Originally published June 28, 2023
Structuring compelling creative nonfiction that draws the reader in and leaves a lasting impression
I’ve always thought of myself as a storyteller. It didn’t matter what I was doing. Writing. Photography. Filmmaking. Advertising. I told stories. But a few years ago, I had a profound realization that, in person, I was an awful storyteller. Simply horrendous. Incomprehensible.
In conversations, I would wander aimlessly, trying to weave a half dozen disparate concepts into some sort of cohesive narrative only to realize on the drive home that I hadn’t finished a single thought, let alone story, and that the listener would have no other choice but to assume that I was stark raving mad. Without the ability to edit, trim, and rewrite, I’m a disaster. It’s why I’m a writer.
Even my wife’s eyes glaze over. There are times when I am sure she believes I might not be very bright after all. I try my best not to reinforce this conclusion.
The takeaway for me is this: structure is critical to compelling storytelling.
Let’s get into it.
Humans have evolved to understand the world through stories, and the successful stories we remember, typically have a familiar structure. Understanding the basics of that structure will help you break down the barriers of readership by allowing the reader to be open to new insight within a familiar framework. Before we can hope to feed the reader, we have to seduce them.
Whether it’s a travel journal, a reflection on culture, a discussion on religion, your thoughts on pizza, or your earliest memory, a well-written article needs a certain amount of structure. Like a building, it needs walls before you can start decorating. If your house has good bones, you can create a compelling story, so start with the bones.
All rules are meant to be broken, and there is no one way to do things right. Unfortunately, there are seemingly endless ways of doing it wrong. This isn’t just about writing style, grammar, or storytelling. It’s closer to describing the structure of a joke, as it relies on human behavior and cultural expectations.
The Basics of Nonfiction Story Structure
Let me say at the outset that, personally, I hate rules. At least, I hate other people’s rules, and really what I hate are rules that I view as capricious or arbitrary. On the other hand, I have a lot of respect for structure.
As a publisher, I read a lot of stories, some good, some bad, some that just need a little help. But even with the good stories, ones with a strong premise, solid writing, and a wealth of experiences to draw from, far too many of them lack a cohesive structure, and this causes them to be weaker than they should be.
I am a big believer in maintaining basic rules of structure. As I like to say, there’s never one right way to do things, but there are seemingly endless ways of doing it wrong. For the purposes of this talk, I am keeping it super simple. This isn’t the only way to think about structure, but it’s the simplest. If you can do this, and write a well-crafted piece, I guarantee it will be more successful than a piece that’s all over the place.
In our simple scenario, there are four parts to a compelling piece of creative nonfiction. They are:
- A Commanding Headline
- An Enticing Opening
- A Logical Middle
- And A Strong Close
A Commanding Headline
Unless you’re a famous writer with a large following or being published in a legacy publication with a large following, your title can’t be too cute or clever. Let me be clear. I hate this. It drives me bonkers. But it is what it is. If you’re relying on someone to read your article based on the headline, and not your reputation as a writer, it had better be provocative.
One of my favorite opening lines of all time comes from David Sedaris’ piece titled “Nuit Of The Living Dead.” I’ll tell you the opening line in a bit, but the fact remains that if you didn’t know the author or were not a subscriber to The New Yorker, you probably wouldn’t stop and read it because it didn’t mean anything to you. It only makes sense after you read the story. This is the advantage that fame affords a writer. The benefit of the doubt.
For the purposes of this platform, we have to assume that the reader knows nothing about you. Your headline, therefore, can’t be too literary or obscure. It has to grab the reader by the balls, figuratively or otherwise, and make them stop and think. It has to actually say what the article is about or at least offer some semblance of a rationale for why someone should stop doom-scrolling and read the drivel that pours from our heads.
The truth is, you can learn a lot from clickbait without resorting to that level of manipulation. Give the reader a reason to give a shit.
An Enticing Opening
I think a lot about openings. Not just the opening line, but the entire opening paragraph. If I can’t grab your attention in the first paragraph, there is no hope. When I start writing an article, I often begin by jumping into the meat of the story. But that’s rarely the final opener. It usually becomes the second or third paragraph, pushed down because I have to go back and write a proper opening.
When it comes to seducing the reader, I believe you have to have a little foreplay before you jump into the truly sweaty work of telling your story. Don’t break the fourth wall and start talking to the reader. You’re going to freak them out. It’s like you turned to the camera and started talking. Don’t start apologizing or explaining why you’re doing what you’re doing. Stay out of it. This is between the story and the reader. You are not involved.
On the other hand, draw us in. Entice us. Tease us. Flirt. Frame the story and get the reader curious. You have to lure them in with your charm, be it brassy honesty or animal magnetism. Whatever you bring to the table. If you can’t do that, you’re not a writer. You’re a stenographer.
Here are some examples of openings that I think are strong:
From David Sedaris:
“I was on the front porch, drowning a mouse in a bucket, when this van pulled up, which was strange.”
From Erma Bombeck:
“The other night, a tree I had never seen before swerved in front of me at the end of our driveway and clipped my right fender.”
From Glenn Stout:
“I am sitting in a bar in Burlington, Vermont, drinking Guinness with a man whose work I have read but who I have never met before, hoping he’ll say things I agree with about a subject I love, which may provide a way to write the foreword to a book a lot of people care deeply about.”
