a form of creative writing non fiction that is very close to reportage and news writing

What Is Creative Nonfiction? The 4 Elements of Creative Nonfiction

You’ve encountered creative nonfiction countless times—in conversation, on social media, and on the written page, but could you define or explain it if asked? Here, we’ll look at the kinds of writing and speech that make stories, podcasts, and countless other media come to life, all while sticking to the truth.

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What is creative nonfiction?

Creative nonfiction is a genre of writing that combines factual accounts found in nonfiction with literary techniques found in fiction and poetry. In other words, it’s a true story with a touch of literary flair. Certain genres of nonfiction are often written as creative nonfiction, such as memoir, personal essays, literary journalism, and travel and food writing. An effective creative nonfiction story both informs and entertains its readers.

4 elements of creative nonfiction

The key difference between traditional nonfiction and creative nonfiction is the use of literary devices and techniques. While the characters and events in a work of creative nonfiction should be factually accurate, they are presented in a way that is purposely engaging to the reader .

Some elements that you’ll find in creative nonfiction include:

1 Scene setting

Writers focus on the tangible details about a time and place to immerse their readers in a scene. This can be achieved through literary devices such as imagery , simile, and metaphor .

2 Character development

Real people are fleshed out with backstories, mannerisms, and motivations, just like in real life. Some literary techniques that you might find in creative nonfiction are flashbacks, direct characterization , and dialogue .

3 Narrative

Much like novels, creative nonfiction stories have a beginning, middle, climax, and end. The order in which these events unfold is the story’s narrative . By using different narrative structures, the writer can control the pace at which events unfold and draw the reader further into the story.

4 Subjectivity

In traditional nonfiction, the writer keeps a distance from the subject. But in creative nonfiction, the writer’s perspective, emotions, and insights can be part of the story. This is particularly true of personal essays, which are often written from a first-person point of view .

In terms of structure, creative nonfiction borrows elements from fiction such as chapters, acts, nonlinear timelines, and pacing. In creative nonfiction, writers shape events into stories, in a way that flows naturally and keeps readers engaged from start to finish. But facts are still primary.

Forms of creative nonfiction

Common forms of creative nonfiction include memoir, personal essays, literary journalism, travel writing , food writing, and more.

A memoir is a type of creative nonfiction in which the author writes about past experiences and events from their own life. Memoirs are typically longer narratives that involve extensive reflection, character development, dialogue, scene descriptions, and other literary techniques to share the author’s memories and insights. The goal is to craft an accurate but engaging life story.

Personal essay

The personal essay is a short prose composition in which the author explores a specific topic, experience, or idea from their personal point of view. Personal essays use literary tools like descriptive language, humor, and philosophical musings to share thoughts and reflections with readers. Events and topics are drawn from the author’s life and can range from the absurd to the mundane and everyday.

Literary journalism

Also known as narrative journalism, literary journalism combines factual reporting and research with vivid scenic descriptions, character profiles, dramatic pacing, and rich sensory details. In traditional journalism, there is a structure known as “the inverted pyramid,” which describes the way journalists place the most important information at the beginning of the story, and then work their way down through the details until they reach a pointed conclusion. Literary journalism allows the journalist to abandon this structure to tell the story in the way they think will be most compelling to readers.

Other forms

Some other forms of creative nonfiction are travel writing, food writing, and oral histories. Sometimes these genres overlap, like in Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (travel writing and memoir) or My Life in France by Julia Child (food writing, travel writing, and memoir).

Nonfiction and fiction vs. creative nonfiction

Most of the time, the difference between fiction and nonfiction is straightforward. True stories are nonfiction; invented stories are fiction. Once in a while, you’ll come across a piece of writing that reads like fiction but is based in fact. You’ve found a piece of creative nonfiction. So what is the difference between fiction, nonfiction, and creative nonfiction?

Nonfiction simply aims to convey factual information or arguments in a clear, straightforward way. It generally lacks extensive descriptive language, character development, or narrative elements. Examples of straightforward nonfiction are scientific research papers, police reports, textbooks, traditional journalism articles, and some biographies.

Fiction invents characters, settings, and plots that are ultimately products of imagination. The author is free to alter events and outcomes to serve the story. Fiction may be inspired by true events, but if any part of the story is untrue, altered, or unverifiable, then the story is considered fiction.

Creative nonfiction lives in between these two genres, merging factual accuracy with literary flair. Nothing is made up, but the use of literary elements might make the story read more like a mystery, drama, comedy, or other genre of fiction.

Creative nonfiction examples

Eat, pray, love by elizabeth gilbert.

This memoir chronicles a year that the author, Elizabeth Gilbert, spent traveling the world after a difficult divorce. She uses a three-part narrative structure based on the three different countries she visited that year. Though the events and characters are rooted in her experiences, her use of nontraditional narrative structure, flashbacks, imagery, and first-person point of view make it a work of creative nonfiction.

The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean

The Orchid Thief is a work of literary journalism that threads together three distinct storylines.

Orlean uses extensive research, interviews, character studies, and her own experiences to generate the nonfiction material. She then breaks the story into three distinct threads and braids them together, using a nontraditional narrative structure and pacing adopted from dramatic fiction.

Irons in the Fire by John McPhee

To report Irons in the Fire , John McPhee traveled with a cattle brand inspector through rural Nevada, researching and taking notes on every interaction and conversation he had along the way. His long-form article is full of rich character dialogue, descriptive scene setting, and even elements of suspense and mystery as McPhee relays story after story of cattle disputes in the Wild West.

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

Truman Capote’s famous work of creative nonfiction, “In Cold Blood” tells the true story of the murder of a Kansas farm family. Rather than simply presenting the facts gathered through police reports and interviews, as a traditional journalist might, Capote shifts perspectives and uses flashbacks to build up the lives of his subjects.

They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib

In an essay titled “It Rained in Ohio on the Night Allen Iverson Hit Michael Jordan With a Crossover,” Hanif Abdurraqib recounts in granular detail a three-second play during a basketball game. The play did actually happen, but the insights he gleans and the language he uses splinter away from a straightforward play-by-play.

Creative nonfiction FAQs

Creative nonfiction is a genre of fact-based writing that uses literary techniques to tell true stories in a compelling way.

How is nonfiction different from creative nonfiction?

Regular nonfiction focuses on just conveying facts and information without much literary flair, while creative nonfiction uses storytelling devices to engage readers.

What are the different kinds of creative nonfiction?

Some common forms of creative nonfiction include memoirs, personal essays, literary journalism, travel writing, food writing, and humor writing.

Examples of Creative Nonfiction: What It Is & How to Write It

When most people think of creative writing, they picture fiction books – but there are plenty of examples of creative nonfiction. In fact, creative nonfiction is one of the most interesting genres to read and write. So what is creative nonfiction exactly? 

More and more people are discovering the joy of getting immersed in content based on true life that has all the quality and craft of a well-written novel. If you are interested in writing creative nonfiction, it’s important to understand different examples of creative nonfiction as a genre. 

If you’ve ever gotten lost in memoirs so descriptive that you felt you’d walked in the shoes of those people, those are perfect examples of creative nonfiction – and you understand exactly why this genre is so popular.

But is creative nonfiction a viable form of writing to pursue? What is creative nonfiction best used to convey? And what are some popular creative nonfiction examples?

Today we will discuss all about this genre, including plenty of examples of creative nonfiction books – so you’ll know exactly how to write it. 

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What is Creative Nonfiction?

Creative nonfiction is defined as true events written about with the techniques and style traditionally found in creative writing . We can understand what creative nonfiction is by contrasting it with plain-old nonfiction. 

Think about news or a history textbook, for example. These nonfiction pieces tend to be written in very matter-of-fact, declarative language. While informative, this type of nonfiction often lacks the flair and pleasure that keep people hooked on fictional novels.

Imagine there are two retellings of a true crime story – one in a newspaper and the other in the script for a podcast. Which is more likely to grip you? The dry, factual language, or the evocative, emotionally impactful creative writing?

Podcasts are often great examples of creative nonfiction – but of course, creative nonfiction can be used in books too. In fact, there are many types of creative nonfiction writing. Let’s take a look!

Types of creative nonfiction

Creative nonfiction comes in many different forms and flavors. Just as there are myriad types of creative writing, there are almost as many types of creative nonfiction.

Some of the most popular types include:

Literary nonfiction

Literary nonfiction refers to any form of factual writing that employs the literary elements that are more commonly found in fiction. If you’re writing about a true event (but using elements such as metaphor and theme) you might well be writing literary nonfiction.

Writing a life story doesn’t have to be a dry, chronological depiction of your years on Earth. You can use memoirs to creatively tell about events or ongoing themes in your life.

If you’re unsure of what kind of creative nonfiction to write, why not consider a creative memoir? After all, no one else can tell your life story like you. 

Nature writing

The beauty of the natural world is an ongoing source of creative inspiration for many people, from photographers to documentary makers. But it’s also a great focus for a creative nonfiction writer. Evoking the majesty and wonder of our environment is an endless source of material for creative nonfiction. 

Travel writing

If you’ve ever read a great travel article or book, you’ll almost feel as if you’ve been on the journey yourself. There’s something special about travel writing that conveys not only the literal journey, but the personal journey that takes place.

Writers with a passion for exploring the world should consider travel writing as their form of creative nonfiction. 

For types of writing that leave a lasting impact on the world, look no further than speeches. From a preacher’s sermon, to ‘I have a dream’, speeches move hearts and minds like almost nothing else. The difference between an effective speech and one that falls on deaf ears is little more than the creative skill with which it is written. 

Biographies

Noteworthy figures from history and contemporary times alike are great sources for creative nonfiction. Think about the difference between reading about someone’s life on Wikipedia and reading about it in a critically-acclaimed biography.

Which is the better way of honoring that person’s legacy and achievements? Which is more fun to read? If there’s someone whose life story is one you’d love to tell, creative nonfiction might be the best way to do it. 

So now that you have an idea of what creative nonfiction is, and some different ways you can write it, let’s take a look at some popular examples of creative nonfiction books and speeches.

Examples of Creative Nonfiction

Here are our favorite examples of creative nonfiction:

1. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

No list of examples of creative nonfiction would be complete without In Cold Blood . This landmark work of literary nonfiction by Truman Capote helped to establish the literary nonfiction genre in its modern form, and paved the way for the contemporary true crime boom.  

2. A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast is undeniably one of the best creative memoirs ever written. It beautifully reflects on Hemingway’s time in Paris – and whisks you away into the cobblestone streets.  

3. World of Wonders by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

If you’re looking for examples of creative nonfiction nature writing, no one does it quite like Aimee Nezhukumatathil. World of Wonders  is a beautiful series of essays that poetically depicts the varied natural landscapes she enjoyed over the years. 

4. A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

Bill Bryson is one of the most beloved travel writers of our time. And A Walk in the Woods is perhaps Bryson in his peak form. This much-loved travel book uses creativity to explore the Appalachian Trail and convey Bryson’s opinions on America in his humorous trademark style.

5. The Gettysburg Address by Abraham Lincoln

 While most of our examples of creative nonfiction are books, we would be remiss not to include at least one speech. The Gettysburg Address is one of the most impactful speeches in American history, and an inspiring example for creative nonfiction writers.

6. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Few have a way with words like Maya Angelou. Her triumphant book, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings , shows the power of literature to transcend one’s circumstances at any time. It is one of the best examples of creative nonfiction that truly sucks you in.

7. Hiroshima by John Hershey

Hiroshima is a powerful retelling of the events during (and following) the infamous atomic bomb. This journalistic masterpiece is told through the memories of survivors – and will stay with you long after you’ve finished the final page.

8. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

If you haven’t read the book, you’ve probably seen the film. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert is one of the most popular travel memoirs in history. This romp of creative nonfiction teaches us how to truly unmake and rebuild ourselves through the lens of travel.

9. Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

Never has language learning brought tears of laughter like Me Talk Pretty One Day . David Sedaris comically divulges his (often failed) attempts to learn French with a decidedly sadistic teacher, and all the other mishaps he encounters in his fated move from New York to Paris.

10. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Many of us had complicated childhoods, but few of us experienced the hardships of Jeannette Walls. In The Glass Castle , she gives us a transparent look at the betrayals and torments of her youth and how she overcame them with grace – weaving her trauma until it reads like a whimsical fairytale.

Now that you’ve seen plenty of creative nonfiction examples, it’s time to learn how to write your own creative nonfiction masterpiece.

Tips for Writing Creative Nonfiction

Writing creative nonfiction has a lot in common with other types of writing. (You won’t be reinventing the wheel here.) The better you are at writing in general, the easier you’ll find your creative nonfiction project. But there are some nuances to be aware of.

Writing a successful creative nonfiction piece requires you to:

Choose a form

Before you commit to a creative nonfiction project, get clear on exactly what it is you want to write. That way, you can get familiar with the conventions of the style of writing and draw inspiration from some of its classics.

Try and find a balance between a type of creative nonfiction you find personally appealing and one you have the skill set to be effective at. 

Gather the facts

Like all forms of nonfiction, your creative project will require a great deal of research and preparation. If you’re writing about an event, try and gather as many sources of information as possible – so you can imbue your writing with a rich level of detail.

If it’s a piece about your life, jot down personal recollections and gather photos from your past. 

Plan your writing

Unlike a fictional novel, which tends to follow a fairly well-established structure, works of creative nonfiction have a less clear shape. To avoid the risk of meandering or getting weighed down by less significant sections, structure your project ahead of writing it.

You can either apply the classic fiction structures to a nonfictional event or take inspiration from the pacing of other examples of creative nonfiction you admire. 

You may also want to come up with a working title to inspire your writing. Using a free book title generator is a quick and easy way to do this and move on to the actual writing of your book.

Draft in your intended style

Unless you have a track record of writing creative nonfiction, the first time doing so can feel a little uncomfortable. You might second-guess your writing more than you usually would due to the novelty of applying creative techniques to real events. Because of this, it’s essential to get your first draft down as quickly as possible.

Rewrite and refine

After you finish your first draft, only then should you read back through it and critique your work. Perhaps you haven’t used enough source material. Or maybe you’ve overdone a certain creative technique. Whatever you happen to notice, take as long as you need to refine and rework it until your writing feels just right.

Ready to Wow the World With Your Story?

You know have the knowledge and inspiring examples of creative nonfiction you need to write a successful work in this genre. Whether you choose to write a riveting travel book, a tear-jerking memoir, or a biography that makes readers laugh out loud, creative nonfiction will give you the power to convey true events like never before.  

Who knows? Maybe your book will be on the next list of top creative nonfiction examples!

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Last updated on Feb 20, 2023

Creative Nonfiction: How to Spin Facts into Narrative Gold

About the author.

Reedsy's editorial team is a diverse group of industry experts devoted to helping authors write and publish beautiful books.

About Savannah Cordova

Savannah is a senior editor with Reedsy and a published writer whose work has appeared on Slate, Kirkus, and BookTrib. Her short fiction has appeared in the Owl Canyon Press anthology, "No Bars and a Dead Battery". 

About Rebecca van Laer

Rebecca van Laer is a writer, editor, and the author of two books, including the novella How to Adjust to the Dark. Her work has been featured in literary magazines such as AGNI, Breadcrumbs, and TriQuarterly.

Creative nonfiction is a genre of creative writing that approaches factual information in a literary way. This type of writing applies techniques drawn from literary fiction and poetry to material that might be at home in a magazine or textbook, combining the craftsmanship of a novel with the rigor of journalism. 

Here are some popular examples of creative nonfiction:

• The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang
• Intimations by Zadie Smith
• Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
• The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
• Translating Myself and Others by Jhumpa Lahiri
• The Madwoman in the Attic by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar
• I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
• Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino

Creative nonfiction is not limited to novel-length writing, of course. Popular radio shows and podcasts like WBEZ’s This American Life or Sarah Koenig’s Serial also explore audio essays and documentary with a narrative approach, while personal essays like Nora Ephron’s A Few Words About Breasts and Mariama Lockington’s What A Black Woman Wishes Her Adoptive White Parents Knew also present fact with fiction-esque flair.

Writing short personal essays can be a great entry point to writing creative nonfiction. Think about a topic you would like to explore, perhaps borrowing from your own life, or a universal experience. Journal freely for five to ten minutes about the subject, and see what direction your creativity takes you in. These kinds of exercises will help you begin to approach reality in a more free flowing, literary way — a muscle you can use to build up to longer pieces of creative nonfiction.

If you think you’d like to bring your writerly prowess to nonfiction, here are our top tips for creating compelling creative nonfiction that’s as readable as a novel, but as illuminating as a scholarly article.

