Teaching Students to Write Award-Winning Essays

Dr. Michael M. Baker is a professor of English at Florida Gateway College.

In Spring 2020, I started teaching in the Second Chance Pell program, and I was fortunate to have some gifted students. I decided to submit a couple student essays to the Norton Writer’s Prize competition.  

One of those essays won the First-Year Writer category, which recognizes original nonfiction by undergraduate writers, and another one was selected for publication in The Norton Field Guide to Writing (with Readings), Sixth Edition. 

I emphasize that the two students, Howard Clendenin and Russell Mobley, were the authors of their own success—but even gifted students benefit from guidance. So, I’d like to share with my fellow writing instructors the things I think most helped my former students write strong essays.  

First, I don’t think it was coincidence that both essays were narratives. Stories remain an effective means of persuasion—as evidenced by their use in advertisements and political campaigns. (And storytelling is even more important now, in an age when AI can produce facts on demand.) 

Second, I believe narratives offer developing writers the best opportunity to gain outside recognition. College freshmen can produce strong essays when they recognize themselves as authorities, focus on a single event, and articulate a clear point. 

Everyone’s an Author 

Today, we all have a public voice.  

My college uses Norton’s Everyone’s an Author (Andrea Lunsford et al.) in Freshman Composition, and I try to convince my students that the textbook’s title statement is true—and that means they are (or can become) “authors.”  

Indeed, most students already have a public presence online, whether they post on social media, write online reviews (of games, restaurants, products, or instructors), or contribute content to websites dedicated to sports, fashion, video games, or fanfiction. 

It doesn’t take too much effort to shift students’ mindsets from “authors are people who publish books” to “actually, a lot of people can read the things I write.” Now, students just need to realize that they have valuable things to say. 

I find that developing writers feel more comfortable writing about something they’ve experienced; they might not feel like they are authorities on many things, but they can certainly talk about their own lives. That’s where narratives come in.   

But experience has shown that if I just tell them, “Write a narrative about something you’re proud of,” many will say, “I can’t think of anything.”  

So, early in the semester, I have them free write on topics such as “What is a ‘hero’?” Most students start with things like superheroes, but they usually shift into talking about real-life heroes, such as first responders. Invariably, they eventually write about a specific person—a relative, friend, or stranger—who once helped them out.  

They start to realize that anyone can be a hero, just like everyone can be an author. 

Later, I ask students to brainstorm about things they’re proud of—awards or competitions they’ve won, people they’ve helped, or times they demonstrated strong character traits. I then ask them to choose one of those things and brainstorm as many details about it as they can remember: what they were wearing, who else was involved, and even the sounds and smells of the day.  

They’ve just started working on their first paper: a narrative. 

A Clearly Identified Event 

At this point, I turn students’ attention to what makes a good narrative. Drawing on the five “characteristic features” of narratives in Everyone’s an Author (page 200), I teach students that single events make better narratives than long processes. Readers don’t need an overview of a four-year process; they need to see the moment of change.   

For example, if the student became more confident in high school, then they should tell us about the first time they volunteered for a task—and how they nailed it. Their initial panic at facing the problem will establish how they used to be, and their boost of confidence at the narrative’s end will suggest what they eventually become.  

To help students focus on a specific event, I reintroduce something they probably learned about in middle school: the six journalistic questions of who, what, when, where, why, and how. In general, the sooner a reader can answer these questions, the more likely it is that they will become engrossed in the story. 

At this point, I show students the openings of different narratives, including a strong example in Everyone’s an Author. Jose Antonio Vargas’s “My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant” begins: 

One August morning nearly two decades ago, my mother woke me and put me in a cab. She handed me a jacket. “Baka molamig doon” were among the few words she said. (“It might be cold there.”) When I arrived at the Philippines’ Ninoy Aquino Airport with her, my aunt and a family friend, I was introduced to a man I’d never seen. They told me he was my uncle. He held my hand as I boarded an airplane for the first time. It was 1993, and I was 12. 

My mother wanted to give me a better life, so she sent me thousands of miles away to live with her parents in America… (999)

In just over one short paragraph (115 words, 7.5 sentences), Vargas answers all six of the journalistic questions. 

The sooner a student can ground readers into the foundational elements of storytelling, the better. 

Narrative hack #1: Strong writing is specific writing. If a student has a long, process-oriented story they feel they need to tell, then there’s a hack for that: tell them to ground the process in one or more specific events. 
 
First, they can give the process a narrative framework. For example, if they need to tell us about their gradual change in high school, then they can tell the story of their high school graduation and interweave their memories with the unfolding ceremony. For example, perhaps seeing Mrs. Smith sitting in the teachers’ section reminded them of how her class drew them into art. 
 
By using specific scenes, they can mimic Vargas, who actually tells a larger story. But his opening scene provides a concrete moment for readers to envision. 

An important point to teach students is that narratives are constructed. A student shouldn’t just think, “I’ll write about the time I volunteered at XYZ Charity.” The result will likely be a rather boring—even if charmingly told—story. The student will probably simply write everything they can remember about that day. 

So, although I use the words story and narrative interchangeably most of the time, I tell students about E. M. Forster’s differentiation between story and plot (see Aspects of the Novel): 

Story: a sequence of events. E.g., “The king died and then the queen died.” We’re not even sure how much time passed or how the queen died; there is no connection between these two deaths. 

Plot: a sequence of connected events. E.g., “The king died, and then the queen died of grief.” Here, the queen only died because the king died first. These two deaths are connected. 

A strong narrative doesn’t include every detail; it includes only necessary and relevant details. It shows the relationship between things in the narrative. When a story is tightly told, then its point is usually clear.  

A Clear Point 

Even more important than the event is the point—or message—of the narrative. That is, what can readers take away from it?  

So, while it is awesome that a student volunteered at XYZ Charity, why should readers care about that day? Does the narrative teach a lesson about giving or about the big impact small actions can have on other people? Does it bring awareness to a need to which readers can donate time or money? Does it inspire readers to get involved with giving back? 

The best points are widely applicable ones. It’s one thing if a student learned their best friend couldn’t be trusted… but readers don’t know that person, so that fact doesn’t matter much to them.  

A stronger narrative will point out warning signs of deception or teach readers a method to heal from the hurt of betrayal. These are the types of things readers could take away from such a narrative—if the student is taught to integrate and express them. 

When we, as readers, finish an essay with a strong point, we are likely to put the paper down slowly, take a deep breath, and pause to digest the lesson we just learned. 

Narrative hack #2: Choose the best point. After students brainstorm some ideas, tell them not to write about the event that interests them the most. Instead, encourage them to write about the event about which they can make the best point. For publication purposes, a narrative that makes an impact is better than one that is simply a fun read. 

Ideally, students will identify their intended point before they start writing their first draft because, even more than the event (or the setting, details, or point of view), the point is the most important element of a narrative essay. It is the element that can truly impact the reader’s life. 

Conclusion 

As instructors, we can help students recognize that they, too, have valuable insights to share. We can also teach them strategies and techniques that will enable them to write at their highest level. 

While we can never guarantee that they will be selected for an award or for publication, we know that they will never be given the opportunity unless we nominate them. 
As instructors, part of our job is to help our students soar. So, let me encourage you to select your best student essays from this academic year and nominate them for awards like the Norton Writer’s Prize. 

Your students will feel honored and recognized even if they don’t win the award.  

Instructors: Have your students written something for your course that you think would be a good fit for publication in a Norton text? Nominate your student for the Norton Writer’s Prize here—the contest recognizes outstanding original nonfiction by undergraduates, and all submissions are considered for publication.  

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