Genre Exploration: Narrative Writing

Writers Memo

While reading What a Writer Needs, by Ralph Fletcher (2013), I wanted to write a

narrative piece that impacted me deeply. I dont see myself as an accomplished writer and was

hesitant to pick a topic that could be challenging. I was encouraged by Fletchers (2013)

thoughts on the writing process. It turns out that many writers actually discover what they have

to say in the process of writing it (Fletcher, 2013, p. 21). I thought writing a narrative, though

possibly challenging, would be an opportunity to discover more about the writing process and

express my thoughts about something that was important to me. I didnt know which event I

wanted to write about and I was inspired by Fletcher's process of sitting down and reflecting

when he was brainstorming about writing his novel (2013, p. 22). So I started to compile a list of

events that I thought were personally impactful and memorable events in my life:

1. China to visit Matt

2. Lia being born
3. Vietnam with family
4. Second trip China to visit friends
5. Costa Rica
6. Allergic reaction to medication
7. Allison

I realized many items on my list were comprised of impactful trips around world, but I

wanted to focus on a time that really touched me emotionally and was a specific event I could

vividly expose. I felt confident and encouraged to start honing in on my writing topic when

reading Fletchers wisdom, you learn to write by grappling with a real subject that truly matters

to you (2013, p.4). At first I was going to choose my niece, Lia, being born because of my

emotional connection to her now and I was in the hospital before, during and after her birth. Not

only was her birth a special time, but my sisters pregnancy was very unique and there were lots

of memorable times that led up to my nieces birth. Although I feel I can continually gush over

my niece, and I would hope to take some time to write about her in the future, I chose to write
about Allison. Allison was one of my students I taught last year. She was a very quirky and

sweet student. Sadly, she became ill during the middle of school year all of the sudden and

passed away at the end of the year. The topic still strikes a heavy chord in my heart and as I

brainstormed thoughts and details, emotions continued to pour out as I processed how to

organize and communicate the time I had with Allison. I knew I wanted to comprise a piece that

honored Allisons life and also bring a little more closure to the devastating time.

At first I just started to list words or phrases that I connected with thinking about Allison.

These were details of the days I taught her, the day I was told she was in serious condition, and

the day of her funeral. After listing all that came to mind, structure started to form and the list

became mini lists of memories and correlated scenes of Alisons life and passing (Appendix A).

Grahams description of organizing ideas was coming to life, she will make connection and

contemplate the relationships among various ideas. In this way, she will plan how to organize

her writing in a meaningful way (p.206).

When writing my first draft I started to piece together all of these thoughts into a timeline

that made sense to me. My process seemed parallel to Grahams (2013):not only does she

have to think about what makes sense to her but also what will help her readers understand the

topic and her idea about the topic. Instead of following a linear time line I reordered the different

interactions with Allision in a way that showed the shifting emotions of shock, hope and empathy

during the overall journey. I used Fletchers (2013) guidance for a beginning by starting with a

leisurely lead. Writers often decide not to jump into a thick of the plot but begin more slowly

with a description of a place, feeling, or with a rambling introduction (p.84). Throughout the

writing I tried to bring colorful language into the piece to help readers connect and feel the

emotions I experienced. As I was writing I started to create plays on words, but wanted to

make sure I wasnt adding cliches to my piece. I was encouraged by Fletcher to keep them into

the narrative. Wordplay might seem like a frivolous activity reserved for extremely clever

people. In fact, its a powerful tool (p 40). I thought the continual wordplay of days brought
some power into the piece. As I came near the end of my draft I was stuck on navigating my

ending thoughts. What emotions did I want my readers to end with? What emotions have I

ended with? The emotions in my ending were still sad and sorrowful and I kept struggling to

decide if I should leave it raw with emotion or try to reflect on the positive areas with an uplifting

ending. After looking at Fletcher's (2013) endings chapter I decided to finish my piece with a

circular ending where the reader encounters the ending-as-beginning but not with a sense of

redundancy (p. 96). I was hoping to focus in the topic of taking time to cherish the relationships

around you even in the steadiness of life.

Peer revision is always a tough stage for me as I am usually my worst critic and its

difficult to share your own piece with others. I used the exemplars offered from the course and

Fletchers (2013) text to give me direction and revision of voice and language. I read and re-

read my piece over just to see if I could unwind any confusing parts. Honestly, when I reread

my pieces and papers Im not usually able to sift through ambiguities. I think I unconsciously

read what I want to write and gloss over errors. Therefore, I sent my first draft to my

groupmates and they gave some feedback on use of words and grammatical thoughts. There

was also some positive reinforcement of use of creativity.