Write a memoir focused on a singular experience

Humans love reading about other people’s lives — like first-person memoirs, which allow you to get inside another person’s mind and learn from their wisdom. Unlike autobiographies, memoirs can focus on a single experience or theme instead of chronicling the writers’ life from birth onward.

For that reason, memoirs tend to focus on one core theme and—at least the best ones—present a clear narrative arc, like you would expect from a novel. This can be achieved by selecting a singular story from your life; a formative experience, or period of time, which is self-contained and can be marked by a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

When writing a memoir, you may also choose to share your experience in parallel with further research on this theme. By performing secondary research, you’re able to bring added weight to your anecdotal evidence, and demonstrate the ways your own experience is reflective (or perhaps unique from) the wider whole.

Example: The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking , for example, interweaves the author’s experience of widowhood with sociological research on grief. Chronicling the year after her husband’s unexpected death, and the simultaneous health struggles of their daughter, The Year of Magical Thinking is a poignant personal story, layered with universal insight into what it means to lose someone you love. The result is the definitive exploration of bereavement — and a stellar example of creative nonfiction done well.

📚 Looking for more reading recommendations? Check out our list of the best memoirs of the last century .

Tip: What you cut out is just as important as what you keep

When writing a memoir that is focused around a singular theme, it’s important to be selective in what to include, and what to leave out. While broader details of your life may be helpful to provide context, remember to resist the impulse to include too much non-pertinent backstory. By only including what is most relevant, you are able to provide a more focused reader experience, and won’t leave readers guessing what the significance of certain non-essential anecdotes will be.

💡 For more memoir-planning tips, head over to our post on outlining memoirs .

Of course, writing a memoir isn’t the only form of creative nonfiction that lets you tap into your personal life — especially if there’s something more explicit you want to say about the world at large… which brings us onto our next section.

Pen a personal essay that has something bigger to say

Personal essays condense the first-person focus and intimacy of a memoir into a tighter package — tunneling down into a specific aspect of a theme or narrative strand within the author’s personal experience.

Often involving some element of journalistic research, personal essays can provide examples or relevant information that comes from outside the writer’s own experience. This can take the form of other people’s voices quoted in the essay, or facts and stats. By combining lived experiences with external material, personal essay writers can reach toward a bigger message, telling readers something about human behavior or society instead of just letting them know the writer better.

Example: The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison

Leslie Jamison's widely acclaimed collection The Empathy Exams  tackles big questions (Why is pain so often performed? Can empathy be “bad”?) by grounding them in the personal. While Jamison draws from her own experiences, both as a medical actor who was paid to imitate pain, and as a sufferer of her own ailments, she also reaches broader points about the world we live in within each of her essays.

Whether she’s talking about the justice system or reality TV, Jamison writes with both vulnerability and poise, using her lived experience as a jumping-off point for exploring the nature of empathy itself.

Tip: Try to show change in how you feel about something

Including external perspectives, as we’ve just discussed above, will help shape your essay, making it meaningful to other people and giving your narrative an arc. 

Ultimately, you may be writing about yourself, but readers can read what they want into it. In a personal narrative, they’re looking for interesting insights or realizations they can apply to their own understanding of their lives or the world — so don’t lose sight of that. As the subject of the essay, you are not so much the topic as the vehicle for furthering a conversation.

Often, there are three clear stages in an essay:

• Initial state 
• Encounter with something external
• New, changed state, and conclusions

By bringing readers through this journey with you, you can guide them to new outlooks and demonstrate how your story is still relevant to them.

Had enough of writing about your own life? Let’s look at a form of creative nonfiction that allows you to get outside of yourself.

Tell a factual story as though it were a novel

The form of creative nonfiction that is perhaps closest to conventional nonfiction is literary journalism. Here, the stories are all fact, but they are presented with a creative flourish. While the stories being told might comfortably inhabit a newspaper or history book, they are presented with a sense of literary significance, and writers can make use of literary techniques and character-driven storytelling.

Unlike news reporters, literary journalists can make room for their own perspectives: immersing themselves in the very action they recount. Think of them as both characters and narrators — but every word they write is true. 

If you think literary journalism is up your street, think about the kinds of stories that capture your imagination the most, and what those stories have in common. Are they, at their core, character studies? Parables? An invitation to a new subculture you have never before experienced? Whatever piques your interest, immerse yourself.

Example: The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan

If you’re looking for an example of literary journalism that tells a great story, look no further than Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire: A Plant’s-Eye View of the World , which sits at the intersection of food writing and popular science. Though it purports to offer a “plant’s-eye view of the world,” it’s as much about human desires as it is about the natural world.

Through the history of four different plants and human’s efforts to cultivate them, Pollan uses first-hand research as well as archival facts to explore how we attempt to domesticate nature for our own pleasure, and how these efforts can even have devastating consequences. Pollan is himself a character in the story, and makes what could be a remarkably dry topic accessible and engaging in the process.

Tip: Don’t pretend that you’re perfectly objective

You may have more room for your own perspective within literary journalism, but with this power comes great responsibility. Your responsibilities toward the reader remain the same as that of a journalist: you must, whenever possible, acknowledge your own biases or conflicts of interest, as well as any limitations on your research. 

Thankfully, the fact that literary journalism often involves a certain amount of immersion in the narrative — that is, the writer acknowledges their involvement in the process — you can touch on any potential biases explicitly, and make it clear that the story you’re telling, while true to what you experienced, is grounded in your own personal perspective.

Approach a famous name with a unique approach 

Biographies are the chronicle of a human life, from birth to the present or, sometimes, their demise. Often, fact is stranger than fiction, and there is no shortage of fascinating figures from history to discover. As such, a biographical approach to creative nonfiction will leave you spoilt for choice in terms of subject matter.

Because they’re not written by the subjects themselves (as memoirs are), biographical nonfiction requires careful research. If you plan to write one, do everything in your power to verify historical facts, and interview the subject’s family, friends, and acquaintances when possible. Despite the necessity for candor, you’re still welcome to approach biography in a literary way — a great creative biography is both truthful and beautifully written.

Example: American Prometheus  by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin

Alongside the need for you to present the truth is a duty to interpret that evidence with imagination, and present it in the form of a story. Demonstrating a novelist’s skill for plot and characterization, Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s American Prometheus is a great example of creative nonfiction that develops a character right in front of the readers’ eyes .

American Prometheus follows J. Robert Oppenheimer from his bashful childhood to his role as the father of the atomic bomb, all the way to his later attempts to reckon with his violent legacy.

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The biography tells a story that would fit comfortably in the pages of a tragic novel, but is grounded in historical research. Clocking in at a hefty 721 pages, American Prometheus distills an enormous volume of archival material, including letters, FBI files, and interviews into a remarkably readable volume. 

📚 For more examples of world-widening, eye-opening biographies, check out our list of the 30 best biographies of all time.

Tip: The good stuff lies in the mundane details

Biographers are expected to undertake academic-grade research before they put pen to paper. You will, of course, read any existing biographies on the person you’re writing about, and visit any archives containing relevant material. If you’re lucky, there’ll be people you can interview who knew your subject personally — but even if there aren’t, what’s going to make your biography stand out is paying attention to details, even if they seem mundane at first.

Of course, no one cares which brand of slippers a former US President wore — gossip is not what we’re talking about. But if you discover that they took a long, silent walk every single morning, that’s a granular detail you could include to give your readers a sense of the weight they carried every day. These smaller details add up to a realistic portrait of a living, breathing human being.

But creative nonfiction isn’t just writing about yourself or other people. Writing about art is also an art, as we’ll see below.

Put your favorite writers through the wringer with literary criticism

Literary criticism is often associated with dull, jargon-laden college dissertations — but it can be a wonderfully rewarding form that blurs the lines between academia and literature itself. When tackled by a deft writer, a literary critique can be just as engrossing as the books it analyzes.

Many of the sharpest literary critics are also poets, poetry editors , novelists, or short story writers, with first-hand awareness of literary techniques and the ability to express their insights with elegance and flair. Though literary criticism sounds highly theoretical, it can be profoundly intimate: you’re invited to share in someone’s experience as a reader or writer — just about the most private experience there is.

Example: The Madwoman in the Attic by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar

Take The Madwoman in the Attic by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, a seminal work approaching Victorian literature from a feminist perspective. Written as a conversation between two friends and academics, this brilliant book reads like an intellectual brainstorming session in a casual dining venue. Highly original, accessible, and not suffering from the morose gravitas academia is often associated with, this text is a fantastic example of creative nonfiction.

Tip: Remember to make your critiques creative

Literary criticism may be a serious undertaking, but unless you’re trying to pitch an academic journal, you’ll need to be mindful of academic jargon and convoluted sentence structure. Don’t forget that the point of popular literary criticism is to make ideas accessible to readers who aren’t necessarily academics, introducing them to new ways of looking at anything they read. 

If you’re not feeling confident, a professional nonfiction editor could help you confirm you’ve hit the right stylistic balance .

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Is creative nonfiction looking a little bit clearer now? You can try your hand at the genre , or head to the next post in this guide and discover online classes where you can hone your skills at creative writing.

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A Guide to Writing Creative Nonfiction

by Melissa Donovan | Mar 4, 2021 | Creative Writing | 12 comments

Try your hand at writing creative nonfiction.

Here at Writing Forward, we’re primarily interested in three types of creative writing: poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

With poetry and fiction, there are techniques and best practices that we can use to inform and shape our writing, but there aren’t many rules beyond the standards of style, grammar, and good writing . We can let our imaginations run wild; everything from nonsense to outrageous fantasy is fair game for bringing our ideas to life when we’re writing fiction and poetry.

However, when writing creative nonfiction, there are some guidelines that we need to follow. These guidelines aren’t set in stone; however, if you violate them, you might find yourself in trouble with your readers as well as the critics.

What is Creative Nonfiction?

Telling True Stories (aff link).

What sets creative nonfiction apart from fiction or poetry?

For starters, creative nonfiction is factual. A memoir is not just any story; it’s a true story. A biography is the real account of someone’s life. There is no room in creative nonfiction for fabrication or manipulation of the facts.

So what makes creative nonfiction writing different from something like textbook writing or technical writing? What makes it creative?

Nonfiction writing that isn’t considered creative usually has business or academic applications. Such writing isn’t designed for entertainment or enjoyment. Its sole purpose is to convey information, usually in a dry, straightforward manner.

Creative nonfiction, on the other hand, pays credence to the craft of writing, often through literary devices and storytelling techniques, which make the prose aesthetically pleasing and bring layers of meaning to the context. It’s pleasurable to read.

According to Wikipedia:

Creative nonfiction (also known as literary or narrative nonfiction) is a genre of writing truth which uses literary styles and techniques to create factually accurate narratives. Creative nonfiction contrasts with other nonfiction, such as technical writing or journalism, which is also rooted in accurate fact, but is not primarily written in service to its craft.

Like other forms of nonfiction, creative nonfiction relies on research, facts, and credibility. While opinions may be interjected, and often the work depends on the author’s own memories (as is the case with memoirs and autobiographies), the material must be verifiable and accurately reported.

Creative Nonfiction Genres and Forms

There are many forms and genres within creative nonfiction:

• Autobiography and biography
• Personal essays
• Literary journalism
• Any topical material, such as food or travel writing, self-development, art, or history, can be creatively written with a literary angle

Let’s look more closely at a few of these nonfiction forms and genres:

Memoirs: A memoir is a long-form (book-length) written work. It is a firsthand, personal account that focuses on a specific experience or situation. One might write a memoir about serving in the military or struggling with loss. Memoirs are not life stories, but they do examine life through a particular lens. For example, a memoir about being a writer might begin in childhood, when the author first learned to write. However, the focus of the book would be on writing, so other aspects of the author’s life would be left out, for the most part.

Biographies and autobiographies: A biography is the true story of someone’s life. If an author composes their own biography, then it’s called an autobiography. These works tend to cover the entirety of a person’s life, albeit selectively.

Literary journalism: Journalism sticks with the facts while exploring the who, what, where, when, why, and how of a particular person, topic, or event. Biographies, for example, are a genre of literary journalism, which is a form of nonfiction writing. Traditional journalism is a method of information collection and organization. Literary journalism also conveys facts and information, but it honors the craft of writing by incorporating storytelling techniques and literary devices. Opinions are supposed to be absent in traditional journalism, but they are often found in literary journalism, which can be written in long or short formats.

Personal essays are a short form of creative nonfiction that can cover a wide range of styles, from writing about one’s experiences to expressing one’s personal opinions. They can address any topic imaginable. Personal essays can be found in many places, from magazines and literary journals to blogs and newspapers. They are often a short form of memoir writing.

Speeches  can cover a range of genres, from political to motivational to educational. A tributary speech honors someone whereas a roast ridicules them (in good humor). Unlike most other forms of writing, speeches are written to be performed rather than read.

Journaling: A common, accessible, and often personal form of creative nonfiction writing is journaling. A journal can also contain fiction and poetry, but most journals would be considered nonfiction. Some common types of written journals are diaries, gratitude journals, and career journals (or logs), but this is just a small sampling of journaling options.

Writing Creative Nonfiction (aff link).

Any topic or subject matter is fair game in the realm of creative nonfiction. Some nonfiction genres and topics that offer opportunities for creative nonfiction writing include food and travel writing, self-development, art and history, and health and fitness. It’s not so much the topic or subject matter that renders a written work as creative; it’s how it’s written — with due diligence to the craft of writing through application of language and literary devices.

Guidelines for Writing Creative Nonfiction

Here are six simple guidelines to follow when writing creative nonfiction:

• Get your facts straight. It doesn’t matter if you’re writing your own story or someone else’s. If readers, publishers, and the media find out you’ve taken liberties with the truth of what happened, you and your work will be scrutinized. Negative publicity might boost sales, but it will tarnish your reputation; you’ll lose credibility. If you can’t refrain from fabrication, then think about writing fiction instead of creative nonfiction.
• Issue a disclaimer. A lot of nonfiction is written from memory, and we all know that human memory is deeply flawed. It’s almost impossible to recall a conversation word for word. You might forget minor details, like the color of a dress or the make and model of a car. If you aren’t sure about the details but are determined to include them, be upfront and include a disclaimer that clarifies the creative liberties you’ve taken.
• Consider the repercussions. If you’re writing about other people (even if they are secondary figures), you might want to check with them before you publish your nonfiction. Some people are extremely private and don’t want any details of their lives published. Others might request that you leave certain things out, which they want to keep private. Otherwise, make sure you’ve weighed the repercussions of revealing other people’s lives to the world. Relationships have been both strengthened and destroyed as a result of authors publishing the details of other people’s lives.
• Be objective. You don’t need to be overly objective if you’re telling your own, personal story. However, nobody wants to read a highly biased biography. Book reviews for biographies are packed with harsh criticism for authors who didn’t fact-check or provide references and for those who leave out important information or pick and choose which details to include to make the subject look good or bad.
• Pay attention to language. You’re not writing a textbook, so make full use of language, literary devices, and storytelling techniques.
• Know your audience. Creative nonfiction sells, but you must have an interested audience. A memoir about an ordinary person’s first year of college isn’t especially interesting. Who’s going to read it? However, a memoir about someone with a learning disability navigating the first year of college is quite compelling, and there’s an identifiable audience for it. When writing creative nonfiction, a clearly defined audience is essential.

Are you looking for inspiration? Check out these creative nonfiction writing ideas.

Ten creative nonfiction writing prompts and projects.

The prompts below are excerpted from my book, 1200 Creative Writing Prompts , which contains fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction writing prompts. Use these prompts to spark a creative nonfiction writing session.

1200 Creative Writing Prompts (aff link).

• What is your favorite season? What do you like about it? Write a descriptive essay about it.
• What do you think the world of technology will look like in ten years? Twenty? What kind of computers, phones, and other devices will we use? Will technology improve travel? Health care? What do you expect will happen and what would you like to happen?
• Have you ever fixed something that was broken? Ever solved a computer problem on your own? Write an article about how to fix something or solve some problem.
• Have you ever had a run-in with the police? What happened?
• Have you ever traveled alone? Tell your story. Where did you go? Why? What happened?
• Let’s say you write a weekly advice column. Choose the topic you’d offer advice on, and then write one week’s column.
• Think of a major worldwide problem: for example, hunger, climate change, or political corruption. Write an article outlining a solution (or steps toward a solution).
• Choose a cause that you feel is worthy and write an article persuading others to join that cause.
• Someone you barely know asks you to recommend a book. What do you recommend and why?
• Hard skills are abilities you have acquired, such as using software, analyzing numbers, and cooking. Choose a hard skill you’ve mastered and write an article about how this skill is beneficial using your own life experiences as examples.

