my whole life. My brother and my sister-in-law got married, and all of a sudden I had a new sister. Little did I know that just a short time later I would have a niece.

My brother told me the terrific news when I was only ten years of age. I was going to be an aunt. I spent eight grueling months preparing for the responsibility. I had a plan in my head about how great it was going to be. She was going to dress like me, and we were going to hang out at the mall together.

Then she was born, and all of my plans were gone. She was only a baby. The diapers, the vomit, the crying were all grating. A jackhammer of a headache banged in my head. How was I supposed to watch her and play video games at the same time? Too much responsibility for me. I was as cold as ice to her. I would not pick her up, and I would not change her diapers. I felt like a lump of coal. I decided to make it up to her when she was old enough to walk. I would take her everywhere with me, and I did. She is now my best friend, even though she is only five years old. I wouldn't trade her for anything.
The Day My Grandmother Died . . . Or Maybe Four Days Later
My grandmother was sick for a long time. She lost her memory so gradually that it was like sand in an hourglass slowly slipping away. I can't remember when she actually got sick, but I knew that I would have to grow up very quickly. We took care of her for a while, and then we had to admit her into a nursing home.

I went to see her two days before my trip to Washington, D.C. She did not know who I was, but she just smiled at me like she always did. They said that she was fine, that she was in perfect health. We left, and I went home to prepare for my trip. She died six days later. It was the day after my return home. We did not find out until about four days later.

Something was odd about that day. My mom picked me up early from school, and she looked very sad. In a joking way, I asked, "Who died?" I did not know that someone did. My mom took me to work, and I spent two hours trying to figure out what was wrong. My mom came in with an umbrella and asked me if I could walk home. Tears were in her eyes, and they looked as if they were going to explode like a dam overflowing with water. I said, "Sure," and I started walking home. When I got home, my mom and dad told me to sit down in the living room. My dad said that Grandmother had expired. I couldn't speak. All of my words were stolen. I cried endlessly, like a waterfall after the rain. I can't remember much of that day. I remember calling my friend Chris and telling him that I was going to be okay. Then everything blacked out like the darkness of space and time.
My First Boyfriend . . . Sort Of
It all started on the first day of my horrible high school career. I remember walking through that big school on the gray, evil morning. I walked to my resource room and sat down right next to the guy who would turn my world upside down. I remember looking toward the window and seeing his spiking hair outline against the dreary horizon. He was looking at me. I knew that he must have been looking at a girl behind me or something. He couldn't possibly be looking at me. Boy, was I wrong.

Fast forward to our first school dance. It was the weirdest dance I have ever been to. I knew only one person at the school, and she did not even show up. I walked into the loud, dark, cave-like room. I noticed his spiky hair and I decided to ask him if he saw a mutual friend of ours. I walked up to him quickly, avoiding any eye contact. "Have you seen Ashlie?" "Huh?" "I said have you seen Ashlie!" "Huh?!" His friend pushed his head into mine. I looked at him quickly and ran away with the speed of lightning. All night long his friends pushed him toward me. A random girl came up to me and snatched my hand like it was a purse full of new bills. She pulled me toward him and made us exchange phone numbers. That wasn't the end.

The invention of the dreaded Crush can made all of it worse. He sent a Crush can to me. Now, this was a curse. Many girls liked him, and they practically threw themselves at him. Basically every girl in my phy ed class hated me. He sent me the highest Crush can there is-red . . . the color of fire . . . the color of love. After that everything was great . . . sort of. He sent me three balloons on my birthday. He acts like he is my boyfriend, but the problem is . . . he has never asked me out!
My Best Friend(s)
I have three best friends, and they are all very different. They have different tastes and personalities. They are all special in their own ways. My friend Megan is the strangest but the coolest person I know. She always finds ways to make me laugh, and she is always there for support. We have known each other since sixth grade, but we became best friends during the eighth grade. She helped me through a bunch of problems. I go to her with all of my guy problems . . . including the most recent problems. Without her, I would be lost.

My friend Catherine is the total opposite of Megan, but she is still as cool as a cucumber. She is Mormon, and she really believes in her religion. I respect her for that. She is always there when I need a shoulder to cry on. She is extremely nice, and she is as sweet as sugar. She is really cool to hang out with at the mall because we both have the same style in clothing. I have only known her for a year, but I feel like I have known her forever.

My friend Chris is my protector. He is like a big brother (but I am older than he is). He will intimidate anyone who decides to mess with me. I can talk to him about anything (and he doesn't like most of it), and he will give the guy's opinion on everything. He's great to just hang with on a Saturday and play football or soccer with.

Without these people I would not have a home. Sure, I have shelter and a roof over my head, but that doesn't make a home. My home is happiness and love. It is caring and sharing. It is dealing with the good times and the bad. Home is with the people I love. Home is in my heart.

