Persuasive Narrative Writing

The use of persuasive rhetoric writing can be helpful in the working world, especially when you need people to follow you. Using Ethos, is a way to approach your audience by establishing common ground, instead of coming off as authoritative. Even if someone doesn’t have the same views as you, if you acknowledge their values and beliefs, it’s easier to persuade them, because they see you do care about their opinion. As I move forward in any form of communication it is important to keep that in mind, and next year I’ll being using it a lot as president of CAC. Being the president of club means you have to communicate with your members, and the general public. CAC is involved in getting others to help, with the biggest event we hold, Relay for Life.

I ran back up the hill to our camp, trying to move quickly without wasting too much energy, took my inhaler, and rushed back down the hill. Soon, it was time for the race to start. The officials gave an overview of information about the race and how it would start. The official behind us blew a long whistle. We stood, motionless, just waiting for that starting gunshot. Pow! The race was off. I sprinted out of the pack. I tried to find a good pace and settle in. We ran up a few hills, and then we made it to the first entrance to the creek. Unintelligently, I didn’t slow down very much going into the creek. Because I didn’t slow down, I splashed into the creek with a belly flop, almost submerging my whole body underwater. I got up quickly, then began to climb up the mud wall. I clawed at that wall like it was my enemy. I avoided the rope, even though it actually wasn’t that busy at the moment. I was too focused to switch strategies. We continued to run on, passing many fans, their cheers a chaotic blur. We passed through the second part of the creek, which was not nearly as deep. It was only about mid-shin to knee level, so I made my way through just fine. We ran all over the vineyard. I wasn’t feeling too awful. I was just caught up in the thrill of the race! We made it to the cornfields, and there were lots of small hills. I ran through them staring at the ground, and I kept seeing the same pair of shoes. For some strange reason, I kept staring at those shoes. People do crazy things when they run, you could say! Anyways, I passed the person wearing those shoes. We ran away from the corn fields and under a bridge. I was coming closer and closer to the finish. I was struggling to continue, but I would not quit! I pushed through the pain, but by the end of the race, I was just done. I saw the final hill in front of me. It was one of the biggest hills on the course, if not the biggest, and it was definitely the most difficult after

A jagged pain arcs across my chest as I take in a breath. My legs grind up one after the other, barely moving but still pushing me forward. The runners ahead of me continue to press on, legs becoming a blur as they widen the gap. Eyes glancing up for a split-second, I find a primitive strength rising up within me, something that says No. You are not done yet. Throwing my arms higher and feeling my body ache even more, I set my gaze on a tree that lines the top of the hill, and I gradually increase the length of my strides, slowly but surely catching up with the group that was about to leave me behind. As we pound around the corner and begin to coast downhill, I release a small sigh of relief, despite my exhausted lungs. I may have won a battle, but the war continues, and we continue to

Hitting the wall, I pushed off the wall and swam breaststroke. Here, my legs gave in and began power my stroke. I seemed to be shooting forward, heading towards the wall. My body was beginning to feel like an oven, and my limbs grew numb, but I kept pushing forward. It was time for me to finish this

The announcer was counting down and all I could think to myself was, “Please don’t die.” Standing dead smack in the centre of a herd of men and women, all of which were whooping and hollering anticipating the starting pistol to go off. Yet, there I was, praying that my 3 months of training wasn’t going to let me down. 5 seconds to go; and there was no turning back, what laid ahead for all of us was 11 miles and 21 obstacles that were designed to test one’s mental and physical tenacity. It wasn’t a competition; it was a trial. “Here we go!” my best friend Aaron declares sportively with a nudge as the pistol goes off, and our Braveheart charge was underway.