Do You Write Creative Nonfiction?

Have you ever written creative nonfiction? How often do you read it? Can you think of any nonfiction forms and genres that aren’t included here? Do you have any guidelines to add to this list? Are there any situations in which it would be acceptable to ignore these guidelines? Got any tips to add? Do you feel that nonfiction should focus on content and not on craft? Leave a comment to share your thoughts, and keep writing.

12 Comments

Shouldn’t ALL non-fiction be creative to some extent? I am a former business journalist, and won awards for the imaginative approach I took to writing about even the driest of business topics: pensions, venture capital, tax, employment law and other potentially dusty subjects. The drier and more complicated the topic, the more creative the approach must be, otherwise no-one with anything else to do will bother to wade through it. [to be honest, taking the fictional approach to these ghastly tortuous topics was the only way I could face writing about them.] I used all the techniques that fiction writers have to play with, and used some poetic techniques, too, to make the prose more readable. What won the first award was a little serial about two businesses run and owned by a large family at war with itself. Every episode centred on one or two common and crucial business issues, wrapped up in a comedy-drama, and it won a lot of fans (happily for me) because it was so much easier to read and understand than the dry technical writing they were used to. Life’s too short for dusty writing!

I believe most journalism is creative and would therefore fall under creative nonfiction. However, there is a lot of legal, technical, medical, science, and textbook writing in which there is no room for creativity (or creativity has not made its way into these genres yet). With some forms, it makes sense. I don’t think it would be appropriate for legal briefings to use story or literary devices just to add a little flair. On the other hand, it would be a good thing if textbooks were a little more readable.

I think Abbs is right – even in academic papers, an example or story helps the reader visualize the problem or explanation more easily. I scan business books to see if there are stories or examples, if not, then I don’t pick up the book. That’s where the creativity comes in – how to create examples, what to conflate, what to emphasis as we create our fictional people to illustrate important, real points.

Thanks for the post. Very helpful. I’d never thought about writing creative nonfiction before.

You’re welcome 🙂

Hi Melissa!

Love your website. You always give a fun and frank assessment of all things pertaining to writing. It is a pleasure to read. I have even bought several of the reference and writing books you recommended. Keep up the great work.

Top 10 Reasons Why Creative Nonfiction Is A Questionable Category

10. When you look up “Creative Nonfiction” in the dictionary it reads: See Fiction

9. The first creative nonfiction example was a Schwinn Bicycle Assembly Guide that had printed in its instructions: Can easily be assembled by one person with a Phillips head screw driver, Allen keys, adjustable wrench and cable cutters in less than an hour.

8. Creative Nonfiction; Based on actual events; Suggested by a true event; Based on a true story. It’s a slippery slope.

7. The Creative Nonfiction Quarterly is only read by eleven people. Five have the same last name.

6. Creative Nonfiction settings may only include: hospitals, concentration camps, prisons and cemeteries. Exceptions may be made for asylums, rehab centers and Capitol Hill.

5. The writers who create Sterile Nonfiction or Unimaginative Nonfiction now want their category recognized.

4. Creative; Poetic License; Embellishment; Puffery. See where this is leading?

3. Creative Nonfiction is to Nonfiction as Reality TV is to Documentaries.

2. My attorney has advised that I exercise my 5th Amendment Rights or that I be allowed to give written testimony in a creative nonfiction way.

1. People believe it is a film with Will Ferrell, Emma Thompson and Queen Latifa.

Hi Steve. I’m not sure if your comment is meant to be taken tongue-in-cheek, but I found it humorous.

My publisher is releasing my Creative Nonfiction book based on my grandmother’s life this May 2019 in Waikiki. I’ll give you an update soon about sales. I was fortunate enough to get some of the original and current Hawaii 5-0 members to show up for the book signing.

Hi, when writing creative nonfiction- is it appropriate to write from someone else’s point of view when you don’t know them? I was thinking of writing about Greta Thungbrurg for creative nonfiction competition – but I can directly ask her questions so I’m unsure as to whether it’s accurate enough to be classified as creative non-fiction. Thank you!

Hi Madeleine. I’m not aware of creative nonfiction being written in first person from someone else’s point of view. The fact of the matter is that it wouldn’t be creative nonfiction because a person cannot truly show events from another person’s perspective. So I wouldn’t consider something like that nonfiction. It would usually be a biography written in third person, and that is common. You can certainly use quotes and other indicators to represent someone else’s views and experiences. I could probably be more specific if I knew what kind of work it is (memoir, biography, self-development, etc.).

Dear Melissa: I am trying to market a book in the metaphysical genre about an experience I had, receiving the voice of a Civil War spirit who tells his story (not channeling). Part is my reaction and discussion with a close friend so it is not just memoir. I referred to it as ‘literary non-fiction’ but an agent put this down by saying it is NOT literary non-fiction. Looking at your post, could I say that my book is ‘creative non-fiction’? (agents can sometimes be so nit-picky)

Hi Liz. You opened your comment by classifying the book as metaphysical but later referred to it as literary nonfiction. The premise definitely sounds like a better fit in the metaphysical category. Creative nonfiction is not a genre; it’s a broader category or description. Basically, all literature is either fiction or nonfiction (poetry would be separate from these). Describing nonfiction as creative only indicates that it’s not something like a user guide. I think you were heading in the right direction with the metaphysical classification.

The goal of marketing and labeling books with genres is to find a readership that will be interested in the work. This is an agent’s area of expertise, so assuming you’re speaking with a competent agent, I’d suggest taking their advice in this matter. It indicates that the audience perusing the literary nonfiction aisles is simply not a match for this book.

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What Is Creative Nonfiction? Definitions, Examples, and Guidelines

by Kaelyn Barron | 4 comments

The term “creative nonfiction” tends to puzzle many writers and readers. If nonfiction is supposed to be about the facts, how is there room to get “creative” with it?

It turns out, there are many ways to present real facts and events besides boring reports and charts. In fact, the best journalists and writers are often the ones who can present accurate information while also telling a riveting story.

Creative nonfiction combines 100% factual information with literary elements to tell real stories that resonate with readers and provide insight to actual events.

This is what your favorite memoirists, travel writers, and journalists do every day, and you can, too. Even if you don’t intend on publishing your work, learning to be an effective storyteller can enrich both your writing and communication skills.

What Is Creative Nonfiction?

Creative nonfiction is a genre of writing that uses elements of creative writing to present a factual, true story. Literary techniques that are usually reserved for writing fiction can be used in creative nonfiction, such as dialogue, scene-setting, and narrative arcs.

However, a work can only be considered creative nonfiction if the author can attest that 100% of the content is true and factual. (In other words, even if just a few details from one scene are imagined, the story could not be considered creative nonfiction.)

The label “creative nonfiction” can be applied to a number of nonfiction genres, including:

• Autobiography
• Literary journalism
• Travel writing
• Nature writing
• Sports writing
• Personal essay

What Is the Difference Between Nonfiction and Creative Nonfiction?

The primary difference between nonfiction and creative nonfiction is that regular nonfiction informs or instructs by sticking to the facts.

Creative nonfiction also informs readers, but it does so by building a narrative around the facts by introducing the scene and building the characters of real people so readers can better relate to them.

What Are the Elements of Creative Nonfiction?

Because creative nonfiction is still nonfiction , there are important criteria that a piece of writing must meet in order to be considered part of this genre.

The writing must include:

• Facts : Creative nonfiction must be rooted in facts. No part of the story can be made up or fabricated.
• Extensive research : Both primary and secondary sources should be used throughout the research process. It is the writer’s responsibility to conduct extensive research for the most accurate narrative possible.
• Reporting : The writer should use said research to accurately document events or personal experiences.
• Personal experiences or opinions : Though this is not a requirement, personal experiences or the opinions of others can help create a more complete picture.
• Exposition or explanations : The topic or experience(s) presented should be explained to the reader.

In order to build a narrative around a set of facts, creative nonfiction uses a set of elements that we usually associate with fiction.

These can include, but are not limited to:

• Storytelling/narration : Unlike a straightforward historical report, creative nonfiction should be told like a story, meaning that inciting incidents, goals, challenges, turning points, and resolutions are present.
• Characters : Every creative nonfiction piece should have a main “character,” even though they must be real and accurately presented. In a memoir, for example, the narrator is typically the protagonist.
• Setting/Scene development : The setting should be brought to life with vivid descriptions and scenes filled with action and dialogue.
• Plot structure : The story should have a plot , with key events that make up the story. There might be one event in a personal essay, or several significant events and turning points, as is common in memoirs.
• Figurative language : Figures of speech , such as similes or metaphors, can be used to create an interesting work of creative nonfiction.
• Imagery : A skillful use of imagery is essential in creative nonfiction in order to bring important scenes alive for the readers.
• Point of view: Point of view is important in this genre, as it affects the entire storytelling process. Most often, these stories are told in the first person (using “I” to narrate firsthand experiences and events).
• Dialogue: Dialogue can really help build the narrative and develop scenes. Rather than reporting with “he said/she said”, including scenes with dialogue helps to place the reader directly in the scene.
• Theme : Every essay and story should have a theme , or central idea that ties the whole work together. This can also be considered the main “message” of your work.

When Did Creative Nonfiction Start?

According to a Poets & Writers article published in 2009, Lee Gutkind is often credited with coining the term “creative nonfiction” as early as 1973, when he also taught a course at the University of Pittsburgh with those same words in its title.

However, Gutkind himself has admitted that this wasn’t really the case, and that he had heard the term before, but couldn’t remember where or from who.

Indeed, there is earlier written evidence of the term, as it appeared in a 1969 review by David Madden of Frank Conroy’s  Stop-Time .

Madden mentioned in the review, “In  Making It , Norman Podhoretz, youthful editor of  Commentary , who declares that creative nonfiction is pre-empting the functions of fiction, offers his own life as evidence.”

In that same review, Madden called for a “redefinition” of nonfiction writing in the wake of Truman Capote, Norman Mailer, and Jean Stafford, all writers whose style reflects the characteristics of what we defined earlier as “creative nonfiction.”

Examples of Creative Nonfiction

To gain a better understanding of this genre, let’s take a look at several examples of real books that can be considered creative nonfiction.

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

Paul Kalanithi died in March 2015, while he was still working on this book. At just 36 years old and about to finish a decade of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer.

With a wife and a young child, Kalanithi became “possessed…by the question of what, given that all organisms die, makes a virtuous and meaningful life.”

Through his narrative, Kalanithi documents the struggles, both internal and external, that he and his young family endured, but also offers inspiration to all of us for how life should be lived.

Cork Dork by Bianca Bosker

On a lighter note, journalist Bianca Bosker brings us Cork Dork , her firsthand account of the fascinating world of wine, sommeliers, scientists, and producers.

Follow her dive into underground tastings, exclusive restaurants, and mass-market factories as Bosker seeks an answer to the question many of us wonder about: What’s the big deal about wine?

With her insightful reporting and delightful storytelling, you may just find yourself becoming a “cork dork,” too.

Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

Jon Krakauer unfolds the story of Christopher Johnson McCandless, a young man who gave $25,000 in savings to charity and abandoned most of his possessions before walking alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley.

McCandless’s decomposing body was found four months later by a moose hunter. In this book, which also became a feature film, Krakauer explores how this young man came to die, and what led him on such a journey in the first place.

Through remarkable storytelling, Krakauer brings this pilgrimage out of the shadows and shines a light on McCandless’s motives with a rare understanding.

I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara

Michelle McNamara, true crime journalist and creator of the site TrueCrimeDiary.com, became obsessed with finding the violent psychopath known as the “Golden State Killer,” a serial rapist and murderer.

McNamara studied police records, interviewed victims, and joined the online communities of people who were as obsessed as she was with this case.

This book offers a chilling account of a criminal mastermind, while also providing a portrait of Michelle’s obsession and pursuit of the truth.

Tips for Writing Creative Nonfiction

If you want to try your hand at writing creative nonfiction, it’s important that you know how to take great notes and practice your observation skills.

After all, your first responsibility is to present people and events accurately, so keeping a notebook or journal handy is important for scribbling down all those important details that you won’t want to forget.

You can also try out some of our creative writing prompts , which includes a section for writing memoirs and nonfiction to inspire you.

Do you have any favorite examples of creative nonfiction? Share them with us in the comments below!

If you enjoyed this post, then you might also like:

• What Is Magical Realism? Definition and Examples
• What Is a Novel?
• What Is Creative Writing? Types, Techniques, and Tips
• The 16 Best Memoirs to Read Right Now

As a blog writer for TCK Publishing, Kaelyn loves crafting fun and helpful content for writers, readers, and creative minds alike. She has a degree in International Affairs with a minor in Italian Studies, but her true passion has always been writing. Working remotely allows her to do even more of the things she loves, like traveling, cooking, and spending time with her family.

Thanks for this. It really helps me a lot!

You’re very welcome, Rowena! Glad we could help :)

Creative Nonfiction …. Kaelyn Barron’s concise description of this genre brings clarity. Certainly fits what I am writing, where others pronounced it as memoir or biography…could have been my description? Barron’s article here on the subject, now has me enthusiastically headed in the proper direction!!

Thanks Bonnie, I’m so happy to hear you found my article helpful! Best of luck with your book :)

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The New Outliers: How Creative Nonfiction Became a Legitimate, Serious Genre

Lee gutkind on the birth and surprising history of a different type of narrative form.

Many of my students, and even some younger colleagues, think—assume—that creative nonfiction is just part of the literary ecosystem; it’s always been around, like fiction or poetry. In many ways, of course, they are right: the kind of writing that is now considered to be under the creative nonfiction umbrella has a long and rich history. Many, of course, look to Michel de Montaigne as the father of the modern essay, but, to my mind, the more authentic roots of creative nonfiction are in the eighteenth century: Daniel Defoe’s historical narratives, Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography, Thomas Paine’s pamphlets, and Samuel Johnson’s essays built a foundation for later writers such as Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau.

That is to say, even if the line between fact and fiction was perhaps a little fuzzy in the early days, it’s not hard to find rich nonfiction narratives that predate the use of the word “nonfiction” (1867, according to the Oxford English Dictionary ) and were around long before the first recorded use of the phrase “creative nonfiction” (1943, according to research William Bradley did for Creative Nonfiction some years ago).

But in a lot of important ways, creative nonfiction is still very new, at least as a form of literature with its own identity. Unfortunately, it took a long time—longer than it should have, if you ask me—for the genre to be acknowledged in that ecosystem. And, of course, you’ll still encounter people who are unfamiliar with the term or want to make that dumb joke, “Creative nonfiction: isn’t that an oxymoron?”

Be that as it may, there’s no real doubt at this point that creative nonfiction is a serious genre, a real thing. You probably won’t find a “creative nonfiction” bookshelf at your local bookstore, and maybe it’s not on the menu at Amazon the way “fiction” is, but nonfiction narratives are everywhere. Newspapers, formerly the realm of straight journalism, with its inverted-pyramid, who-what-where-when-why requirements, have welcomed personal essays not only on their op-ed pages but in many different sections. Memoir, labeled a “craze” in the 1990s, is a mainstay of the publishing industry. Twenty or so years ago, almost no one was publishing essay collections, and even the word “essay” was the kiss of death if you wanted a trade publisher to consider your work, but now essay collections are routinely on best-seller lists. And, increasingly, even non-narrative creative nonfiction like lyric essays and hybrid forms have gained legitimacy and commercial viability.

So, you might ask, what happened? How did we get to this era of acceptance and legitimacy? The genre’s success, I believe, a gradual process over almost a half-century, emerged in many important ways from an unlikely and dominant source. I am not at all sure I would be writing this today, or that you would be reading this in an almost thirty-year-old magazine devoted exclusively to creative nonfiction, if not for the academy, and specifically departments of English.

Now, if you’ve been following my writing over the past thirty or so years, you may be surprised to hear me say this. After all, I’ve written a great deal about the power struggles that went on in the early 1970s, when I was teaching at the University of Pittsburgh and to a lesser degree at other universities and trying to expand the curriculum to include what was then called, mostly because of Tom Wolfe, “new journalism.”

I find that many of my students today aren’t very familiar with the New Journalists—Wolfe, Gay Talese, Gail Sheehy, Jimmy Breslin, Barbara Goldsmith, and Jane Kramer, among others—and it’s probably also true that some of the work from that time hasn’t aged terribly well. Sure, sometimes some of these writers went a little overboard, like Tom Wolfe, for example, interrupting his sentences with varoom-varooms and other stylistic flourishes. He was being playful and maybe a bit silly and arrogant, or it might seem so today, but he was also trying to loosen things up, to not be as predictable and sometimes downright boring as journalists then could be, and in that regard, he was quite successful.