I enjoyed the structure of your writing, specifically, starting with hearing the news then

flashing back to the first day with Allison. My advice is: keep that structure and your use

of detail is excellent. I would love to read even more!

This stage helped me to bring clarity to my piece and use the suggestion of changing word use

so that I could better illustrate what I was trying to communicate with readers.

After writing this piece I have a less rigid perspective on composing writings. It was

refreshing to take time to reflect on a topic where my emotions were bottled up inside. Fletcher

explains writing is a medium to gather, preserve, and transmit information...it helps us

understand and remember it better (2013, p.5). It allowed me to recall and remember Allisons

life. In the classroom there is such an emphasis on meeting state standards and following
prescriptive processes in writing. This exploration reminds me to teach writing in a way

students know that writing has purposes to maintain personal links, share information, tell

stories, create imagine worlds, explore who you arewriting about our feelings and experiences

can benefit us psychologically and physiologically (Fletcher, 2013, p.5). Im encouraged to

start and end my lessons with questioning: did I allow my students to share their feelings and

experiences? I also thought it was helpful to be open to peers bringing in opinions and

reflecting on mentor texts to mature my piece. Seeing the effectiveness of anothers thoughts

as a revision or model is something I want to continually add and encourage into my teaching.

Above all, my viewpoint of writing has changed the most and that can be a very influential effect

to my students. A sign of effectiveness can be seen in the teachers enthusiasm about writing,

teaching writing, and mood during writing time (Graham et. al, 2013, p. 13). With more

confidence and pleasure in writing I hope to bring more energy and motivation to my students

as they are deciding their perspective on writing.

References

Fletcher, R. (2013, second edition). What a writer needs. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

Graham, S. MacArthur, C. & Fitzgerald, J. (2013, second edition). Best practices in

writing instruction. New York: THe Guilford Press.
 Appendix A
Narrative:
Alice is not well
Gone for many weeks
Comes back for a little while
She always says she is itchy
Sad News
Sunny day
Im wearing a sundress
Put on my neon vest for dismissal and grab my walkie and stop sign
Mindy calls Amanda and myself to Danis room
She shares Alices feeling itchy, burning feeling, shes been in the hospital the last 24 hours and
in brain dead
Meeting Alice
Glasses - scrunched nose, pushing them up on her face
Pigtails
Dark blue cardigan sweater, tight pants that are too short, white socks and Mary Janes
In the hallway writing on the walls
Describing Dinosaurs or woods or prehistoric
Missing the Penguins text, came back and mastered her comprehension quiz
Reviewing the word professor
Would talk with herself often and daydream (what was she thinking about?)
Confused look
Very steady worker
Viewing
Tearing up walking in
Garden of flowers surrounding her
Too scared to get up close
Words from the family
Mom - alice saying mom your promise, hiding spelling words, she found a journal of promises
You didnt keep your promise to me that I would see you graduate or get married
Henry - making heaven more beautiful and magical, picking her up after school everyday
I couldnt control my crying, wailing, tissues soaked with sorrow and empathy. I was trying to be
soft. I didnt think it was right if I was crying more than other family members. I cared for her so.
She was so little, so sweet, so free-spirited.
Teacher next to me holding me
My shoulders cave in feeling so sunken inside
Life seems to happen in an instant
Lunch with the staff at Red Olive
How does one cope with the lost of a young one?
What is the reason to take a young life away?

Days_firstdraft_Borton
Days

That day. That day was a sweet May day. The sky was clear, the air was fresh, and the

sun was beaming a large smile to us. The day replayed like most school days. Teachers were

sharing their last bits of wisdom before the weekend, students were excited for the clock to

strike 3:10, and life was bustling just as steady as the cars cruising outside our classroom

windows.

The end of the day would seem just as routine as the rest of the day. I got ready for

dismissal of school. I put on my neon yellow vest, grabbed my walkie and oversized stop sign

and headed toward the door. Before my B-line to the crosswalk my dean stopped me and said

to meet her in another teachers room before heading out. Without a thought I strolled casually
into the room with some pep in my step; ready to manage the crosswalk chaos and end a good

day. My countenance changed as I walked into a handful of teachers looking more concerned

and questioning what was going on. My dean started the conversation, treading slowly on

speaking about a student we knew had been sick. Her intensity started to build as though we

were slowly creeping to the top of a towering roller coaster anticipating a large drop.

Allison has been out and we were just informed that she was taken to the hospital and

in a coma and brain dead.