And finally, from W. Kamau Bell:
“I am afraid of the cops. Absolutely petrified of the cops. Now understand, I’ve never been arrested or held for questioning. I’ve never been told that I “fit the description.” But that doesn’t change a thing. I am afraid of cops the way that spiders are afraid of boots. You’re walking along, minding your own business, and SQUISH! You are dead.”
These are all compelling, engaging, and likely to stop me in my tracks. That’s what our goal should be. Give the reader a reason to give a shit.
A Logical Middle
As a writer, you need to keep your promises. You’ve caught the attention of the reader with your title. You lured them in with a strong opening. Now it’s time to fulfill your promise and tell them that story. Not some other story. The story you promised them. The one that got them all hot and bothered.
The problem with clickbait headlines isn’t just that they’re manipulative. It’s that they usually bear no resemblance to the content of the actual article. They’re a tease with no payoff. A massage with no happy ending.
Don’t do that.
It might work once, but never a second time. Once you’ve lost their trust, it’s game over.
Tell the story you promised to tell. Do it deliberately and logically. One step at a time. You can wander off the path if you like, as long as you bring the reader along and make it back in one piece. Logic is your friend, not an obstacle. No matter how illogical your premise is, your story must have a logic that makes sense, at least to the reader.
The Strong Close
If the title is what catches the reader’s attention, and the opening is what lures them in, the logical middle is what sets the hook. But it’s a strong close that will determine whether or not they remember anything you had to say. It’s the last look. If you don’t book end your piece, it’s all going to go sliding off the shelf into the abyss. So, lock it up.
One way to ensure you’ve encapsulated an idea well, is to go back to the beginning and remind yourself what story you claimed you were telling and why. Did you do it? If so, this is your chance to put an exclamation point on your premise. Hammer the point home.
And for Pete’s sake, do with a bit of style. You’re a writer, after all, not a court reporter.
That’s my case for a basic structure that won’t confuse the reader. What you do within that structure can vary drastically and significantly. But if you follow that simple structure, you’re much more likely to have the reader trust you, and if they trust you, they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, which is nice.
Tips and Techniques
Now I want to give you a few tips and techniques for achieving a few of these things.
Openings: In Medias Res
In medias res is Latin for “in the midst of things.” As illogical as it is, this is the best place to start, in my opinion, but it’s nearly impossible to do until you’re well on your way.
In my experience, I tend to start writing about my subject the way I might a critical paper. Begin with the premise and start laying out my case. But that’s way too forward when it comes to beginning an article. It’s all heavy breathing, and we’ve only just met.
So, invariably, after I’ve written my first draft, I go back and write a new opening to go before the real meat of the piece. Something lighter and intriguing. A bit of humor or drama, an anecdote of some sort. Something to connect me to the reader, and the reader to the subject. I think it helps to know where the heart of your article is, and then go back and begin with an illustration that explains what that is.
My advice. Write your opening last. Maybe even your headline. I almost always start with a headline and with what I think is a strong opener, but it often gets replaced. Don’t be afraid to kill a title. Don’t get emotionally attached to your own witty repartee. Kill it and move on.
Logical Middles: The Importance Of Theme
Personally, I’m a big fan of using anecdotes, music lyrics, movie quotes, and pop culture references to illustrate my points. It’s interesting when a piece ties multiple concepts together to make a point—as long as you have one. I rather enjoy the occasional roundabout. I revel in the long way around. The scenic route.
That said, the biggest mistake I see writers make is having too many ideas in a single piece. It’s not always that they’re dealing with too many ideas, but that they’re dealing with too many big ideas in too small a space. You can’t write about the history of the world in 1500 words or less. You’re writing a magazine article, not a manifesto. Break it down. Decide what this piece is about. You don’t have to explain all your truths. Just the one at hand.
When you go off into too many different tangents, the leader gets confused and, more often than not, will find something else to do—probably Wordle.
Logical Middles: Wandering In Service Of The Story
I am a big fan of taking readers on a journey. It’s rarely a direct path because I don’t believe that’s reflected in our reality, and it’s not how we typically learn. But that doesn’t mean you can get them lost or lead them to dead ends.
You don’t have to tip your hand, but there must be a purpose for a detour that is in service of the story. It has to reveal something about the central theme of your story, or shine a light on some aspect of what you’re trying to convey. So, wander all you like, but keep an eye on the path and make sure the reader understands the purpose of your diversion.
Closing: Don’t Talk To The Reader, Tell The Story
When my middle daughter was young, she had a book report or something g assigned to her in school. Writing and spelling were not her strong suits, and the required word count hung over her like a guillotine. She found as many extraneous things as possible to fill up the page, literally ending her piece with the phrase, “and so on, and so forth.”
Whenever I see a weak close, where the writer starts talking to the reader, thanking them for their time, I think of my daughter’s fourth-grade closer, “and so on, and so forth.” This is essentially giving up ten feet from the finish line.
“Fuck it,” you seem to be saying. “I have run out of gas. I don’t know how to finish this damn thing.”
Worst case scenario, you should revert to what we were taught in high school composition: Tell the reader what you’re going to tell them, give them several examples that support your claim, then finish by telling them what you told them.
There are undoubtedly an endless number of ways to structure a story, but these rules still generally apply. Catch the reader’s attention. Tell a compelling story. Leave a strong impression. The thing to remember is that not everyone is in our heads. They don’t know what we know. They know only what we tell them. So ensure you didn’t skip the important stuff because you assumed they would know.
Good luck, and keep writing.