You have to realize that the New Journalists were doing some very exciting stuff, seemingly groundbreaking. They were writing in scenes, recreating dialogue, manipulating timelines, and including themselves—their voices and ideas—in the stories they were writing. Stuff we pretty much take for granted now, but back then, with journalists especially hampered and handcuffed by rules and guidelines, so liberating.

Remember this was all happening in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when rule breaking, change, and defying the establishment were in the air everywhere, and the idea of the “new” in journalism captured the tone and spirit of the times. But I am not just talking here about journalism. Other writers, recognized for their literary achievements, were also taking chances, pushing boundaries. Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood , his “nonfiction novel,” stunned and obsessed the literary world when it was published first in the New Yorker in 1965 and then, the following year, as a book. In 1969, another novelist, Norman Mailer, was awarded both the Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction and the National Book Award for Arts and Letters for The Armies of the Night , about the Washington, DC, peace demonstrations . Mailer was awarded a second Pulitzer in 1980 for his intense, thousand-plus-page deep-dive into murder, obsession, and punishment, The Executioner’s Song , which became a centerpiece of a national conversation about the death penalty. Mailer’s award for his self-described “true-life novel” was for fiction, but all three books, if published today, would be considered creative nonfiction.

I couldn’t see why this kind of work—which was as exciting to students as it was to me—didn’t belong in the classroom. In an English department. Not just as a one-off work, to be taught once in a while, but as part of the curriculum. Why wasn’t there a category for writing that wasn’t poetry or fiction or essay or journalism but that could bring the various literary and journalistic techniques used in all of those forms together into one unique work of art and craft? Why didn’t this amalgam of literary and journalistic richness belong . . . somewhere?

Thinking back, I didn’t really belong either. I had pushed my way into the English department first as a part-time lecturer and then as tenure-track faculty by campaigning for this new or different way of writing nonfiction. And to be honest, I think I began to succeed, to make inroads, because, for one thing, most faculty at the time did not want to teach this stuff—nonfiction—especially if it was called or related to journalism. It’s also true I was a bit of an interloper—I was a published author in what might be described as a more commercial vein (books about motorcycles, baseball, backwoods America, targeted to general audiences), a rarity in English departments. And worse, I was a lowly BA. No advanced degrees.

But in many ways, I was also fortunate; during this time, with student protests confronting the old guard on campuses, I got by as a token of change, tolerated but not yet completely accepted. I felt like a misbehaving adolescent, rough around the edges and not yet ready to grow up, learn the rules, and pay my dues. I didn’t even know how to pay my dues. There were few options. Creative-writing programs, ubiquitous today, were rare and in many ways faced resistance in English departments.

Of course, part of the resistance to creative-writing courses, generally, was just the kind of turf defending that goes on in any academic department, where resources can be unfortunately scarce. Giving a tenure slot to a novelist or a poet, after all, can mean losing a tenure slot and resources for research and travel for a literature PhD.

But I think the resistance to creative nonfiction as being part of creative writing went even deeper and had something to do with how we define literature. I remember one particularly contentious debate back in the early 1970s, after one of my students had made a presentation arguing for an entire course devoted to new journalism. (I’d been incorporating pieces into my classes, but there was no entire course devoted to the stuff.) One of the English professors slammed a pile of books—classics—down on the table; his argument, I think, was that my student should have to prove he’d read those works before he was remotely qualified to weigh in on the curriculum. Anyway, perhaps predictably, it turned into a heated debate about which particular works were classics, a debate the department chair ended by observing, “After all, gentlemen, we are interested in literature here—not writing .”

(Were there women in the room? Of course there were.)

Now, what was going on here? Why didn’t these professors think of this writing as literary? And I mean not just contemporary works like In Cold Blood but the work that came before it, too—the nonfiction written by H. L. Mencken and Mark Twain, James Baldwin and Jack London, not to forget the father of English journalism, Daniel Defoe. And what about pioneering narrative journalists like Nellie Bly and Ida Tarbell? I guess I have a few theories.

First, the lack of a unifying name—what to call it—was definitely a complicating factor. “New journalism” wasn’t great because (the argument went, in English departments, at least) journalism was a trade, not a literary pursuit. There were other names floated—“the literature of fact,” “literary nonfiction,” “belles lettres” (which is what the National Endowment for the Arts was using at that time). But using the word “literary” to describe contemporary writing, meaning that a person would have to say “I write literary nonfiction” … well, that felt sort of presumptuous, didn’t it? “Creative” sort of had the same problem; who was to say what that meant, and it also sort of implied that other kinds of writing weren’t creative, and that didn’t feel good, especially to the scholars. And to the journalists, “creative” sounded like it meant you were making stuff up. As for “belles lettres,” well . . . it just sounded pretentious.

Even more than that, I think there was something about the writing itself—and the writers—that felt threatening. Not just because of the rule breaking. So much of this new nonfiction was about real people and events and was often quite revelatory. We were really a no-holds-barred crew. Wherever there was a story we were there, boots on the ground, bringing it to life—and often revealing the darkest side of things, of war, of poverty, of inherent societal racism. And revealing our own foibles and flaws along the way. And it wasn’t just Mailer and Capote and Baldwin who were writing this stuff, but real people capturing their own lives and struggles in dramatic detail. The “new” whatever you wanted to call it was truly an awakening.

Students, undergrads mostly, at first, especially recognized and were energized by the appeal. Suddenly the doors were open to other options far more interesting than the inverted pyramid or the five-paragraph essay, and considering these new possibilities for what to write about and, more important, how to write their stories was liberating, challenging, and downright enjoyable. Student interest and subsequent demand invariably led to more courses, and more courses led to more writers and scholars who would agree to teaching what had once seemed so controversial.

I should also point out that as the dialogue and debate about nonfiction began to grow, in the 1980s and early 1990s, I was traveling widely. I got invitations from not just universities, but also book clubs and local conferences, from Wyoming to Birmingham to Boston, and met not only with students but also with many of these “real” people who wanted to write. Some were professionals—doctors, teachers, scientists—but there were also firefighters, ambulance drivers, and what we then called homemakers, all with stories to write. They, too, saw the appeal of this nonfiction form that let you tell stories and incorporate your experiences along with other information and ideas and personal opinions.

These folks cared much less than the academics did about what it was called. But—after the dust had settled to a certain extent in academia; after the English department at Pitt had agreed, first, to a course called “The New Nonfiction” and then, nearly two decades later, to a whole master’s program concentrating on creative nonfiction writing (the first in the country, I believe), which later became an MFA program; and after the NEA, in 1989 or so, also adopted the term “creative nonfiction,” a tipping point for sure—well, it mattered tremendously to those folks that it had a name, this kind of writing they wanted to do. It brought a validation to their work, to know that there was a place or a category where their work belonged. The writing itself wasn’t necessarily anything new—people had been doing it forever, if you knew where to look for it—but now people were paying attention to it, and they had something to call it.

And then, a little later, when this journal (now, this magazine) started publishing, in 1993, that added another form of legitimacy. And, in fact, work from many of those writers I met during those years on the road was published in the first few issues of Creative Nonfiction . In the early issues of the journal, we attracted all kinds of writers who were, perhaps, tired of being locked in or limited. We published journalists and essayists and poets, all of them exploring and reaching.

All of this did not happen overnight. English departments did not jump right in and embrace nonfiction; it was, as I have said, a much more gradual and often reluctant acceptance, but clearly an inevitable—and eventually gracious—one, maybe mostly for practical reasons. Creative writing programs were becoming quite profitable, especially at a time when literature and liberal arts majors were waning. Adding nonfiction brought in an entirely new breed of students, not just literary types, but those interested in science and economics or those students who were just interested in finding a job after graduation. Learning to write true stories in a compelling way could only enhance future opportunities.

It may well be that English departments resisted change for various reasons at the beginning, but they also opened the doors and provided a place—a destination—for all of us creative nonfictionists to come together, dialogue and share our work, and earn a certain legitimacy that had been denied to us at the very beginning. I had no idea at the time I started teaching that creative nonfiction would become such a mainstay, not just in the academy, but as a force and influence in literature and in publishing. That was not my intent, and I was certainly not the only “warrior” who took up the fight. But I don’t think this fight could have taken place anywhere else but in the academy, where intellectual discourse and opportunities for new ideas can so richly flourish and be recognized. I have no idea whether an outsider like me, beating the bushes for support of a genre or an idea that did not seem to exist, could survive in an English department or anywhere else in the academy today; the atmosphere, the politics, the financial pressures, the tone of the times is so very different.

Even then, it was very much a minor miracle that I, uncredentialled and tainted, as some thought, by commercialism, was accorded such an opportunity. And that all of my campaigning and annoying persistence were tolerated. It would have been easy to eliminate me. But as much of an interloper as I was, I was rarely shut down; I could always speak my mind. And even though many of my colleagues were pretty damn unhappy about the new journalism and, later, creative nonfiction, they eventually came to recognize the popularity and potential of this new genre and, I think, to respect and appreciate the dedication and excitement displayed by our nonfiction students.

As the program grew and other universities followed suit, we outliers not only began to fit in, but also began to thrive. We added depth and substance not just to writing programs, but to the entire department. And as our students published, won awards, became popular teachers in their own right, we added more than a little bit of prestige.

What happened at Pitt and later at other English departments isn’t so very different than what happened as our genre evolved. Fifty years ago, we were hardly a blip on the radar, an add-on or an afterthought, a necessary annoyance at best. Today, we are not just a part of the literary ecosystem, we are its most active and impactful contributors—leaders and change makers and motivators where we once did not belong.

__________________________________

This essay originally appeared in Issue #76 of  Creative Nonfiction under the title “ I’d Like to Thank the Academy .”

Lee Gutkind

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Personal Reportage: Eyewitness to the World

Cindy Skaggs

Building Blocks for Writers

Writing about current events with literary style.

As much as the novel coronavirus (COVID-19) has impacted the lives of nearly everyone on the planet, it has also given writers a unique moment in history about which to write. In the midst of a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic, the world is experiencing political unrest, protests and riots, bombings, police brutality, civil rights challenges, voting challenges, international conflict, and the most divided political world in more than a century.

We are living history. The world is on fire, and writers are eyewitnesses to the world. We can’t turn on the news, the Internet, or even meme threads on Reddit without seeing reference to some shocking new event that impacts ourselves and our world.

No one should recognize the opportunity in the chaos more than writers. Newspapers and journals are filled with opinion pieces and personal essays, but those are only the tip of the creative nonfiction iceberg.

Creative nonfiction and personal reportage in times of crisis.

Creative nonfiction (CNF) encompasses a broad range of nonfiction, but is explained concisely, as the editor’s of Creative Nonfiction Magazine say, “True stories, well told.”

CNF uses the same literary devices as fiction to tell a true story. I often call this life writing, because it’s about our true life, but the key is to make the story less academic — less journalistic — and more creative. Essentially, to tell it as a story rather than a dry report.

Examples of CNF include personal essays, autobiography, memoir, lyric essays, literary journalism, humor, spiritual essays, travel, nature, environmental writing, and so-on, as my uncle would say, because the genre is both hard to define and hard to tie into a neat little bow.

Infinite possibility is the joy of creative nonfiction.

The personal essay, a primary CNF form, has been around since Montaigne, but a more recent example is Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood . Capote once called his work a nonfiction novel. While some suggest that Capote’s work is a true crime book, in fact, what he wrote was more literary as he noted:

“It seemed to me that journalism, reportage, could be forced to yield a serious new art form” (Plimpton par. 3).

Personal reportage owes much of its modern birth to Capote and what he saw as a melding of journalism and literature, which provided a window into the events in Holcomb, KS, but also a reflection on the human condition.

“When I first formed my theories concerning the nonfiction novel, many people … felt that what I proposed, a narrative form that employed all the techniques of fictional art but was nevertheless immaculately factual, was little more than a literary solution for fatigued novelists suffering from ‘failure of imagination.’ Personally, I felt that this attitude represented a ‘failure of imagination’ on their part” (Plimpton par. 7).

Oftentimes, personal reportage focuses on current events in which the writer has personal involvement, which opens up like a window into a new world for the reader. Rather than concise writing, such as one reads in the Sunday news, however, personal reportage uses storytelling techniques often wielded in fiction writing. To further develop the concept of personal reportage, writer and essayist Philip Gerard said

“The best nonfiction writers are first-rate reporters, reliable eyewitnesses focused on the world, not themselves, and relentless researchers with the imagination to understand the implications of their discoveries” ( Miller and Paola 117).

This is the form used by Gloria Steinem in her 1963 “A Bunny’s Tale.” Steinem, a staunch feminist, immersed herself as a cocktail waitress in the Playboy Club in the early sixties. This immersive journalism is still hailed as a groundbreaking expose, “fresh and relevant as ever” (Mills par. 1). She didn’t simply report the story, she became a primary element in the story, and was able to shine a light on a hidden world that reflected the human condition.

The Five “Eyes” of Inquiry.

In the world of global intelligence, Five Eyes (FVEY) are the intelligence services of Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United States, but in the world of personal reportage, the five “I’s” of inquiry include immersion, interviews, the Internet, information, and imagination.

A key caveat is that personal reportage requires fact-based inquiry, so while creative nonfiction uses fictional skillsets, the facts remain facts.

Interviewing is a skillset every writer should master. Develop a list of questions prior to the actual interview. Make them open-ended, rather than simple yes or no questions, and write them down, because no matter the amount of preparation, even the best researcher will forget a question when depending on the fallible human brain.

When it comes time for the actual interview, be it over email, the phone, Internet, or in-person, writers should work hard to develop a relationship with the interview subject — this isn’t a cross-examination — so start with simple questions designed to put the subject at ease. Leave long pauses that give the subject time to fill the quiet with additional information. Really listen to what they say and ask follow-up questions. Save the tougher questions for the end of the interview, so if the subject objects — as they inevitably will — the writer still has answers to the earlier questions with which to work.

Immersion can work in the same way it did for Steinem. The writer immerses themselves into the story, but immersion can also mean research, where the writer buries themselves in an overabundance of information from personal interviews, personal experience, research into historical and public records, documents both legal and personal like diaries or letters, and as much primary source data as can be collected via publications and research databases.

Information is key to any story, and the best place to seek and find information is the library. Yes, the Internet is an unlimited source of everything, including information, but the Internet is also a colossal time-suck with unlimited DISinformation. Do preliminary Internet research to build basic knowledge, visit court archives, geneology sites, the census bureau, and newspaper databases, but then avail yourself of a research librarian.

I worked for severals years in the public library system, and I lived for the patron who asked real research questions rather than the ubiquitous “where’s the bathroom” or “do you have such-and-such DVD?”

Librarians are a wealth of information and know better than anyone how to manipulate the research databases to find the right keywords and eventually the best source documents. Develop a relationship with the librarians in your community, college, or university library. Introduce yourself, and once you’ve established a relationship, continue to work with the same librarian. This relationship eliminates the need to reintroduce yourself and your research topic at each instance, but it also puts a bug in the ear of the librarian, who will note any new books or articles on the topic of interest.

The final “I” is imagination. After filling the empty page with as much factual information as possible, writers can give their imaginations free-rein. Keep in mind that imagination is used in the presentation of the information, but the information remains inviolable. The facts, then, are woven inextricably into the larger narrative story.

Imagination and literary devices build story.

In the same way that fiction writers use literary devices, CNF writers can and should add depth to the writing using literary devices considering beginnings and endings ; theme, symbol, and metaphor ; plot; characterization; setting; and the whole writer’s toolbox of craft devices.

In the book Tell It Slant , writers Brenda and Suzanne Paola tell the story of a writer whose essay discusses “how swimming and swimming pools have defined her and held her milestones” and noted that the smell of chlorine turned up “again and again” (119–120). They continue:

“The essay goes on to use the touchstone of chlorine — odorless, changing forever what it contacts — as a metaphor for all the invisible ways life touches and changes us” ( Miller and Paola 120).

Begin with the little things

Starting an essay of any sort requires consideration, and is a challenge for many CNF writers. In print journalism, writers start with the lede.

“A lede is the first sentence or opening paragraph of a news story that immediately grabs the reader’s attention. This introductory section provides a statement, establishes a scenario, or sets up a question that the body of the news article will address by supplying the relevant supporting information” (Masterclass par. 2).

This works well in a journalism form that attempts to provide the most vital information first, but personal reportage is a journey for the reader and the writer, so where to begin is not a small thing.