The roller coast plummeted at lightning speed. The emotions ran out of us like the

Hoover Dam had just broke. We were all knocked unconscious in disbelief. Sniffles and the

sound of pulling sheets of tissues infused the room. We were told to go head home and be with

loved ones. I grabbed my teacher bag and sunglasses to cover my eyes and walked straight to

my car as I could hear the sounds of a sweet May day.

The first day. Teeny, glasses at the brim of her nose, her favorite navy blue cardigan,

kaki that were a little too short and showed off her bright white tube socks and Mary janes. This

was little Allison the first day I met her. She had short jet black hair. Most days she would wear

her hair in a ponytail and use pink barrettes to hold her pin straight bangs back. Some days she

would have pig tails that looked like two fireworks spouting from the crown of her head. In our

first encounter I noted that she loved to share good news with the group. Her arm would go

waving back and forth like a flag on a windy day. She was excited. So excited to share the

good things.

For Christmas my brother got an alarm that you can record your voice to wake you up. I

recorded my voice so he could wake up to it. I made one in my robot voice [In her robot voice]

Get-out-of-bed... you-sleepy-head. Robot gestures included. Our whole small group giggled at

her theatrical reenactment. These amusing vignettes like these were just one of many when I

spent time teaching Allison. I remember the times I would see her in the hallway finishing up an
assignment and instead of completing the task she was drawing spirals and shapes in the air

with her pencils. I wish I had more time to unfold the creativity in her mind.

The daze. The day of Allisons viewing was a daze. It was surreal. Life was at a

standstill, yet flying by. Reality set in that a precious life was no longer with us. The day felt

heavy and weight increased as we trod slowly toward the funeral home. A group of current

teachers, former teachers, and admin joined to share in a time of grief. I felt layers of emotions

peeling off me as we stepped closer and closer to the room where Allisons open-casket stood.

I wanted to be strong for my teammates and Allisons family, but I gradually started to lose my

composure as my face became warm and my eyes started filling with tears as we took our

seats. The air felt thick and heavy like we were walking through a fog before the sunrise of a

spring day.

Days_seconddraft_Borton

Yellow = Additions

Strikethroughs = Taken out

Days Go Bye

That day. That day was a sweet May day. The sky was clear, the air was fresh, and the

sun was beaming a large smile to us. The day unfolded like most school days. Teachers were

sharing their last bits of wisdom before the weekend, students were excited for the clock to

strike 3:10, and life was bustling just as steady as the cars cruising outside our classroom

windows.

The end of the day would seem just as routine as the rest of the day. I got ready for

prepped for the dismissal of school. I put on my neon yellow vest, grabbed my walkie talkie and

oversized stop sign and headed toward the door. Before my bee line to the crosswalk my dean

stopped me and said to meet her in another teachers room before heading out. Without a

thought, I strolled casually into the room with some pep in my step; ready to manage the
crosswalk chaos and end a good pleasant day. My countenance changed as I walked into a

handful of teachers looking more concerned and questioning what was going on. My dean

started the conversation, treading slowly on speaking about a student we knew had been in and

out of school for a few weeks because of a stomach bug. Her intensity started to build as

though we were slowly creeping to the top of a towering roller coaster anticipating a large drop.

We were just informed that Allison was taken to the hospital and is in a coma and brain

dead.

The roller coaster plummeted at lightning speed. We were all knocked unconscious in

disbelief. The emotions ran out of us like the Hoover Dam had just broke. Sniffles and the

sound of pulling tissues infused the room. We had cycles of silence, questioning, reminiscing,

and laughter as we were trying to digest the news that no one else in the school knew had been

informed of. We were told to go head home and be with loved ones. I grabbed my teacher bag

and sunglasses to cover my eyes and walked straight to my car. Shock, fear, sorrow, empathy,

and hope battled raced through my body as I drove away from a bitter May day.

The first day. 6

Teeny, glasses at the brim of her nose, her favorite navy blue cardigan, khakis that were

a little too short and showed off her bright white tube socks and Mary Janes.

This was little Allison the first day I met her. She had short, jet black hair. Most days she

would wear her hair in a ponytail and use pink barrettes to hold her pin straight bangs back.

