It should make a clear point: it should bring to life a moral, lesson, or idea.

While it is true a narrative is a story, there is more in the telling of the story. The narrative, or story, needs to make the reader feel involved, teach a lesson, help get an idea across, or feel emotionally about it. The narrative needs to explain who is in the story, tell what is happening, and when it happened. The topic sentence needs to be clear so the reader knows they are going to learn something from the story. The story itself is written in time, or chronological order, as the events occured.~ Mary M.

Common Transitional expressions used in a narrative paragraph are after, finally, soon, as (soon as), later, then, before, meanwhile, upon, during, next, when, first, now, and while.

A good way to plan for a well developed paragraph is to write out a topic sentence, then write events in chronological order and then write a conclusion. This is a good way to make sure you stay on topic and that all the events are in the correct order.

• Here are some examples of a Narrative Paragraph:

Peddling On My Own

Learning how to ride a bike for the first time was a nerve racking independent moment. I was about five years old when my sister informed me that I was too old to still be riding a bike with training wheels. That was the time I decided not to depend on them anymore. Even though I had some doubt, my sister and I went outside and started to take the little wheels off my bike. After my bike went through the transformation, I was now ready for the big moment. With butterflies in my stomach, I slowly got on the bike, and with my shaky hands, I gripped the handles tightly. Meanwhile my sister was holding on to me to help keep my balance. I was so afraid the she would let go, yet I was determined to ride this bike on my own. Next with a little push from her, I started to peddle. The faster my bike went the faster my heart raced. Finally I looked back nervously and noticed that my sister let go of my bike a long time ago. I was so excited that I accomplished freedom on my bike that I forgot to peddle. The next step I remember, I was lying on the ground, yet I did not care because of the adrenaline rush. I will never forget the exhilarating moment and growing up stage of riding a bike without training wheels.

~© Fallon Fauque 2005~

The most embarrassing moment of my sophomore year was how I earned my nick name, Crash. It all started right after school when I turned on to the busiest street by the school. First I pulled up right behind this truck at a stop sign. After a second, a fellow older student told me that I was really close and that I was going to hit the truck in front of me. At the moment I was trying to tell the kid that I was giving a ride to to get back in the car because he was hanging out the window. Since I was distracted, I thought the long line of traffic had started to move, but it hadn’t. In the blink of an eye I hit the back of the truck in front of me. The devastation sunk in. I was so worried that I damaged the truck, but all that I did was scratch his bumper. Lucky for him! Then it came time to look at my car. My car was ruined. The hood was buckled, the front end was pushed back, and my headlights were broken. Humiliated and scared, I still had to drive my totaled care home. During School that year, I never did hear the end of what had happened that day.

~© Tiffany Haggerty~

One of my favorite family experiences was when I went to see Anne Frank’s (a Jewish victim of the Nazi persecution during World War II) hideout in Amsterdam, Holland. I had read Anne’s published diary when I was younger, so I was extremely thrilled to actually have the chance to see where she and her family hid from the Germans for so many months. I walked up the stairs of an apartment building and into a room with only a bookshelf in it. From what I remembered from reading the diary, there was a doorknob behind the books. I found the doorknob and turned it and there was the secret annex. When I stepped into the room behind the bookshelf, I felt as if I had stepped back into history. I found Anne’s room still with pictures of her favorite celebrities on her walls. The Frank family’s furniture was still placed where they had left them in the rooms, everything just as described in the diary. I toured each room in awe of actually seeing how they had lived, yet with sadness to know how it all ended. Anne’s diary was no longer just a book to me, but true heart-felt, emotional life story written by a girl I felt I almost knew.

~© Denise Rafferty~

Kaleb likes to Mop

Recently, I held an amusing and memorable conversation with my son, who began kindergarten this year, on the subject of mopping. My 5 year old son, Kaleb, claimed my Swiffer mop as his own, and he enjoys mopping my kitchen and hardwood floors. Last summer, while I was watching him eagerly mop my floors, he suddenly exclaimed, “I’m just like a janitor!” Amused, and somewhat surprised at his thoughtful comparison, I smiled and answered, “Yes, you are like the school janitor Mr. Bruce.” Immediately, a bright smile came to his face, and he agreed with obvious pride and delight, “Yes, I am like Mr. Bruce.” Then I told him that maybe someday, when he was a bigger boy like his brother, he could help Mr. Bruce mop the floors at school. Upon hearing that, he told me excitedly, “I’m going to help Mr. Bruce at school; I could be the one to mop the hallways”. Meanwhile, Kaleb put his mop away and moved on to his next activity. I assumed he would forget about our conversation. Later, on the first day of kindergarten, I was listening to Kaleb’s brother help him prepare his backpack, making sure he had the pencils, erasers, and supplies he needed on his first day of school, when I overheard Kaleb say earnestly, “Should I take my mop?” My older son and I refrained from laughing so we wouldn’t embarrass him, and told him gently that no; he wouldn’t be needing his mop today. My heart warmed, and I wished that moments like those could remain in my heart forever; but sadly, memories fade and little boys grow up. Maybe someday when he is a bigger boy, Kaleb will help Mr. Bruce mop the school hallways, but in the meanwhile he’ll have to be satisfied with helping his Mom mop floors at home.

~© 2005 Kelly Byron~

The one day I spent in Morocco, Africa was an experience of a lifetime. When I finally reached Morocco and got off the bus, there were four little girls standing shoeless in the hot sun. After I swallowed my tears, I could not even try to picture this in America as it is not something you often see in the U.S. Meanwhile my tourist guide instructed me not to give them money as it encouraged the children to beg; however, I was wearing four silver bracelets. As I walked over to the girls, their eyes watched my every move. Then I kneeled down to their level while I gave each girl a bracelet. They stood there gleaming at me, for they were pleased. I felt completely in disbelief that this tiny gesture could mean so much. Though this experience was upsetting, and a huge culture shock, it will stay with me forever.

http://english120.pbworks.com/narrative-paragraphs