While discussing how Virginia Woolf opens her essay “The Death of a Moth,” essayist Dinty Moore recommends starting small rather than with a lede.

“Woolf quite deliberately employs one of the most effective ways of anchoring a reader into an essay. She chooses something small, tangible, something with which we are all familiar [a moth], as her initial subject” rather than starting with “a gloomy pronouncements about death being inevitable” ( Moore 43).

Final thoughts.

As I tell my undergraduate students, no two people think alike. Don’t assume the reader is tracking with the way your mind works. Instead, show the thought process on the page, so in the end, both reader and writer are changed by the journey.

“In the best nonfiction, it seems to me, you’re always made aware that you are being engaged with a supple mind at work. The story line or plot in nonfiction consists of the twists and turns of a thought process working itself out… There is nothing more exciting,” he says later, “than to follow a live, candid mind thinking on the page, exploring uncharted waters” ( Lopate 43).

As the world continues to burn, both figuratively and literally, writers become the primary source for future history. They represent a reflective and analytical viewpoint that is often absent in bare-bones reporting. In the current chaotic place in history, writers are eyewitnesses to the world. Do it well.

Prompts for developing your personal reportage.

• Focus on the little things. Just as Virginia Woolf started her essay with an intense focus on a moth, choose a “little thing” in your environment or in the environment of your essay. Consider what you “see,” but also what you hear, smell, taste, or touch. As noted in the use of the smell of chlorine as a metaphor for the invisible things that touch us, consider what these small things can symbolize. Brainstorm for 5–10 minutes on all the “little details” that you recall.
• Focus on place . Whether your reportage is from your own life or the reported life of someone else, spend time brainstorming about the location. Consider events, people, or things (props or metaphors from above) that you associate with that place. If you’re interviewing, consider asking them questions about place. All the sensory details. In this way, place can become a unifying element to your essay. Brainstorm for 5–10 minutes on place.
• Focus on perspective . We see the world through the lens of our own experience, but by shifting the perspective, we can identify new depth of understanding that’s unattainable from our one-dimensional lens. Step back and tell the story from an outside perspective, either that of another person in the story or a distancing “you.” Brainstorm for 5–10 minutes on what this story looks like from another point of view.
• Capote, Truman. In Cold Blood . Vintage International Books, 1965.
• Lopate, Philip. To Show and to Tell: The Craft of Literary Nonfiction . Free Press, 2013.
• MasterClass. “How to Write a Lede in Journalism.” Masterclass.com , 4 December 2019, https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-lede-in-journalism .
• Miller, Brenda, and Suzanne Paola. Tell It Slant . McGraw-Hill, 2005.
• Mills, Nicolaus. “Gloria Steinem’s ‘A Bunny’s Tale’ — 50 Years Later.” The Guardian , 26 May 2013, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/may/26/gloria-steinem-bunny-tale-still-relevant-today .
• Moore, Dinty. Crafting the Personal Essay : A Guide for Writing and Publishing Creative Nonfiction. Writer’s Digest Books, 2010.
• Plimpton, George. “The Story Behind a Nonfiction Novel.” The New York Times , 16 January 1966, http://movies2.nytimes.com/books/97/12/28/home/capote-interview.html .
• This post includes affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Cindy Skaggs grew up on stories of mob bosses, horse thieves, cold-blooded killers, and the last honest man. Those mostly true stories gave her a lifelong love of storytelling that enables her writing addiction. She is the author of seven published romantic suspense novels, including The Untouchables series for Entangled Publishing, plus the Team Fear series.

Cindy is a writer, public speaker, college professor, and military veteran who holds an Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing (Fiction) and Master of Arts in Creative Writing (Creative Nonfiction). She is an advocate for military and veteran issues, mom to two humans, and a reluctant wrangler of too many critters. Find more at www.CSkaggs.com .

Written by Cindy Skaggs

Writer 🖊 | Veteran | Professor | Complex and flawed human | Booklist https://www.cskaggs.com/books.html and newsletter signup → https://www.cskaggs.com

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A Guide to Creative Nonfiction Writing

By Mary Kole

Mary Kole is a former literary agent, freelance editor, writing teacher, author of Writing Irresistible Kidlit , and IP developer for major publishers, with over a decade in the publishing industry.

Creative nonfiction is a category of writing that combines facts and real-life stories with literary elements like narrative structure, dialogue, and character development. It can be tempting to equate it to memoir or autobiography , as these terms are sometimes used interchangeably, but creative nonfiction can also be topic- or subject-specific or prescriptive, like some mainstream nonfiction books on shelves. Sometimes, memoir and self-help overlap, and the result can use the umbrella term of “creative nonfiction.” This term is more about the writing style, after all, than the substance. Let’s discuss what creative nonfiction is, its place in the publishing industry, and the parameters for writing successful creative nonfiction pieces.

What Is Creative Nonfiction?

In its simplest definition, creative nonfiction is a type of writing that blends fact with fiction in order to tell a compelling story, whether the factual basis is the exploration of a topic or personal anecdotes pulled from a life story. It can sometimes be referred to as “literary journalism” or “narrative nonfiction," and it can also represent many forms, from book-length manuscripts to essays in print magazines, blog entries, television shows and documentaries, songs, and more, if you really want to broaden the boundaries of the term. Basically, if you are combining factual information while using storytelling techniques like plot arcs and character outlines, you’ll attract the creative nonfiction label—and readers interested in this hot market.

Contemporary reading audiences often find themselves drawn into the narrative, relating to the character presented (who is often a fictionalized or true-to-life version of you, the writer), and going on a journey with very close narrative distance between them and you, the creator. This fosters an experience and tone of authentic writing and vulnerability, which are hot button watchwords in creative nonfiction.

Writing Creative Nonfiction

When you’re writing creative nonfiction pieces, there are certain parameters you should keep in mind in order to maximize your chances of success. The great news is that you can often explore a certain topic in a personal essay or blog post (or, hell, a podcast episode) and then expand your most compelling narratives into book-length works. Novelists have to write an entire novel in order to see whether it works. Creative nonfiction writers can explore shorter formats for their storytelling without committing the time and effort into developing a book-length piece. (Do keep in mind that, if you do become interested in approaching traditional publishing houses with your creative nonfiction, though, you will need a complete manuscript, which is the rule of thumb for novels and memoirs alike.)

But while you play around with format, know that word count guidelines vary depending on the publication you’re submitting your piece to, if you approach magazines or literary journals with your creative nonfiction first. Generally speaking, most magazine or periodical feature articles will range between 1,500 and 4,500 words.

Especially as you get into creative nonfiction early in your exploration of this category, feel free to play around. And remember, as with book-length memoir, you aren’t telling your entire life story from cradle to the present. That chronological account of every year of your history is no longer marketable. Instead, pick a topic or a focus around which you’re able to convey some takeaways, reflections, or epiphanies. Creative nonfiction readers are attracted to the form because they want to hear a good story , sure, but they’re also looking for advice or solidarity. For example, if you’re successfully sober after an addiction, your readership might be wondering how you did it, whether they can do it, too, and what kind of emotional journey to expect. Creative nonfiction is all about fostering this kind of human connection.

Publishing Creative Nonfiction

Creative nonfiction has become increasingly popular in recent years—among readers but writers, as well. Most magazines have a personal essay feature, and personal blogs (whether hosted on a website or in the captions of an Instagram post) have exploded in popularity. Humans are very curious to hear stories directly from other humans.

Many publications have shifted away from traditional feature articles toward stories that incorporate personal narrative elements that help bring their topics to life for readers. Writing tools like dialogue , scene setting , and imagery come into play here, where dry reporting would’ve been the norm even twenty years ago.

This has opened up new opportunities for writers who may not have previously thought of themselves as magazine or essay writers. Try your hand at a creative nonfiction piece, and you may be surprised by how well you take to this low risk, high reward market. After all, you just need to write an engaging story from personal experience about a topic you feel passionate about or know well.

There may also be publication-specific expectations regarding writing voice (whether first-person or third-person) and formatting (MLA or APA). But these details can be hashed out if someone is interested in your creative nonfiction piece. And if you try creative nonfiction at a small scale and love it, there’s always opportunity to write a book-length memoir, whether that’s a collection off essays (like Love That Story by Jonathan Van Ness, I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley, or Excuse Me While I Disappear by Laurie Notaro) or a novel-style memoir narrative.

Writing successful creative nonfiction takes practice but can be incredibly rewarding. By understanding what creative nonfiction entails and the place it occupies in publishing today, you can make sure your writing stands out from the crowd. This last task should be easy, since only you’ve lived your specific life, and come to your specific conclusions and insights. Now turn it into creative nonfiction, and share it with the world.

This post contains affiliate links.

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Creative Non-Fiction: What is it?

• Creative Writing Tips

1. An Introduction to Creative Writing 2. How to Get Started in Creative Writing in Just Three Step s 3. Creative Writing vs. Technical Writing 4. Fiction Writing 101: The Elements of Stories 5. Poetry Writing: Forms and Terms Galore

Hence we advance to creative nonfiction. What is it? It’s just writing which is true, but which also contains some creativity. Creative nonfiction differs from other nonfiction because a certain amount of creativity is needed to write in it, as for example a biography. It uses literary styles and techniques to create factually correct narratives, says Wikipedia.

Let’s suppose you’ve got knowledge on a famous personality (it needn’t necessarily be famous, just for saying). But to cover a whole life in a single book is a pretty hard task. The purpose isn’t just to give information. It’s to show things, it’s to entertain and intrigue the reader, or show them accounts of the subject in a compelling and creative manner. That, in a nutshell, is the meaning of creative nonfiction.

There is high demand for biographies and autobiographies. But what else constitutes creative nonfiction? There are memoirs, published by famous business people. Some of them sell for over a million. Then there are essays. There can be short essays and there can be long essays. There are food and travel books. There is literary journalism. We’ll look at them in a while. First, let’s take a look at the autobiography…

An Autobiography is…

An autobiography is the book about the whole life of a person, written by the person itself. Hence the “auto” in autobiography. An autobiography is pretty much essential in some political fields. It is now expected for celebrities to produce autobiographies. Some people hire a ghostwriter to write their autobiography.

It is almost needless to say that in autobiographies people tend to portray themselves in a more positive light. In the same case, when people write unauthorized biographies, it becomes the opposite and all the negative qualities are brought to the light. The autobiographies and biographies of personalities, heroes, etc are nowadays sold like hot cakes (although perhaps not in our bookstore — excuse the cliché).

The History of Autobiographies

If I were to write the entire history of autobiographies, I would be merely repeating information that can be easily found on Wikipedia, and boring you all. If you do have an interest in how autobiographies came to be, click here for appropriate information.

The Difference Between Autobiographies and Other Similar Forms of Creative Nonfiction

An autobiography differs from a biography in the significant fact that it is written by the person of whom it is based on. The biography is written by a different person. Then there is the memoir. Memoirs, although written by the person of whom it is based on, does not cover the whole life of the period. They cover only a select time period or single experience.

The Types of Autobiographies

1. Diaries 2. Fictional (consider it as first person novel) 3. Sensationalist (mostly written by ghost writers) 4. Memoirs may be considered as autobiographies; but not all autobiographies are memoirs.

A Biography is…

Consider it same as an autobiography but in some ways vastly different (yeah I know, doesn’t make sense). A biography is a description or account of someone’s life and the times, usually published in a book or essay form, sometimes as a documentary using the new media (usually TV).

How to tell if a work is biographical or not? There’s one simple question to ask. It is: Does it cover all of a person’s life? If yes, then it is a biography. If not, then it does not deserve that title.

The Two Types of Biographies

There are authorized biographies and unauthorized biographies. You may have never heard the term before. That’s okay; even I didn’t know of it until a week ago. Authorized biographies tend to portray the positive sides of a person in their work (that makes human nature sense). Whereas unauthorized biographies tend to do the opposite. To be honest, I’ve never read a biography and wouldn’t really want to read an unauthorized one. It can be viewed as an intrusion of privacy in the subject’s life, or so some people say. Click here to know more about biographies .

A Memoir is…

I just saw the Wikipedia entry on memoir. Sounds interesting. I may try to write one when I grow up; my experiences have been pretty interesting…

Jokes aside, here is the Wikipedia definition (modified a bit):

As a literary genre, a memoir (from the French: mémoire from the Latin memoria, meaning “memory”, or a reminiscence), forms a subclass of autobiography – although the terms ‘memoir’ and ‘autobiography’ are almost interchangeable in modern parlance. Memoir is autobiographical writing, but not all autobiographical writing follows the criteria for memoir. It only covers a select period of the subject’s life or a single experience. The author of a memoir may be referred to as a memoirist

. Have you ever tried writing a memoir? I used to think that they could only be written by politicians, famous personalities to write about their career, businessmen, military men and generally those that are, well, known. What an understatement. The vast of us don’t get the title famous. But recently…

Recently I discovered that absolutely anyone can write a memoir and if well written, can give pleasure to the reader because of its literary style. To be honest, I don’t really like the word ‘literary’, the words ‘stilted’ and ‘formal’ come to mind. But memoirs are bestsellers. In his memoir Palimpsest (heard of it? I definitely hadn’t), Gore Vidal defines a memoir as “how one remembers one’s own life, while an autobiography is history, requiring research, dates, facts double-checked.”

Have Your Say

Yes, there is no mention of essays and food and travel writing in this post because it’s already gigantic enough. Perhaps some of you could fill it in the comments section.

Sources : Writing Forward’s Creative Nonfiction Category Wikipedia – Autobiography

This post is the sixth instalment in the Creative Writing 101 series.

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Further reading:.

• An Introduction to Creative Writing
• How to Write an Essay — Part I
• How to Get Started in Creative Writing in Just Three Steps
• An Introduction to Academic Writing
• POV: What it is and how it matters

20 thoughts on “Creative Non-Fiction: What is it?”

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I think im gunna subscribe. Impress me with great content in the future please.

*laughs* Well thanks for subscribing, and I’ll do my best to impress you with great content!

Don’t forget to check out the archives , there are some real gems there which should be enough to make you wildly impressed. 😉

Delightful AND informative!

Wow, thanks!

Wow! You totally got me hooked on your blog. I’m a bit surprised that your just 15 year old. I thought I was reading an old English professor’s blog. 🙂 Anyway, I really enjoy reading every bit of information here. Keep it up! 🙂

That’s such a nice comment! I’m now 16 years old, actually. Glad to hear that you liked the blog. Stay tuned for more great content.

Best regards Idrees

Wow… I have been reading through this for the past hour and then suddenly realised your age. I think you might be going places, keep up the good work!

Kind Regards

Glad to hear that, thanks! By the way, you say “I have been reading through this for the past hour”… do you mean one particular article or the whole website?

Just wondering if you know the difference between biographical fiction/novels and creative nonfiction?

Biographical fiction, to the best of my knowledge, is a part of creative nonfiction (as mentioned in the article). Creative nonfiction also includes memoirs, food writing, travel writing, etc.

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Wow….the best blog for creative writing!

I have a question if you kindly answer it: what is the difference between creative writing and descriptive writing?

Creative writing doesn’t really have any definition as such. You can refer to Creative Writing 101 for more details. As far as descriptive writing is concerned, its primary purpose is to describe a person, place or thing in such a way that a picture is formed in the reader’s mind.

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I had researching my passion for more than a year . I find out that I enjoy writing. And its been more than a week that I am reading stuff on wrting. Finding the way out to master my writing before i begin with . I come across your article. I had read most of your article. And just in the mid of reading your article I just thought of writing something, just to begin my writing. And I see that when I start writing , I did not know when did I finish writing 9 complete page. The story just keep on popping up one after another. I connect all the story. The plot, the subplot, the sets, the theme and so on. I use to write and tell story of my own imagination back than when I was in high school. I think I had found one more passion. Thank you buddy. Your article just boost me to do something new which ws my passion which i had not known for so long. Thank you once again. Keep the good work up.

best regards Krishna chhetry.

You write with clarity,simplicity and social intelligence not forgetting passion. Your responses are formal and very inoffensive. Keep the good work.

BRAVO!! Thank you!!!

Beautiful piece of article, so glad I found your website when I googled for Creative Writing. Will definitely be subscribing! Keep it up!

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Want to perfect your process for writing creative non-fiction, or elevate your writing style? Maybe you’re making the move from fiction to non-fiction.

This comprehensive guide using interviews from The Writing Life podcast offers advice and guidance from writers and editors, often describing the obstacles they faced and how they traversed them in their own projects.

This page covers creative non-fiction inspiration, research, structure, narrative, point of view and much more.