Focusing on the course that lay ahead, chills slithered down my back. The shot of the reverberating gun fired and I charged with my heart pounding like the sound of a drum. With my arms pumping and legs moving vigorously onto the course, I was the average runner in battle with my mind. My teammates leaped and hopped with excitement as I bolted; I pictured my body gracefully drifting through the air while the world stood silent. The last grueling hundred meters, I thrusted my body to the end of the finish line while the other runners stood in utter awe of my amateur performance, I flailed to the ground. Staring up at the sky, as I sat breathless and fatigued, engulfed in deep thought. I could feel the wind in my face and the dirt in my mouth. I was swept away by the calm before the storm, the exhilaration, the immense amount of heart each individual had, but mostly the passion for running.

I could feel my lungs burning in my chest as oxygen entered only to be forced back out. I push myself to continue moving my arms, pushing the water behind me so I could propel myself forward. At that moment, many things floated around my conscience. It was so intense that I felt like giving up everything I had worked so hard for: the 10-hour online-training, the initial interview, the prior physical training, and the self-determination to achieve my goals. These thoughts were embedded in my mind as I took a side breath, struggling to continue my freestyle stroke.

As we are nearing our destination our bus driver yells out “I am going to stop at this gas station and fill up.” When our bus driver came back onto the bus he exclaimed “The gas station is out of gasoline so we will stay here overnight.” Then, everyone in the bus started grunting and moaning. “But guys we can make this fun if we tell stories to pass the time, Here, I will start.” I said. And we began telling each other our stories.

Half-way to her destination a second wind kicks in, but it doesn’t last. Her stamina caves and she nearly faints and fears she may die like her brother riding a bicycle. But the support and courage she needs shows up just in time. She rides to the finish line in intact.

It was my first high school meet of the season and my nerves were on edge. All summer, I had been training hard to reach my goal of qualifying for the state swim meet. The event I had the best chance at was the 100 yard breaststroke. My time was only one second away from the qualifying time. As the race grew near, my nerves improved, and I believed that I could qualify. I stepped up onto the block, dove in, and swam my heart out. As I finished my race, I looked up from the pool and saw that I had shaved two seconds off my time. I had qualified! My family, coaches, and teammates all congratulated me on my accomplishment. Even though I was ecstatic at that moment, I knew that qualifying was only half the journey. I had a long road ahead of me

With a hectic schedule already on my plate, the second week of class was packed with assignments. I found myself struggling to keep up with my high-demand business schedule in addition to writing a memo about change, creating 2 PowerPoint presentations with corresponding handouts, and participating in a discussion board. Sometimes, I wonder how I even find time to sleep.

Narrative-based persuasion is fairly new to me, however, I have had a little experience with this genre in the past. Though this genre isn’t entirely new to me, I still struggle with a couple aspects. The hardest part about writing this genre for me is actually coming up with the anecdote that the narrative is actually based off of. My struggle can be seen between the first draft and the final copy of this essay as I completely restructured which anecdote was the main focus.

It happens to every driver eventually. You’re barreling through enemy territory, eyes darting back and forth scanning for raiders. You spot a spike trap, you turn sharply, but it’s too late! Bang! The sun-faded hula girl on the dashboard dances to the sound of rubber slapping against highway. You climb out of your battle barge, open the cargo hatch and see the rig’s last spare tire, sitting on top of it is a red cooler; sweaty from the desert sun. It’s the perfect size for a bag of ice and the fresh kidney your war chief awaits. Follow this simple guide to changing a flat tire and you will be held aloft by your war party in celebration, or fail and be consumed by the poison gas cloud that pursues you.

With only 21 miles on my back in the past three months, the 3.1 miles race was the hardest thing I had ever done. Crossing the finish line for the first time, I realized the growth I had made through this season. Encountering my first real challenge of my teenage years, I realized the amount of hard work I had put into something I loved, and I recognized the amount of strength and perseverance I built that would help me later in my high school years and adult

Finally, I climbed down into the pool and started swimming. Then the problems started. The people in front of me were too slow. A huge jam formed and stayed like that for the swim. I panicked, I couldn’t breathe. I thought about getting out of the pool but I did not. I kept swimming and finally reached the edge of the pool. I jogged outside on a black mat. Anthony was there and he took my swim cap and goggles. There was also a race official. “Good job, keep going,” she said