Some days she would have pig tails that looked like two fireworks spouting from the crown of

her head. In our first encounter I noted that she loved to share good news with the group. Her

arm would go waving back and forth like a flag on a windy day. She was excited. She was

always excited to share the good things. For Christmas my brother got an alarm that you can

record your voice to wake you up. I recorded my voice so he could wake up to it. I made one in

my robot voice [In her robot voice] Get-out-of-bed... you-sleepy-head. Robot gestures were of

course included. Our whole small group giggled at her theatrical reenactment. These a
Amusing vignettes like these were just one of many when I spent time teaching Allison. I

remember the times I would see her in the hallway finishing up an assignment. Instead of

completing the task, she was drawing spirals and shapes in the air with her pencils. (I wish I

had hoped that I would have more time to unfold the creativity in her mind and find out what she

was sketching in the air. ) Moved to next paragraph

The daze. E-mails about Alison flooded my inbox of news and communication of Allision

over the weekend. Prayers continued to pour from family, friends, and staff members with

hopes that we could end the year with Allison back at school. My mind continued to think about

her petite body going through such torment and hoping she was on her way to recovery. At

church that Sunday morning I asked for others to pray with me that Allison wouldnt feel any

pain or suffering and that we would be able to see her smile with us again. Sunday evening our

principal send sent us an email with the subject line that read Allison. My stomach dropped

and wondered what the update would be. As I read through the e-mail my stomach tensed up

in pain, my arms and legs grew weak, and my heart fell in disbelief. Sweet Allison did not make

it through the weekend.

The day of rest. Life was at a standstill, yet flying by. Reality set in that a precious life

was no longer with us. The day felt heavy and weight increased as we trod slowly toward the

funeral home. A group of current teachers, former teachers, and admin joined to share in a time

of grief. I felt layers of emotions peeling off me as we stepped closer and closer to the room

where Allisons open-casket stood. I wanted to be strong for my teammates and Allisons

family, but I gradually started to lose my composure as my face became warm and my eyes

started filling with tears as we took our seats. The air felt thick and heavy like we were walking

through a fog before the sunrise of a spring day. The atmosphere grew heavier as I saw

Allisons mother sitting on the couch near the front of the room, hunched over with her face in

her hands sobbing softly. As more people came up to greet her, her sobs turned to roars of

wailing and attempts to inhale and exhale steadily. Another layer of my emotions was peeling
away as I watched her heart break over and over with every hug from a loved one. The pools of

tears became trickles of salty streams down my face. The fog faintly dissipated as I saw the

band of brightly oversized flowers and plants that surrounded Allison. It reminded me of her

colored personality and creative talents. Memories of her life continued to come back as family

members and mentors stepped up to the podium to share about Allisons life. Allisons dad

shared his thoughts in their familys native tongue. and Though I could not understand the

words, I could decode the heartbreak and shock he was still working through as he his little

princess was not with him any longer. Allison's mom shared her memories last. She spoke as if

Allison was looking right at her listening to her every word. Allisons mom had found a diary of

secrets and promises she was going to Allison was keeping with her mother. She listed off

items such as getting good grades on spelling tests, cleaning her room, being nice to her older

brother, and that mom would always love her. Allisons mom confirmed that she would always

love her little girls and wished that she Allison had kept her promise to graduate, get married

one day, and have kids of her own. My heart felt so unsettled as reality was setting in that our

little Allison would not be having these memories with her family and that we would not be

meeting in small group in school and hearing her good news my times of meeting with Alison

would only come in the memories that I had of her.

Today. It will be almost a year to the time she passed. I see teachers sharing their last

bits of wisdom in the classroom, students are still excited for the clock to strike 3:10. I anticipate

sweet May days approaching. However, there is an air - painter missing in the hallway;

storyteller missing in a classroom; a bright personality missing at our school. I honor her in

continuing to relive the memories she gave and sharing good news to everyone everyday.

DaysGoBye_Final_Borton

Days Go Bye
 That day. That day was a sweet May day. The sky was clear, the air was fresh, and the

sun was beaming a large smile to us. The day unfolded like most school days. Teachers were

sharing their last bits of wisdom before the weekend, students were excited for the clock to

strike 3:10, and life was bustling just as steady as the cars cruising outside our classroom

windows.

The end of the day would seem just as routine as the rest of the day. I prepped for the

dismissal of school. I put on my neon yellow vest, grabbed my walkie talkie and oversized stop

sign and headed toward the door. Before my bee line to the crosswalk my dean stopped me

and said to meet her in another teachers room before heading out. Without a thought, I strolled

casually into the room with some pep in my step; ready to manage the crosswalk chaos and end

a pleasant day. My countenance changed as I walked into a handful of teachers looking more

concerned and questioning what was going on. My dean started the conversation, treading

slowly on speaking about a student we knew had been in and out of school for a few weeks

because of a stomach bug. Her intensity started to build as though we were slowly creeping to

the top of a towering roller coaster anticipating a large drop.

We were just informed that Allison was taken to the hospital and is in a coma and brain

dead.