1. Know thyself: are you a non-fiction writer?

Not everyone is suited to the type of writing they might want to do. It’s important to understand not only what interests us, but what we have an aptitude for. It can be valuable to find where these two meet.

Author and journalist Sonia Faleiro describes her own journey of self-discovery and self-actualisation: ‘After I wrote my debut novel, The Girl , I looked at it and realised, ‘wow, I’m not a novelist – what were you thinking?!’. I am so glad I realised that. Imagine attempting to put out more books and not knowing that that was not what I was meant to do.

‘I didn’t grow up with much non-fiction, so it wasn’t something I had imagined doing. Only later did I learn more about it.’

‘I didn’t want to follow the American cookie-cutter format of narrative non-fiction. It’s very gripping, but it’s quite formulaic. I wanted to take the basic tenets of narrative non-fiction and make it mine and adapt it to the kind of storytelling I was keen on.

‘When I lived in Mumbai, I started writing about communities that live on the edge of society. The trans community, the Hijra and the community of bar dancers. I’m a middle-class Indian, I’m not very interesting but I was interested in these others groups, so I write about these people in my non-fiction books.’

Listen to our J. Michael Straczynski on Becoming A Writer, Staying A Writer podcast.

2. Be brave

Creative non-fiction journal Hinterland co-editor Yin F. Lim says: ‘When we write from our memories and our life stories, there’s a temptation to gloss over things and leave out the difficult parts. But to write a memoir or a personal essay well, we need to interrogate the truth as we remember it, and write with honesty and candour to achieve an authentic voice that allows readers to connect with our writing.’

Filmmaker Josef Steiff says: ‘I see so many people edit themselves before they even get the story out. Get the story on paper/screen first. Raw, complicated, contradictory. Then in the rewriting, continue to be brave. Not reckless, but brave.  I often find that when I read the piece after it’s finished, I feel vulnerable. I’ve even blushed sometimes when reading something aloud to others. For me, this is my evidence that I’ve cut as close to the truth as I can.’

Ed Parnell explains his own trepidation about tackling potentially upsetting subject matter in his autobiographical work, Ghostland .

‘It was difficult. I was writing about my parents who died when I was 17 and 18.’

‘It was difficult,’ says Ed. ‘I was writing about my parents who died when I was 17 and 18. I don’t tend to think about when they were in hospital and things. You don’t really want to go revisit those memories and feelings, but I felt I should do for this project.

‘I was like a story in an M.R. James story who’s digging into the past: you know they shouldn’t but they’re compelled to. That was tough. Because it’s upsetting, you think, ‘what’s to be gained from doing it?’ I’m pleased I did. It probably did me good to think about it. I don’t believe in that vacuous concept of ‘closure’. You can’t get closure. Sure, there was some catharsis, but it was also upsetting. I’d be writing this stuff thinking, ‘I’m not sure I should have written that’. On reflection, I think it was right to do.

‘I also thought, ‘If I don’t write about this, then no one will’. It felt like a sacred duty to try and bring my parents some kind of presence on a page – like I’m the last guardian of their memory. I wanted it to be about nicer memories, but I couldn’t avoid the more troubling elements of the story.’

Listen to Ed discuss Ghostland here.

3. Research and organise

Creative non-fiction is also referred to as narrative non-fiction. Finding, directing and building that narrative is essential. But it can be a challenge. Stories have a habit of growing arms and legs – often driven by our interest in the subject which can result in tangents, interlinking stories and goose chases.

Ed Parnell says there was ‘lots of reading’ for his book, Ghostland . But reading was only a part of his research.

‘When you’re researching a novel, there’s lots of reading. You want to know your setting, the characters and your period. If you’re writing about a public figure – especially someone who produced works of art, music, theatre, film etc. – you will need to review the cultural criticism. There were psycho-geographic elements in the book so I also did a lot of traveling around.’

‘I also had to visit places of which I had no memory that I’d been to when I was very small.

‘The good thing with research is that, because the chapters are chronological, I ended up researching it chronologically as well. I could break it down: this is the Welsh chapter, I will go to Wales and then come back and write about it. Even if the writing was a couple of months later.

‘I had a head start because I had done lots of the reading and watching movies. It wasn’t a faked interest. But reading them for pleasure is very different to reading them to try and say something interesting about them.’

Liverpool-born writer Peter Goulding says: ‘Go and interview people and let them talk.  It is not a conversation, more of what they say and think should be on the tape than your own questions or opinions.  I’ve just recorded an interview with a tree surgeon: he spent five minutes describing a smell.  I couldn’t have written anything like it from my own mind, not without experiencing it myself.  The next trick is welding those bits of interview into what you want to write. They need to fit and they need to have a strong join. Then you need to polish out the weld, so the reader can’t see the join. Craft and graft.’

Sonia Faleiro is a journalist and author of creative non-fiction. She explained her process for distilling the vast amounts of information she gathered for her 2021 book, The Good Girls: An Ordinary Killing , in The Writing Life podcast . The book explores the death of two girls in rural India.

‘It was a big case in India. It was all over the news so I had lots of information; I could locate myself and figure out who I needed to speak to.

• Family tree

‘The first thing I did, was to make a family tree’ says Sonia. ‘There were two girls from two families, but they lived in a joint family setting of 18 people.

‘Then I made lists of names, any name that I came across: police, court, family, investigator, neighbour.

‘Then I got in touch with as many reporters as I could, those who had reported on the story as it happened – TV, papers – those who had gone to the village within a day or so of the children being found. I reached out to them for contacts and I also asked them what they thought. ‘What is your sense of the village and the story and the people? A journalist’s intuition may not be something that they put into their reporting but is nonetheless valuable. I remember two journalists saying to me, ‘yeah, something’s up, I don’t know what… but if you find out, let me know’.

‘Then you start drawing your own charts and making your own notes. Things get lost in translation; a mistake that gets made in an early report ends up being repeated, so you correct the information you have.

‘Then I went to the village and spoke to people. I recorded every conversation – hours of it.’

Andrew Kenrick says: ‘While you might not plan to extensively pepper your writing with footnotes or references, all the same, keep a track of where you’ve found your information. This might be just to offer a credit or to supply a bibliography, but it can also prove essential if you find yourself needing to return to the same subject in the future – and you’ll be surprised at how easy it is to forget where you’ve read something further down the line! There’s all manner of reference managers out there – I use Zotero but there are loads available freely.’

• Primary research

‘In the village, I also took notes. The recording only captures so much so I would write notes: background sounds and wildlife; what does it look and smell like? What are they wearing? What do bare feet look like?’

• Secondary research

‘I also got information from online archives, for example, what the village used to be like.

‘Not too long ago, during the monsoons, the village would flood, so people would have to use boats to get from their homes to the fields. That gives you a sense of where people have come up from. The last generation needed to use boats because of how poorly the drainage worked. Now things have changed, they have bicycles and motorbikes and, vital to the story, is that they use modern devices like mobile phones and social messaging.

‘While focusing on the present, you need to delve into the past to figure out what led to the current events.’

‘I took assistance when I needed it. Early on, I worked with a fact checker and worked with lawyers and translators. Although I speak fluent Hindi, many people in the village speak Braj Bhasha [regional dialect] – I can understand it but not well enough to translate it perfectly.’

More on research

• Podcast: Research for writing with Megan Bradbury
• Podcast: Kate Mosse on the Women’s Prize, Discoveries and research
• Podcast: Writing creative non-fiction with Sonia Faleiro
• Podcast: Research, editing & planning novels with Stuart Turton
• Podcast: Researching True Crime with Stephanie Scott
• Blog: Researching a novel: moving beyond what you know

4. Write to know

Different writers have different approaches – some plan and write meticulously, turning in a perfect first draft; others write and revise until the story and the words come together.

Writing creative non-fiction, as opposed to fiction, may impact this – real events being fixed, even if the book’s narrative can change.

‘The secret to getting something written is to write.’

Sonia Faleiro says writing helped her discover the narrative.

‘I had between the 3,000 pages of documents and hundreds of hours of interviews. I felt like I was looking for a needle in a haystack. And I was buried under the haystack. I just needed to remind myself, ‘it’s fine, it’s ok to feel like this, just continue to work on this and one day, it won’t be like this. I will have figured it out’. That’s the secret. The secret to getting something written is to write. Even those people who think that if left to their own devices they would just research until the end of time, they wouldn’t. Finally they will get it.’

As Ed Parnell says: ‘It still comes down to sitting in a room, staring at a screen and typing.’

5. Take notes

Justin Kern says: ‘Simply: you must write a journal. Every day. Even if it’s two sentences about the bathroom, or breakfast, or a slight at work. And you must write what is real, to you, as long, silly, rote and deeply as you can. This ritualistic dedication to churning over your internal world in a journal will give you agency over the ultimate story of your own world, as well as those outside of it that you hope to tell.’

Listen to our Lucy van Smit’s A Writer’s Journal Workbook podcast. Lucy is an award-winning author, a screenwriter, and an artist.

Hinterland co-editor Yin F. Lim says: ‘Whether on paper or screen, get into the habit of recording your moments, thoughts and emotions. Journalling provides valuable raw material for writing from your life, but re-reading what you’ve recorded also helps bring you back to that moment in the past. It enables you to remember details and write with an immediacy that’s not as easy to replicate from our often unreliable memories.’

6. Get inspired

  Whether you’re writing fiction or non-fiction, inspiration can come from anywhere. However, for the latter, it is very often driven by the very pursuit of the interest. Writer and NCW tutor Ed Parnell explains the genesis of his creative non-fiction work, Ghostland: In Search Of A Haunted Country .

‘I was putting off writing a second novel. I had some ideas, one of which was to have the Victorian ghost story writer, M.R. James as a bit part.

‘I was looking into that and I visited the place where James grew up – a spooky little village called Great Livermere outside Bury St Edmunds. I took lots of pictures and when I got home, I wrote a blog about it.

‘An editor at Harper Collins saw it two months later and emailed me, asking whether I’d ever thought about writing a non-fiction book on the subject. I went down to see him and found that we had a shared love of trashy old 60s and 70s horror films. He invited me to put a proposal together. I had to think, ‘Would I like to write about this?’ And at that point, I thought, ‘yes, I do’.

More on inspiration

• Blog: Writing exercise inspired by Our Place

7. Search for the truth

It is said that if the police ask three people what happened at the scene of an accident, they will get three versions of events. How can we ensure that we get to the truth of our story?

Sonia Faleiro’s investigation into the death of two girls in India resulted in various ever-changing stories. Here she describes how the combination of social rules, mores and pressure made her hunt for the truth even harder.

‘A search ensued with torches, but in total silence, because the families didn’t want to create fear in the village because it would raise questions about why the girls had been out to begin with.

‘There are dozens of people running round in the fields, so by the time I arrive to capture the story, there are dozens of versions of the story to untangle.

‘A lot of people continued to change their story over the years for various reasons and I’m quite sure that if I went to the village tomorrow, I would find someone who would change their story again. It could continue forever. In a village like that, you’re not just answerable to yourself, not even your family, you are answerable to the community. So you have to be careful, not just about how they behave, but what they say about the behaviour of others because it can have deadly consequences for them.

‘Figuring out who was telling the truth and who wasn’t, became the most important thing. Persistence is the key. I kept returning back to the village and would report around people. If someone is telling you something that is clearly not true, you can keep asking them the same question over and over but it will only bring you grief. It won’t endear you to them. Alternatively, you can talk to somebody else: fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, friends.

‘That is how I was able to build the narrative, by crosschecking information. It’s important not to take people at their word right away. Not only must they earn your trust, but you must earn theirs. It works both ways.’

‘It’s not my job to tell the story that they want me to tell. I’m not even telling the story that I want to tell. I’m telling the story that is.

8. Who’s story is it?

The point of narrative or creative non-fiction is that it’s not just a reference book. The facts hang from someone’s story, seen through their eyes. As such, knowing lots about the subject, person or time isn’t enough, you need to bring this to life through one or more people’s stories.

Author, Ed Parnell had been invited by Harper Collins to pitch an idea they’d discussed – to write a non-fiction book about ghost story writer M.R. James.

‘The more I redrafted it, the more I edged towards, seeing things from Fodor’s point of view.’

‘I had decided that I would like to write a book about him. So I thought, if I did want to write it, how would I do it?

‘I was conscious that I’m not an academic who specialises in this field. there must be lots of people who are more qualified than me to write this.

‘I knew quite a lot about it and was quite interested in the subject, but I wanted to bring something of myself to it. I thought about my own family history and the more I thought about it, the more I thought of other writers I’d like to explore, how their lives tied in to places I’d been to on holiday as a kid, and how that tied into my own family story. So the story is told through me as I explore and rediscover my childhood memories, those ghost story writers I was reading, and their relationship to the places I’d been.’

Kate Summerscale , the award-winning author of  The Suspicions of Mr Whicher ,  describes how the point of view developed during the writing of The Haunting of Alma Fielding: A True Ghost Story .

‘I had done three years of pure research. I’d worked out how to tell the story: the structure of the story and put it together while continuing to go back and forth with the research.

‘The shape of the book and the storytelling was hard to work out.

‘The more I redrafted it, the more I edged towards, seeing things from Fodor’s point of view. In a way, Fodor wanted to explore everything I wanted to explore. Although my perspective is different because I’m in a different point in history, he could still allow me access to everything I needed. I realised that it worked better than putting Alma’s experience at the centre or being detached from both of the main characters altogether. Although it’s not exclusively from his point of view, the grounding in seeing things as he would have seen them, helped me ground myself in that historical moment – and the reader can get their bearings from him.

‘That decision about perspective and point of view was what made it all start to work as a story.’

More on characters

• Podcast: Exploring themes through characters
• Podcast: Creating characters with Okechukwu Nzelu
• Podcast: How Sarah Perry develops characters
• Course: Writing Science Fiction: Characters and points of view

9. Don’t forget to read!

Hinterland editor Freya Dean says: ‘I find I can’t read non-fiction during a period of intensive memoir writing. It’s not that I’m afraid I’ll subconsciously copy from other writers, but just that my thought stream gets disrupted and I can’t keep the flow of my own work. Instead, I read fiction (just re-read Jennifer Egan’s brilliant A Visit From the Goon Squad ), YA fiction (my kids have got me into Philip Reeve), poetry (currently Lieke Marsman), and those big ‘coffee table’ art and fashion books, when I can afford them.’

10. Go off track

Josef Steiff says: ‘Tangents can be your friend.  Sometimes when I’m writing, my mind will start drifting.  I’ve found that it can be productive to follow these tangents to determine if they are actually associations or resonances that deepen and need to be interwoven into the main story.’

11. Build a roadmap

Ed Parnell explains: ‘With non-fiction, you have to create this big pitch document for the publisher. I had created a 50-page, chapter-by-chapter document, so I had thought about the structure and had a roadmap.

‘You have to write that stuff to know it needs to be removed.’

‘When I came to write it, some of those chapters fell by the wayside and new things came in: new books and films I wanted to include, new parts of my own travels within the book. Having a roadmap was good, even if I meandered from it.

‘My first draft was 140k words. I cut it down to 100k. You have to write that stuff to know it needs to be removed.’

12. Structure: One size doesn’t fit all

‘Writing non-fiction was a new process for me,’ explains Ed Parnell, ‘so I researched other non-fiction books. I physically analysed them: how long the chapters were. Is a 40-page chapter too long?

‘You look for patterns but there are none because everyone does it differently. You’re learning as you go. I suspect that every book a writer writes, you feel like you’re starting over again.’

13. Raid the novelist’s toolkit

Andrew Kenrick says: ‘One of the things that often defines the best creative non-fiction that we receive at Hinterland is that it applies the tools of a novel writer to real situations and settings: flashbacks, starting in media res, dialogue, rich descriptions of character and plenty of texture in the writing – colours, sounds and smells.’

14. Facts vs fiction

‘I always keep the narrative in the foreground. It’s almost the reverse of normal where the important events take place in the foreground and the trivia is at the edges. It’s inverting that.

‘So the story is an apparently silly story about a poltergeist and a woman in Croydon in the 1930s and an eccentric ghost hunter. Instead, it becomes a thing I take very seriously – it’s driving the story forward.

‘Almost off-stage, national and international events are taking place – Hitler is invading Austria.

‘But events aren’t just to give context and colour. As I write, I’m trying to work out how they connect to the story I’m telling and why I’ve picked these particular fragments to drop in. They have to earn their place, as shadows to my story, even though they are these huge and momentous world events that changed things for millions of people. I need to make them pay off as motifs in the particular story I’m telling and I hope that that in turn will give some extra resonance to the story. I work how these things fit together as I go along, I don’t know in advance.’