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Student Model: The House on Medford Avenue

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I have lived in three places in my entire life. The first home I remember living in was mis abuelos house. I lived in the upper flat of their duplex until I was three years old. My brother was fifteen years old, and my sister was six years old.

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Student example of a narrative essay

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The Climb

I have this fear. It causes my legs to shake. I break out in a cold sweat. I start jabbering to anyone who is nearby. As thoughts of certain death run through my mind, the world appears a precious, treasured place. I imagine my own funeral, then shrink back at the implications of where my thoughts are taking me. My stomach feels strange. My palms are clammy.

I am terrified of heights.

Of course, it's not really a fear of being in a high place. Rather, it is the view of a long way to fall, of rocks far below me and no firm wall between me and the edge. My sense of security is screamingly absent. There are no guardrails, flimsy though I picture them, or other safety devices. I can rely only on my own surefootedness-or lack thereof.

Despite my fear, two summers ago I somehow found myself climbing to a high place, while quaking inside and out. Most of our high school had come along on a day trip to the Boquerón, a gorgeous, lush spot in the foothills of Peru. Its prime attraction is the main waterfall, about 100 feet high, that thunders into a crystal clear pool feeding the Aguaytia River. All around the pool and on down to the rushing river are boulders large and small. The beach is strewn with rocks. On both sides of the fall, the jungle stretches to meet it, rising parallel to it on a gentler slope.

After eating our sack lunches within sight and sound of the fall, many of us wanted to make the climb to an area above it. We knew others had done so on previous trips. A few guys went first to make sure they were on the right path. But after they left, my group of seven decided to go ahead without waiting for them to return. I suspected we were going the wrong way, but I kept silent, figuring that the others knew better. We went along the base of the hill until we reached the climb. It stopped me in my tracks.

The climb ascended steeply above us. Along the right edge, the jungle hugged the rocks; passage through its trees did not look feasible. The majority of my view was filled with rocks. Looming high to the sky, the boulders rose in a tiered manner. Peering back down toward the river, I saw a steep slope of rocks all the way to the water. All I could think about was how far it would be to fall.

My tense thoughts were interrupted by the realization that my friends were already beginning to climb! My anxiety increased as I watched them.

Do I turn back? My whole being shouted, "Yes!" Will I regret it later? I really want to get to the top, but . . .

I voiced my uncertainties to my friends. They dismissed my fears and encouraged me to stick it out. Questioning my own sanity, I decided at least to attempt the climb.

I chose a path that seemed easiest. My friend Tom was ahead of me. Then, suddenly, he slipped and slid backward about 10 feet! I watched, paralyzed, until he stopped himself and assured us he was all right. My heart was hammering.

Now those who had tried the other way came back; it had not worked. Consoling myself that my friend Seth would be right behind me, I shakily began the ascent. The "path" led up a narrow area between boulders. In it, we reached a place where there just were no good handholds. Seth braced my foot, and those above sent down words of encouragement. I was soon past the first challenge safely, but not feeling much better about the rest of the climb.

The difficulties only increased from that point on, with scary spot after scary spot. Though I knew I should not look down, I could not always ignore the long drop to the boulders below. My breathing sped up, but my heart pounded even faster, growing loud in my ears.

My friends kept right on climbing. But they did not forget me. Someone was always behind me to help hold my feet steady when necessary, and someone else was always ahead to offer a hand up. I trusted them more than myself; I knew my feet could easily slip. With friends supporting me by words and actions, I slowly gained ground.

Finally we came to the worst section yet. To me the slope looked very close to vertical. The slight handholds were few and far between. Being short, I knew the stretches would be difficult enough in normal conditions. In my current panic, it would be much worse. The alternative was to go back down. Which was more difficult? I didn't want to go either way, but obviously I had to go somewhere.

The trouble was, we were not getting any nearer to the falls. By now, we realized that this route was not the way most frequented! But knowing this did not get me any closer to safety.

Since getting up this next part was next to impossible, and waiting for a rescue helicopter was not an option, with fear and trembling I decided to go down, but not by myself. Melody agreed to go with me, earning my eternal gratitude. She paused to pray for safety; I did not trust my voice enough to pray aloud.

Now, with our backs to the rocks, the drop was continually in our line of vision. It seemed even steeper than before. The song "Angels Watching Over Me" ran through my head as we began, Melody going first. I kept up a steady stream of chatter, my trembling voice betraying my fear.

One of the first tough places we came to gave us trouble. Cautiously stretching one foot down, Melody could not reach the bottom of the boulder. A slip would mean an extremely long drop. So we tried a different route where a fall would be shorter. It was somewhat wet and would entail a short slide to reach the bottom.

Melody made it safely. I hesitated, unsure of my footing, and picturing myself at the bottom of the cliff, bones broken and pain wracking my body, if I still lived.