The roller coaster plummeted at lightning speed. We were all knocked unconscious in

disbelief. The emotions ran out of us like the Hoover Dam had just broke. Sniffles and the

sound of pulling tissues infused the room. We had cycles of silence, questioning, reminiscing,

and laughter as we were trying to digest the news that no one else in the school knew. We

were told to go head home and be with loved ones. I grabbed my teacher bag and sunglasses

to cover my puffy eyes and walked straight to my car. Shock, fear, sorrow, empathy, and hope

battled through my body as I drove away from a bitter May day.

The first day.

 Teeny, glasses at the brim of her nose, her favorite navy blue cardigan, khakis that were

a little too short and showed off her bright white tube socks and Mary Janes.

This was little Allison the first day I met her. She had short, jet black hair. Most days she

would wear her hair in a ponytail and use pink barrettes to hold her pin straight bangs back.

Some days she would have pig tails that looked like two fireworks spouting from the crown of

her head. In our first encounter I noted that she loved to share good news with the group. Her

arm would go waving back and forth like a flag on a windy day. She was excited. She was

always excited to share the good things. For Christmas my brother got an alarm that you can

record your voice to wake you up. I recorded my voice so he could wake up to it. I made one in

my robot voice [In her robot voice] Get-out-of-bed... you-sleepy-head. Robot gestures were of

course included. Our whole small group giggled at her theatrical reenactment. Amusing

vignettes like these were just one of many when teaching Allison. I remember the times I would

see her in the hallway finishing up an assignment. Instead of completing the task, she was

drawing spirals and shapes in the air with her pencils.

The daze. I hoped that I had more time to unfold the creativity in her mind and find out

what she was sketching in the air. E-mails about Allison flooded my inbox over the weekend.

Prayers continued to pour from family, friends, and staff members with hopes that we could end

the year with Allison back at school. My mind continued to think about her petite body going

through such torment and hoping she was on her way to recovery. At church that Sunday

morning I asked for others to pray with me that Allison wouldnt feel any pain or suffering and we

would be able to see her smile with us again. Sunday evening our principal sent us an email

with the subject line that read Allison. My stomach dropped and wondered what the update

would be. As I read through the e-mail my stomach tensed up in pain, my arms and legs grew

weak, and my heart fell in disbelief. Sweet Allison did not make it through the weekend.

The day of rest. Life was at a standstill, yet flying by. Reality set in that a precious life

was no longer with us. The day felt heavy and weight increased as we trod slowly toward the
funeral home. A group of current teachers, former teachers, and admin joined to share in a time

of grief. I felt layers of emotions peeling off me as we stepped closer and closer to the room

where Allisons open-casket stood. I wanted to be strong for my teammates and Allisons

family, but I gradually started to lose my composure as my face became warm and my eyes

started filling with tears as we took our seats. The air felt thick and heavy like we were walking

through a fog before the sunrise of a spring day. The atmosphere grew heavier as I saw

Allisons mother sitting on the couch near the front of the room, hunched over with her face in

her hands sobbing softly. As more people came up to greet her, her sobs turned to roars of

wailing with attempts to inhale and exhale steadily. Another layer of my emotions was peeling

away as I watched her heart break over and over with every hug from a loved one. The pools of

tears became trickles of salty streams down my face. The fog faintly dissipated as I saw the

band of brightly oversized flowers and plants that surrounded Allison. It reminded me of her

colored personality and creative talents. Memories of her life continued to come back as family

members and mentors stepped up to the podium to share about Allisons life. Allisons dad

shared his thoughts in their familys native tongue.Though I could not understand the words, I

could decode the heartbreak and shock he was still working through as his little princess was

not with him any longer. Allison's mom shared her memories last. She spoke as if Allison was

looking right at her listening to her every word. Allisons mom had found a diary of secrets and

promises Allison was keeping with her mother. She listed off items such as getting good

grades on spelling tests, cleaning her room, being nice to her older brother, and that mom would

always love her. Allisons mom confirmed that she would always love her little girl and wished

that Allison had kept her promise to graduate, get married one day, and have kids of her own.

My heart felt so unsettled as reality was setting in that our little Allison would not be having

these memories with her family and my times of meeting with Alison would only come in the

memories that I had of her.

 Today. It will be almost a year to the time she passed. I see teachers sharing their last

bits of wisdom in the classroom, students are still excited for the clock to strike 3:10. I anticipate

sweet May days approaching. However, there is an air - painter missing in the hallway;

storyteller missing in a classroom; a bright personality missing at our school. I honor her in

continuing to relive the memories she gave and sharing good news to everyone everyday.