15. Develop an Editor’s eye

Hinterland editor Freya Dean says: ‘Try to have a ‘fallow’ period between writing projects where you read intensively and think hard about what you’re reading. The keystone of most non-fiction creative writing courses is exactly this: reading great writers to understand why their writing shines, which then helps you to develop a critical, editorial lens that you can apply to your own work.  As far as non-fiction titans go, Joan Didion’s essays, and those by Gay Talese (see especially Frank Sinatra Has A Cold & Other Essays)  are a great place to start. Take one short passage and really dissect it, right down to the last full stop.’

16.  Share your work

Freya says: ‘Take every opportunity to have your non-fiction critically (and constructively) workshopped.  Even more than a way to gain feedback, structured discussion is invaluable for the perspective it brings when you’re working with material drawn from your own life.  It helps build that sense of ‘remove’, of feeling that what you have written exists as something in its own right, distinct from yourself and your inner world. This in turn helps you to better craft and evaluate the work as you are writing.’

17. Shelve it!

Freya says: ‘So many successful writers I know consider this an essential part of the writing process. Whether they’ve reached a point where they’re stuck with a manuscript, or are reasonably happy that they’ve nailed it, they print a hard copy and put it away in a drawer, and then they don’t look at it for several weeks. This is helpful for all writing, no matter your subject, but is especially key when you’re writing anything that draws heavily on your own experience. When you take the text out again and read it with fresh eyes, you’ll instantly see the flaws in the writing, whether great or (hopefully) small.’

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Non-fiction/Poetry ,

How to write creative nonfiction that engages your readers.

By Sonia Grant

When I read  Dancing in the Dark  by Caryl Philips, I wasn’t quite sure  what  I was reading, as it was unlike any novel I’d read previously. But I was curious how the author crafted the “voices” or dialogue , which were so finely tuned and authentic it made me feel as though I was in the thick of the plot as it unfolded. Eventually, it dawned on me that the book couldn’t solely be classified as a novel per se, as the story was based on “real life”; because of its biographical and historical context it sat comfortably within the genre of creative nonfiction. 

What Is Creative Nonfiction ?

The term creative nonfiction has been credited to American writer Lee Gutkin, who first coined the phrase in the journal he founded in 1993:  Creative Nonfiction . When asked to define what creative nonfiction is Gutkin says simply “true stories well told.”  

Expanding on Gutkin’s definition I would add that the main difference between creative nonfiction – also known as narrative nonfiction – and other genres is that in creative nonfiction the focus is on literary style, and it is very much like reading a novel, with the important exception that everything in the story has actually happened.  

Essentially, creative nonfiction incorporates techniques from literature, including fiction and poetry, in order to present a narrative that flows more like story than, say, a journalistic article or a report. In short, then, it is a form of storytelling that employs creative writing techniques including literature to retell a  true  story, which is why emphasis is placed on the word  creative . I would underscore that it is this aspect which distinguishes the genre from other nonfiction books; for instance, textbooks which are, as implied, recounting solely of  facts  – without any frills.

Types Of Creative Nonfiction

The good news is that the expanse of creative nonfiction as a genre is considerable and there is ample scope for writers of every persuasion, in terms of categorisation and personal creative preference. Some terms you may be familiar with, and some are essentially the same, as far as content is concerned – only the phrasing may be interchangeable.  

Memoirs are the most commonly used form of creative nonfiction. It is a writer’s personal, first-hand experiences, or events spanning a specific time frame or period. In it you are essentially trying to evoke the past… and by the end you will, no doubt, hope to have successfully conveyed the moral of your story. Not in a preachy kind of way but in a manner which is engaging, informative or entertaining.  

You should note that there are important differences between a biography and a memoir: in writing a biography you need to maintain a record of your sources – primary or secondary – that will stand the rigours of being fact-checked.  

A memoir, by contrast, is your recollection or memory of a past event or experience. While they do not necessarily have to be underpinned with verifiable facts in the same way as a biography, there’s more scope for your creative or imaginary interpretation of an event or experience. 

Literary Journalism

In the early days of the genre literary journalism hogged the headlines; it was, according to  The Herald Tribune , “a hotbed of so-called New Journalism, in which writers like Tom Wolfe used the tools of novelists — characters, dialogue and scene-setting — to create compelling narratives.” The way this fits into the creative nonfiction genre is that it uses the style and devices of literary fiction in fact-based journalism. Norman Mailer and Gail Sheehy were exceptionally skilled exponents, though, arguably, critics contended that both could, on occasion, be so immersed that some of their writing was tantamount to an actor who inhabited their character via method acting. 

Reportage And Reporting  

Ultimately, the primary goal of the creative nonfiction writer is to communicate information, just like a reporter. If you choose to pursue reportage it is imperative that you pay close attention to notes and record-keeping as reporting is not – as with other elements of creative nonfiction – based on your personal experiences or opinions and, therefore, has to be scrupulously accurate and verifiable.  

Personal Essays

Other types of creative nonfiction include personal essays whereby the writer crafts an essay that’s based on a personal experience or single event, which results in significant personal resonance, or a lesson learned. This element of creative nonfiction is very broad in scope and includes  travel writing , food writing, nature writing, science writing, sports writing, and magazine articles. 

Personal essays, therefore, encompass just about any kind of writing. They can also include audio creativity and opinion pieces, through podcasts and radio plays.  

The Five R’s Of Creative Nonfiction  

In Lee Gutkind’s essay,  The Five R’s of Creative Nonfiction , he summarised the salient points of successfully writing creative nonfiction and, if you followed these instructions, you’d be hard-pressed to go wrong: 

1. Real Life

I daresay this is self-explanatory although as a storyteller, instead of letting your imagination run riot you must use it as the foundation. Your story must be based in reality – be that subject matter, people, situations or experiences. 

2. Research

I can’t emphasise strongly enough that conducting extensive, thorough research is of paramount importance and, not to put too fine a point on it, this is not an area you can gloss over – you  will  be “found out” and your credibility is at stake. And, no, Wikipedia doesn’t count – other than perhaps as a starting point. Interestingly, by the company’s own admission:   “Wikipedia is not a reliable source for citations elsewhere on Wikipedia. Because it can be edited by anyone at any time, any information it contains at a particular time could be vandalism , a work in progress, or just plain wrong.” 

Not technically an “R” but we get his point… Put succinctly by William Faulkner:   “Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it’s the only way you can do anything good.”

4. Reflection

No-one can negate your personal reflections, but you should be aware, given that what you’re writing is based on “fact” that someone mentioned in your article or book may not necessarily agree with your perspective. The fallout can be devastating and damage irreparable. A case in point was the debacle following publication of  Ugly: The True Story of a Loveless Childhood  by Constance Briscoe. In the best-selling “misery memoir” the author accused her mother of childhood cruelty and neglect; her mother rejected the claims and said the allegations were “a piece of fiction” and sued both her daughter and publisher for  libel , and lost.  

It goes without saying that when writing about people who are still alive you need to be especially cautious. Of course, you’re entitled to your own unique perspective but, as Buckingham Palace responded to the Oprah Winfrey interview with Meghan Markle and Prince Harry – which may yet find its way in book form – “some recollections may vary”. 

It’s often said that the best writers are also voracious readers. Not only does it broaden your horizons but it’s a perfect way to see what works and what doesn’t. And, as William Faulkner admonished: “Read, read, read. Read everything –trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it’s good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out of the window.”  

How To Write Creative Nonfiction

We now know what kind of creative nonfiction exists, and what to bear in mind before writing, but when it comes to starting your story…where do you begin? 

While it may be tempting to jump straight in and start writing, you will save yourself a headache if you begin by deciding upon the structure or form you want your work to be based on. This doesn’t need big whistles and bells, you just need an outline to begin with, something to shape your thinking and trajectory. It’s always worthwhile to know what direction you’re headed in. Nothing is set in stone – you can always add to it or amend accordingly.  

For planning there are different models you can employ but I find it easiest to think along the lines of a three-part play: act one, I open by establishing the fundamentals of what I am going to present; act two, allows me to build upon the opening by increasing the dramatic effect of what’s unfolding; and act three, I bring my thesis together by pulling together different strands of the story to a logical, coherent narrative and, even better in some circumstances, a cliff-hanger. 

In your outline you should bear in mind the main elements of creative nonfiction and the fact that there are some universal literary techniques you can use:  

Plot And Setting  

There are many things from your past that may trigger your imagination. It could be writing about an area you grew up in, neighbours you had – anything which can be descriptive and used as a building block but will be the foundation upon which you set the tone or introduction to your piece. 

Artefacts  

Using what may seem like mundane artefacts can be used effectively. For instance, old photographs, school reports, records and letters etc. can evoke memories. 

Descriptive Imagery  

The most effective way to ensure your characters are relatable is to work on creating a plausible narrative. You must also have at the forefront of your mind “Facts. Facts. Facts.” I can’t stress enough how your work must be based on fact and  not  fiction. 

Dialogue  

Also referred to as figurative language, when using one of the most effective ways to set the tone of your work, the language used in dialogue must be plausible. You simply need to step back and ask yourself, “Does this sound like something my character would say?” There’s no greater turnoff for a reader than dialogue which is stilted.  

Characters  

If you want your readers to be engaged, they have to “buy what you’re selling” i.e.  believe  in your characters.  

Top Creative Nonfiction Writing Tips

Stick to the facts  .

Even a mere whiff of fiction in your writing will automatically disqualify it as creative nonfiction. To make sure you haven’t transgressed it’s easier to avoid doing so altogether. Although it’s fine to incorporate literary techniques which include extended metaphor, allegory, and imagery, among others. 

You will also need to make note of the references you have relied upon. Not only is this good housekeeping it is also what’s expected of a professional writer. There are a multitude of places you can begin your research: family recollections/oral history; my local library serves aspiring writers well with both a respectable catalogue of physical books and online resources such as the British Newspaper Archives; Ancestry; and FindMyPast, among them. These are invaluable tools at your disposal and the list is by no means exhaustive.  

Checklist  

So, to conclude, what are the takeaways from this guide?  

Firstly, methodically work your way through the checklist contained within the 5 R’s. Also, remember, whatever your interest, the extent of creative nonfiction dictates that there’s likely to be a market for your writing.  

But, at all costs, avoid falling into the cardinal sin of making things up! It may be tempting to get carried away with being  creative  and miss that the finished product absolutely must be anchored in  facts  – from which, no deviation is acceptable.  

Indeed, please ensure everything you’ve written is verifiable. You never know when someone is going to fact-check your thesis or challenge an assertion you’ve made. 

Best Of Both Worlds

All in all, creative nonfiction is a wondrous way of telling an important and real story. Never forget that even though you are writing about factual stories and scenarios, you can still do so in an imaginative and creative way guaranteed to bring your readers on a journey of exploration with you. 

About the author

Sonia Grant is a writer (primarily of nonfiction) and author; she is currently working on two historical creative nonfiction books. In addition to Jericho Writers, her other writing has been published by BBC History Revealed and Huffington Post. For more on Sonia, see her website or her Twitter .

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The case for creative non-fiction

NOT ALL creative writings are fictional or imaginary. Journalistic but imaginative, they go by the names personal journalism, new journalism, and creative nonfiction. They depict real events with the tools of fiction.

For Prof. Jose Victor Torres of UST’s Faculty of Arts and Letters, creative nonfiction is “a mixture of fact with the principles of writing fiction.”

Precursor of the form is “literary journalism,” basically journalism using fictional techniques, such as the non-fiction writings of Nick Joaquin (which the late National Artist invariably called “oral history, e.g. the Philippines Free Press profiles on Nora Aunor, Tony Agpaoa, and Flash Elorde, and the books “Aquinos of Tarlac” and “Quartet of the Tiger Moon”) and of the American Tom Wolfe (“Right Stuff,” “Electric Kool Aid Test”) and Truman Capote (“In Cold Blood”).

Some literary journalists have expressed discomfiture with the term “creative non-fiction” because it implies there’s non-fiction that is not creative or literary. They claim that the term basically preserves the literati’s snobbery toward journalism when the best non-fiction is in fact journalism or reportage.

They also argue that lately creative non-fiction has more and more tended to appear as extended personal essays or narratives, and if the genre is is to be accepted, it should be as a variant of personal writing, or personal journalism, such as memoirs, autobiography, and family history.

Literary journalists argue that curiously, the best literary journalists such as Joaquin, Wolfe, Capote and even Jose Lacaba, Greg Brillantes and Wilfrido Nollege wrote reportage, not “personal journalism.” They wrote about events, not about themselves.

For the Philippines as in the US, creative nonfiction is gradually setting in the form of personal journalism or extended personal narratives, such as Linda Enriquez Panlilio’s biography of her mother.

It is also true that fictionists tend to fictionalize their personal or family history, and this blurring of distinctions sometimes tends to pass for creative non-fiction.

Best nonfictionists

According to Prof. Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo of the University of the Philippines’ Department of English and Comparative Literature, fictionists are the best writers of creative nonfiction. She explained Vince Groyon’s novel The Sky Over Dimas as really a stylized revelation of the dark secrets of the upper middle-class families of the Torrecarions and the Jarabases. The novel won the grand prize in the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature in 2002.

Another fictionist, Clinton Palanca, applies fictional techniques in writing about his experiences as a gourmand via his blog.

“Creative nonfiction is the most popular (literary) form right now. Nick Joaquin said it in the ‘90’s that the literature in the future is really nonfiction. And that is the distinction between journalism and literature,” Hidalgo, a former Varsitarian editor in chief, said.

The great number of students taking up creative nonfiction as a major at UP is indicative of the flourishing of the genre, she added.

Torres explained that even before Joaquin joined the Free Press and Philippine Graphic, he had already been writing new journalism.

“I think, somehow, Nick Joaquin was a precursor of that kind of new journalism. If you look at his works and compare it with that of Tom Wolfe, the style is almost the same but Nick Joaquin has more finesse,” he said.

Creative nonfiction, according to Hidalgo, may be in the form of essays and magazine feature articles. Essays and magazine feature articles cover newspaper columns such as commentaries, profiles of a place, and reviews.

Personal journalism’s more prevalent variant is the narrative type which comes in the form of memoirs, travel narratives, and family histories.

However, despite the proliferation of travel essays, Hidalgo believes that few are at par with the best. “Very few of them go beyond the ‘and our next stop was…’ variety,” she said.

Hidalgo said the creative non-fictionist is versatile. “You could get a job in media, advertising, and you can write for all the magazines and newspapers. The kind of training that you need for these jobs is the writing of creative nonfiction, rather than poetry or fiction.”

Hidalgo enumerates the strategies for writing creative nonfiction in her book, “Creative Nonfiction: A Manual for Filipino Writers.”

“Read. Read the best,” Hidalgo said. “A writer’s view is found in the story’s structure, approach, point-of-view, tone and voice.”

By the way a writer injects his observations in the story, not only intelligence can be gleaned, but also his personality.

A plot must be something that would hold the reader’s interest. And good chronology is an aid to this end. Point-of-view is what holds the entire narrative together.

“If it says something about the past, the writer puts his impression and observation. If it is writing about the present, ‘di mo maaalis ‘yung first person actor dun sa work,” Torres explained.

Tone, which adds significance to the flow of creative nonfiction, deals with a writer’s attitude toward the topic. Hidalgo mentioned that this attitude may be magical, offensive, sarcastic or a host of other outlooks. Then finally, there is the voice which refers to the words, languages, images and metaphors used to set the context.

For characters, Torres explained that in fleshing them out for a story, a writer must show a person’s motivations, personality and personal conflicts.

“What you do is form and put them into work, that when the readers read it, you introduce them to the person you’re writing about,” he said.

Most important, any story must finish off with a convincing ending.

But Hidalgo cautioned against the mixing of facts and personal observation. A writer must be aware not to mistake subjectivity for editorializing, she said. One’s arguments and viewpoints must be supported by accurate and sufficient evidence.

Though a story is expected to be subjective in its approach, a writer must not avoid excluding his readers.

“It’s like telling the story and bringing your reader to the place that you’re describing,” Torres said. A. R. D. S. Bordado

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• Creative Writing: Nonfiction, New Media

Creative Writing: Nonfiction, New Media (CWRI10003)

Undergraduate level 1 Points: 12.5 Dual-Delivery (Parkville)

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About this subject

Contact information.