"You can do it! I'm right here," Melody called. She waited patiently, not pressuring me to hurry.

Inching carefully to the edge, I could see in the corner of my eye the boulders and river far below. As I started down the rock, my foot slipped! My heart jumped into my throat as the terror I had held just under the surface swept over me.

I'm gonna fall! I inwardly shrieked.

It had been only a small slip, however; I was not in midair! I took a few calming breaths, and my heart repositioned itself where it belonged.

With no further mishaps, we came eventually to the last troublesome spot, the stretch between two boulders that had given me problems on the way up. Thankfully, the rest of our friends had given up climbing to the top and had now caught up to us. There were two possible descents from here. One way included a short jump down. I decided to check out the other way. Seth was working his way down this second route when he fell a few feet and bruised himself! I again looked over the first option.
Do I want to jump? There's a big drop if I jump wrong or don't stop on the ledge! But the other way . . . !
I knew if I was to get down, it would have to be Seth's way. He was willing to help me however he could. I inspected the "path" he had taken. There was some low vegetation, matted down and sloping slightly toward the edge. Then came a drop down to a narrow inlet between rocks. That was not so bad. The hitch lay in the fact that there was no handholds or footholds, and my short legs would not reach to the rocks.

"Uh, I don't know about this. I don't like the looks of it!" I said, my voice quavering.

"You can make it, Amy! I'm right here. I won't let you fall," Seth promised.

Slowly, painstakingly, I backed over the vegetation.

"I'm coming down," I warned, my voice unsteady.

"I'm ready," answered Seth. "I got you."

His assurances gave me the strength to go on. I trusted him implicitly. Flattening myself onto my belly, I edged my feet into midair. Seth held them tightly and slowly lowered me, guiding my feel to a firm place as I let my body slide over the leaves, twigs, and rock. When my feet made contact with the solid rock, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I could feel the fear draining out of me.

My arms and legs were scratched up; I was dirty and sweaty. But none of it mattered. I was at the bottom!

"Yaaaaaaahhhh!" I yelled. I never felt so alive, and so thankful for that life.

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The Climb I have this fear. It causes my legs to shake. I break out in a cold sweat. I start jabbering to anyone who is nearby. As thoughts of certain death run through my mind, the world appears a precious, treasured place.

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Student example of a narrative essay

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Huddling Together

"Let's kill 'em!" Bob exclaims as we walk toward the stadium.

"I'd love to see Zach Thomas crush Thurman Thomas," I reply.

We are not brutal people; we are simply expressing our need to win at all costs. The Miami Dolphins are playing the Buffalo Bills, their most hated opponent. We had this game circled on the calendar since training camp began. The thermometer on this Monday night reads a cool 68 degrees, but the atmosphere in the stadium burns like desert heat.

"It doesn't get better than this," Bob says as we occupy our seats just a few rows up from the end zone.

"I wouldn't trade this for anything else," I reply. "You, me, the fans, the noise, the action: what more could I want?" The countdown to the opening kickoff nears five minutes. The crowd files in while the players run onto the field through the giant inflated Dolphins helmet. Everyone stands united during the singing of the national anthem. The Bills win the coin toss, and they choose to receive the opening kickoff. "That's the only thing you guys are gonna win tonight!" I jest.

Bob has lived with my mother and me for five years, and he will marry my mother this coming March. Fortunately, I never experienced the crisis of anguish and rebellion that many children suffer in divorces and remarriages. From the beginning, I felt comfortable around him. He never attempted to dominate the household or me. Naturally, though, we did not immediately feel a bond as strong as the one I share with my parents. Football sparked the beautiful friendship we have.

Football never interested me earlier in my life. I thought of it as a pointless sport in which a bunch of fat men jumped on top of each other. I rolled my eyes the first time Bob spoke about football. I figured I would have to put up with this nonsense until I left for college. "Lovely," I thought. "Just lovely."

I reluctantly allowed Bob to teach me the workings of the game. As he helped me analyze the game, I started distinguishing linebackers from running backs in a "dogpile." We picked apart defenses as a quarterback would, and I called penalties before the referees did. The underlying organization of the game revealed itself to me, and its logic suited my predominantly left-brained mind perfectly. More importantly, though, football fostered a common bonding ground for us.

"Touchdown, your Miami Dolphins!" the announcer proclaims. Sixty-five thousand aqua-clad Dolphin fans stand cheering in the aisles; thirteen thousand blue-clothed, blue-faced Bills fans slouch dejectedly in their seats. Bob and I carry out our own touchdown ritual: we alternate high fives between our left and right hands six times: one for each point scored. Olindo Mare kicks the ball through the goalposts as if aiming at us, and we exchange another high five for the extra point. The Dolphins jingle echoes off the walls of the stadium while the residual smoke of fireworks blankets the stadium.

