August 2022
Volume 4 | Issue 4
Dear Reader,
Before we can “‘think’ as humans, we must first encounter things with our senses—and indeed, this is how the brain works. First we sense, then we make sense of what we sense.”1 Therefore, even the most straightforward work of nonfiction will improve with a good application of creative writing skills that teach us to write concretely, with good style and strong illustrations. In this issue, “Story Writing 101 for Nonfiction Writers” will give you a peek into the many ways to up your nonfiction game.
For narrative nonfiction, an attention to language and images elevates the beauty of the story and helps us understand its greater meaning. Our guest writer—editor and essayist Jenna Brack—presents practical tips “On Finding (and Weaving) Metaphors in Your True Stories.” Let her draw you in and teach you how to tease out the profundity of even the most mundane moments.
And last but not least, avoid writing your memoir as an unintended ghost story or a book full of paper dolls. Make sure to give real, human substance to the people who populate your true stories with the help of “Compelling Character Development for Nonfiction.”
We pray these essays will help you make sense of your stories so you can write them with confidence. We look forward to discovering their beckoning beauty.
Story Writing 101 for Nonfiction Writers
by Callie Johnson
In bookstores around the world, a menace lurks, eroding the power of nonfiction writers everywhere. Its name: The Mediocre Vignette. Countless knowledgeable experts weaken their own arguments by presenting dull, irrelevant, or confusing anecdotes.
Even in nonfiction writing, the ability to weave story well holds the communication together. Books on weight loss, articles on dental hygiene, and even commercials for rugged SUVs use story to communicate truth: Landon lost fifty pounds with this diet; two hundred people who brushed daily experienced the same result; if you buy this Jeep, Chuck Norris will want to be your friend. All these messages incorporate narrative. If we want to communicate effectively, we need to hone our narrative skills.
“Who can save us from this evil menace?” we cry. “I have a doctorate in my field, but nobody taught me creative writing. Maybe these illustrations will be fine the way they are.” Valiant friend, do not settle for mediocrity! With these six tips for structure, action, and imagery, you can rescue your manuscript from the wiles of The Mediocre Vignette.
Hook
Effective storytelling captures the interest of your reader, engaging their interests and felt needs. Take a moment to envision your target audience. What worries them daily? What intrigues them? What questions do they desperately want answers for? The values of your audience determine which stories you tell and how you introduce them. Invoking the story of a famous athlete may hook an audience of retired coaches, but it may cause the eyes of a horticulturist to glaze over.
On Finding (and Weaving) Metaphors in Your True Stories
by Jenna Brack
In the world of writing, temptation lurks around every corner. Misplaced commas, incorrect homonyms, typos, and missing antecedents litter the sidewalks of our writing, waiting to trip us up and ensnare our prose. And from poorly lit alleys comes the seductive whisper of our own egos. In the adrenaline rush of finishing a first draft, our egos rejoice. “I did it! I’m a writer! I actually wrote something!” But when we sit down to edit, our ego turns into a Gollum-like voice, sniveling, “I wrote it that way because that’s the right way to write it! Leave it alone!”
We struggle to edit out inflated pride because most sentences don’t leap off the page as self-serving. But once you know what to look for, ego can be beaten like any other writing foible. Let’s explore nine warning signs of ego-driven writing.
Compelling Character Development for Nonfiction
by Callie Johnson
If you read much narrative nonfiction or memoir, you’ve probably run into a specific vein of poor storytelling: the Me, Me, Me! approach. These stories have a fleshed out, fascinating central character surrounded by supporting characters who act like puppets. They’re shallow and bland, and they’re only there to make the main character look good.
Especially when writing from personal experience, we can easily focus so intently on what we felt, did, or said in a specific situation that we lose the agency and individualism of the characters around us. For a bad example:
Holidays with Granny Susie were always horrible, and this year’s was a disaster of epic proportions. Nobody particularly likes Granny Susie, and she pinballs between coddling us and berating us—sometimes all in the same breath.
Every year there’s an envelope of cash for each of us (because heaven forbid she know enough about us to actually buy us gifts), and this year’s “generosity” was followed by a charming holiday dinner display of her flinging the gravy spoon at the wall while screaming quite profanely how we were all disinherited and she was changing her will first thing tomorrow.
She also called my sister’s cherubic toddler an “ugly little bugger.” From now on, we’re planning to spend holidays with my in-laws.
Granny Susie is certainly a colorful character, but she doesn’t make much sense. The author provides plenty of examples of Granny’s behavior, but no real insight into why Granny behaves the way she does. Until Granny Susie’s actions on the page make some semblance of sense, the author has sketched only a stock character, a supporting character whose only value comes from her influence on the main character.