"They just can't beat our defense," Bob says in awe. The Dolphins take a quick 10-0 lead, and our devastating defense destroys the determination of the Bills when they threaten to score. The Bills offense drives down to the three-yard line after the Dolphin defense commits a pass-interference penalty. They attempt two runs and a pass; all three fail. On fourth down, they must kick a field goal, but they fail to convert the kick to a score because a linebacker blocks the kick. Bob and I howl like wolves and bump chests. We savor the goal-line stand as we laugh at the Buffalo fans seated two rows in front of us.

After just half a season, football established itself as an institution in my household. Every Sunday, I found myself glued to the television screen for nine hours soaking up football. Consequently, I spent a good amount of time with Bob on our reclining couch, by far the best place for guys to talk. Most of the talking involved football, but beer and car commercials supplied key opportunities for other topics to slip into conversation, such as my schoolwork, my progress in karate, his job, and his latest scuba dives. Deeper subjects such as marriage, my relationship with my father, and our feelings about my mother came up as well. Football provided us with the perfect excuse to get to know each other.

"And that's the end of the half with your Miami Dolphins leading the Buffalo Bills twenty to ten." We leaned back in our seats and put football aside for a while.

"So when are you taking the SAT?" Bob asks.

"I'm taking it in April. It doesn't count, though, you know. I just want to see how good my verbal is so that I know what improvements I have to make."

"So, do you have any girl interests right now?"

"No, not really. There was this one girl I liked a few weeks ago, but she's too fake for me. How's work going?"

"It's all right. Some of the tech stocks took big hits this week, but the pharmaceuticals went up nicely. When are you going to Minnesota to visit your dad?"

"Not this coming weekend, but the next one. It's starting to get pretty cold up there."

We continue talking until the game resumes. Miami scores a quick touchdown to secure its lead. The offense drives on cruise control, and the defense stands its ground. Time winds down, and the Dolphins win by a score of 30-13. The victory song ("Na-na, na, nah; Na-na, na, nah; Hey, hey-ey, good-bye") plays over the speakers. Players run to the locker room raising their helmets high above their heads; fans stream into the parking lot, shouting cheers of supremacy.

"That was awesome." My words dribble hoarsely after yelling for hours. "We couldn't have played a better game."

"You got that right. Marino got us 30 points tonight, we only allowed one touchdown, and Mare was perfect on his kicking. It's always great to leave the stadium like this."

"Especially after Monday-nighters. The last thing I'd want is to lose, sulk on the way home, and then get only three hours of sleep because I've got school the next day. Phew, I'm so tired. The intensity just wears me out."

"I had a great time, Dave. It's always fun watching with you. You get so into it. You're a nut!"

Through our mutual enjoyment of football, I have acquired a more son-like warmth toward Bob. That change reflects Bob's transition from visiting us to living with us. I do not say, "Hey, Bob, how's it going?" anymore; instead, I greet him with "Good morning, Bob. What are you doing today?" I am the son he never had, and he fills in some of the holes that my father left when he moved to Minnesota. Amazingly enough, it all started with a brown pigskin ball.

The beauty of football lies in its power to unite crowds. The beauty of love lies in its power to unite individuals.

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"Let's kill 'em!" Bob exclaims as we walk toward the stadium. "I'd love to see Zach Thomas crush Thurman Thomas," I reply. We are not brutal people; we are simply expressing our need to win at all costs. The Miami Dolphins are playing the Buffalo Bills, their most hated opponent.

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Song lyrics of a song that tells a story

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Michael Jackson - Thriller Lyrics | Musixmatch

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Lyrics for Thriller by Michael Jackson. It's close to midnight Something evil's lurkin' in the dark Under the moonlight You see a ...

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Music video of a song that tells a story

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Michael Jackson - Thriller (Official 4K Video)

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Song lyrics of a song that tells a story

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Oh, where oh where can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good

So I can see my baby when I leave this world We were out on a date in my daddy's car We hadn't driven very far There in the road, straight ahead A car was stalled, the engine was dead I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right I'll never forget, the sound that night The screamin' tires, the bustin' glass The painful scream, that I heard last Oh, where oh where can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good So I can see my baby when I leave this world When I woke up, the rain was pourin' down There were people standing all around Something warm flowin' through my eyes But somehow I found my baby that night I lifted her head, she looked at me and said "Hold me darling, just a little while" I held her close, I kissed her our last kiss I found the love, that I knew I had missed And now she's gone, even though I hold her tight I lost my love, my life that night Oh, where oh where can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good So I can see my baby when I leave this world

Ein Problem melden

These lyrics have been translated into 10 languages

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Pearl Jam - Last Kiss Lyrics | Musixmatch

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Music video of a song that tells a story