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This subject focuses on the creative process of writing literary work, from the first idea through the development, editing and presentation, including the identification of sources, and choice of style and form. Students will be encouraged to attempt a variety of forms including creative non-fiction, graphic narratives, photo-essays, screenplays, and scripts for games and podcasts. They will also be encouraged to read and discuss a wide range of contemporary writing as part of their understanding and articulation of their own and others' creative work.

Intended learning outcomes

Upon successful completion of this subject students should be able to:

• Develop an understanding of the discipline of creative writing, including its histories, frameworks and principles;
• Play with ideas, drawing on experience and memory to draft and develop creative written works to a high standard;
• Gain a detailed knowledge and understanding of various forms of creative writing such as creative non-fiction, visual storytelling, scripts for screen, games and podcasts;
• Develop their knowledge of the foundations of appropriate methodologies and critical inquiry into creative works with intellectual honesty and a respect for ethical values;
• The ability to act as informed and critically discriminating participants in the appraisal and discussion of the creative work of their peers, taking into account individual and cultural differences; and
• Work with others and independently, with self-reflection and creativity to meet goals and challenges.

Generic skills

Students who successfully complete this subject will be able to:

• Apply analytic, independent, and critical skills to written and visual texts
• Apply problem-solving skills to creative tasks;
• Complete written tasks to a high level of literacy
• Tackle unfamiliar problems with confidence; and
• Plan and develop their own work.

Last updated: 31 January 2024

On-Campus Summer Programs

Being a reader, becoming a writer.

• Language Arts

If you love to read, write, and talk about books, this is the course for you. In this course, we'll form a literary community and develop our vocabulary, close-reading, and critical thinking skills through workshops, where we read short stories or novels, respond to them in our journals, and discuss as a class. Then we’ll learn and practice what professional writers do: decide on topics, gather material, talk about creative choices with peers, and draft, workshop, and revise works of creative fiction. Daily lessons and one-on-one conferences with the instructor will help students learn the art of sentence construction, use of imagery, and more. Cooperative learning and constructive criticism are key elements of the course, and detailed responses from your instructor and peers will play an essential role in your growth as a reader and writer.

Typical Class Size: 12

Learning Objectives:

• Read, analyze, and discuss works of fiction and nonfiction including essays, novels, short stories, and more
• Practice writing reflectively, analytically, and creatively through personal narratives, poetry, original short stories, or in your own writer’s journal
• Utilize the tools introduced and skills learned in the course to compose 3-4 works of creative fiction
• Engage in the writing workshop process, editing and revising work based on feedback from your instructor, program assistant, and peers

This course is

Summer Dates & Locations

After May 31, 2024 , registration is available upon request pending eligibility and seat availability. To request placement, email [email protected] after submitting a program application.

Session One

Session Two

Testing and prerequisites.

Students must achieve qualifying scores on an advanced assessment to be eligible for CTY programs. If you don’t have qualifying scores, you have several different testing options. We’ll help you find the right option for your situation.

Cost and Financial Aid

Application fee.

• Nonrefundable Application Fee - $50 (Waived for financial aid applicants)
• Nonrefundable International Fee - $250 (outside US only)

Financial Aid

We have concluded our financial aid application review process for 2024 On-Campus Programs. We encourage those who may need assistance in the future to apply for aid as early as possible.

Course Materials

Students should bring basic school supplies like pens, notebooks, and folders to their summer program. You will be notified of any additional items needed before the course begins. All other materials will be provided by CTY.  

Sample Reading

These titles have been featured in past sessions of the course, and may be included this summer. CTY provides students with all texts; no purchase is required.

• America Street: A Multicultural Anthology of Stories , by Anne Mazer
• Esperanza Rising , by Pam Muñoz Ryan
• Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D. Taylor

About Language Arts at CTY

Explore storytelling.

Want to have fun reading popular stories and writing your own tales of adventure? Pen your hero's journey and explore a diverse range of books in Behind the Mask: Superheroes Revealed , or have fun shaping your prose and experimenting with different formats and styles in Fiction and Poetry .

Find your voice

Take your writing to the next level! In Writing and Imagination , you can build your vocabulary and gain the tools to write your own creative fiction. You'll learn to craft compelling narratives about your own experiences in Crafting the Essay , and have fun learning new literary devices and figurative language in Writing Your World .

Meet our instructors and staff

This was my fifth summer working at CTY. I love the culture of CTY. For three weeks, students and staff from all over the world create their own special community unlike anywhere else. I love getting to be a part of that.

Amanda Mastronardi

Dean of Residential Life and CTY Alum

The students are so bright, interesting, and often willing to try some of the most silly and unique activities that the RAs create.

Rebecca Somer

Resident Assistant

CTY is one of the highlights of my year. Even though it’s the summer, the immersive learning in a subject where these students truly excel and shine is invigorating for me as a teacher.

Lauren LaPorta

Writing Instructor

Creative Nonfiction: A Movement, Not a Moment

This may come as a surprise, but I don’t know who actually coined the term creative nonfiction. As far as I know, nobody knows. I have been using it for a long time, though, as have others, and although the term came into vogue relatively recently (about the time I started this journal, 13 years ago), the kind of writing it describes has a long history. George Orwell’s famous essay, “Shooting an Elephant,” is textbook creative nonfiction, combining personal experience with high-quality literary-writing techniques. Ernest Hemingway’s paean to bullfighting, “Death in the Afternoon,” falls under the creative nonfiction umbrella as does Tom Wolfe’s “The Right Stuff” and Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes.”

For a time, this kind of writing gained popularity as “New Journalism” due in large part to Wolfe, who published a book of that title in 1973 which declared that this style of writing “would wipe out the novel as literature’s main event.” Gay Talese described New Journalism in the introduction to his landmark collection, “Fame and Obscurity”: “Though often reading like fiction, it is not fiction. It is, or should be, as reliable as the most reliable reportage, although it seeks a larger truth [my italics] than is possible through a mere compilation of verifiable facts, the use of direct quotation and the adherence to the rigid organizational style of the older form.”

This is perhaps creative nonfiction’s greatest asset: It offers flexibility and freedom while adhering to the basic tenets of nonfiction writing and/or reporting. In creative nonfiction, writers can be poetic and journalistic simultaneously. Creative nonfiction writers are encouraged to utilize literary techniques in their prose—from scene to dialogue to description to point of view—and be cinematic at the same time. Creative nonfiction writers write about themselves and others, capturing real people and real life in ways that can and have changed the world. What is most important and enjoyable about creative nonfiction is that it not only allows but also encourages the writer to become a part of the story or essay being written. The personal involvement creates a special magic that alleviates the suffering and anxiety of the writing experience; it provides many outlets for satisfaction and self discovery, flexibility and freedom.

Since the early 1990s, there has been an explosion of creative nonfiction in the publishing and academic worlds. Many of our best magazines—The New Yorker, Harper’s, Vanity Fair, Esquire—publish more creative nonfiction than fiction and poetry combined. Every year, more universities offer Master of Fine Arts degrees in creative nonfiction. Newspapers are publishing an increasing amount of creative nonfiction, not only as features but in the news and Op-Ed pages, as well.

This wasn’t always the case. When I started teaching in the English department at the University of Pittsburgh in the 1970s, the concept of an “artful” or “new” nonfiction was considered, to say the least, unlikely. My colleagues snickered when I proposed teaching a “creative” nonfiction course, while the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences proclaimed that nonfiction writing in general—forget the use of the word creative—was, at best, a craft, not too different from plumbing. As the chairman of our department put it one day in a faculty meeting while we were debating the legitimacy of the course: “After all, gentlemen”—the fact that many of his colleagues were women often slipped his mind—“we’re interested in literature here, not writing.” That remark and the subsequent debate had been precipitated by a contingent of students from the school newspaper who marched on the chairman’s office and politely requested more nonfiction writing courses “of the creative kind.”

One colleague, aghast at the prospect of this “new thing” (creative nonfiction), carried a dozen of his favorite books to the meeting— poetry, fiction and nonfiction—gave a belabored mini-review of each and then, pointing a finger at the editor of the paper and pounding a fist, stated: “After you read all these books and understand what they mean, I will consider voting for a course called creative nonfiction. Otherwise, I don’t want to be bothered.” Luckily, most of my colleagues didn’t want to be bothered fighting the school newspaper, so the course was approved—and I became one of the first people, if not the first, to teach creative nonfiction at the university level, anywhere. That was in 1973.

Twenty years later, I started the journal Creative Nonfiction to provide a literary outlet for those journalists who aspired to experiment with combining fact and narrative. I wrote an editorial statement, put out a call for manuscripts and waited for the essays to pour in. Which they did: Many dozens of nonfiction pieces arrived at our mailbox over the first few weeks, more and more as the word spread, and we filled our first few issues.

And this was as I had expected. I had been confident that there were great creative nonfiction writers everywhere waiting for the opportunity to liberate themselves—all they needed was a venue. But I soon began to realize, as I spread the essays out on the floor in my office, as I tended to do when selecting and choreographing an issue, that most of the best essays were written not by journalists but by poets and novelists.

In fact, writers crossing genres seems to be another significant hallmark of the creative nonfiction genre and a reason for its popularity. Many of the writers whose works have appeared in the pages of Creative Nonfiction over the years first made their marks in other genres.

All this flexibility—writers crossing genres, applying tools from poetry and fiction to true stories—has made some people, writers of creative nonfiction included, uncomfortable. I travel often and give talks to groups of students and other aspiring writers. Invariably, people in the audience ask questions about what writers can or can’t do, stylistically and in content, while writing creative nonfiction. The questioners are unrelenting: “How can you be certain that the dialogue you are remembering and recreating from an incident that occurred months ago is accurate?” “How can you look through the eyes of your characters if you are not inside their heads?”

I always answer as best I can. I try to explain that such questions have a lot to do with a writer’s ethical and moral boundaries and, most important, how hard writers are willing to work to achieve accuracy and credibility in their narratives. Making up a story or elaborating extemporaneously on a situation that did, in fact, occur can be interesting but unnecessary. Truth is often more compelling to contemplate than fiction. But the questions and the confusion about what a writer can or cannot do often persist—for too long.

The Creative Nonfiction Police

Once, at a college in Texas, I finally threw up my hands in frustration and said, “Listen, I can’t answer all of these questions with rules and regulations. I am not,” I announced, pausing rather theatrically, “the creative nonfiction police!”

There was a woman in the audience—someone I had noticed earlier during my reading. She was in the front row: hard to miss— older than most of the undergraduates, blond, attractive, in her late 30s maybe. She had the alert yet composed look of a nurse, a person only semi-relaxed, always ready to act or react. She had taken her shoes off and propped her feet on the stage; I remember how her toes wiggled as she laughed at the essay I had been reading.

But when I announced, dramatically, “I am not the creative nonfiction police,” although many people chuckled, this woman suddenly jumped to her feet, whipped out a badge and pointed in my direction. “Well I am,” she announced. “Someone has to be. And you are under arrest.”

Then she scooped up her shoes and stormed barefooted from the room. The Q-and-A ended soon after, and I rushed into the hallway to find the woman with the badge. I had many questions, beginning with “Who the hell are you? Why do you have a badge? And how did you know what I was going to say when I didn’t have any idea?” I had never used the term creative nonfiction police before that moment. But she was gone. My host said the woman was a stranger. We asked around, students and colleagues. No one knew her. She was a mystery to everyone, especially me.

The bigger mystery, however, then and now, is the debate that triggered my symbolic arrest: the set of parameters that govern or define creative nonfiction and the questions writers must consider while laboring in or struggling with what we call the literature of reality.

I meant what I said to that audience: I am not the creative nonfiction police. But I have been called “the Godfather behind creative nonfiction,” and I have been doing this for a long time—more than a dozen published books, 30 years of teaching and then editing this groundbreaking journal. And so, while I won’t lay down the law, I will define some of the essential elements of creative nonfiction. The

Basic public education once covered the three R’s: Reading, ’Riting and ’Rithmatic. I find it’s helpful to think of the basic tenets of creative nonfiction (especially immersion journalism) in terms of the five R’s.

The first R is the “real life” aspect of the writing experience. As a writing teacher, I design assignments that have a real life, or immersion, aspect: I force my students out into their communities for an hour, a day or even a week so that they see and understand that the foundation of good writing is personal experience. I’ve sent my students to police stations, bagel shops, golf courses; together, my classes have gone on excursions and participated in public-service projects—all in an attempt to experience or to recreate from experience real life.

Which is not to say that all creative nonfiction has to involve the writer’s immersion into the experiences of others; some writers (and students) may utilize their own personal experience. In one introductory course I taught, a young man working his way through school as a salesperson wrote about selling shoes, while another student who served as a volunteer in a hospice captured a dramatic moment of death, grief and family relief.

Not only were these essays—and many others my students have written over the years—based on real life, but they also contained personal messages from writer to reader, which gave them extra meaning. “An essay is when I write what I think about something,” students will often say to me. Which is true, to a certain extent—and also the source of the meaning of the second R: “reflection.” In creative nonfiction, unlike in traditional journalism, a writer’s feelings and responses about a subject are permitted and encouraged. But essays can’t just be personal opinion; writers have to reach out to readers in a number of different and compelling ways.

This reaching out is essential if a writer hopes to find an audience. Creative Nonfiction receives approximately 200 unsolicited essays a month, sent in by writers seeking publication. The vast majority of these submissions are rejected, and one common reason is an overwhelming egocentrism: In other words, writers write too much about themselves and what they think without seeking a universal focus so that readers are properly and firmly engaged. Essays that are so personal that they omit the reader are essays that will never see the light of print. The overall objective of a writer should be to make the reader tune in— not out.

Another main reason Creative Nonfiction and many other journals and magazines reject essays is a lack of attention to another essential element of the creative nonfiction genre, which is to gather and present information, to teach readers about a person, place, idea or situation, combining the creativity of the artistic experience with the essential third R in the formula: “research.”

Even the most personal essay is usually full of substantive detail about a subject that affects or concerns a writer. Read the books and essays of the most renowned nonfiction writers in this century, and you will find writers engaged in a quest for information and discovery. From Orwell to Hemingway to John McPhee and Joan Didion, books and essays written by these writers are invariably about a subject other than themselves, although the narrator will be intimately included in the story. What’s more, the subject—whatever it is—has been carefully researched and described or explained in such a way as to make a lasting impression on readers.

Personal experience, research and spontaneous intellectual discourse—an airing and exploration of ideas—are equally vital elements in creative nonfiction. Annie Dillard, another prominent creative nonfiction writer, takes great pains to achieve this balance in her work. In her first book, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” which won the Pulitzer Prize, and in her other books and essays, Dillard repeatedly overwhelms her readers with factual information: minutely detailed descriptions of insects, botany and biology, history and anthropology, blended with her own feelings about life.

One of my favorite Dillard essays, “Schedules,” focuses on the importance of writers working on a regular schedule rather than writing only intermittently. In this essay, she discusses, among many other subjects, Hasidism, chess, baseball, warblers, pine trees, June bugs, writers’ studios and potted plants—as well as her own schedule and writing habits and those of Wallace Stevens and Jack London.

What I am saying is that the genre of creative nonfiction is open to anyone with a curious mind and a sense of self. The research phase actually launches and anchors the creative effort. Whether it is a book or essay I am planning, I always begin my quest in the library (or, increasingly, online) for three reasons. First, I need to familiarize myself with the subject. If I don’t know much about it, I want to make myself knowledgeable enough to ask intelligent questions when I begin interviewing people. If I can’t display at least a minimal understanding of the subject about which I want to write, I will lose the confidence and support of the people who must provide me access to the experience.

Second, I want to assess my competition. What other essays, books and articles have been written about this subject? Who are the experts, the pioneers, the most controversial figures? I want to find a new angle—not write a story similar to one that has already been written. And finally, how can I reflect on and evaluate a person, subject or place unless I know all of the contrasting points of view? Reflection may permit a certain amount of speculation, but only when based on a solid foundation of knowledge.

This brings me to the fourth R: “reading.” Writers must read not only the research material unearthed in the library but also the work of the masters of their profession. I have heard some very fine writers claim that they don’t read too much any more or that they don’t read for long periods, especially during the time they are laboring on a lengthy writing project. But almost all writers have read the best writers in their field and are able to converse in great detail about their stylistic approaches and the intellectual content of their work, much as any good visual artist is able to discuss the work of Picasso, Van Gogh, Michelangelo and Warhol.

Finally, there’s the fifth R: the “’riting,” the most artistic and romantic aspect of the whole experience. The first four R’s relate to the nonfiction part of creative nonfiction; this last R is the phase where writers get to create. This often happens in two phases: Usually there is an inspirational explosion at the beginning, a time when writers allow instinct and feeling to guide their fingers as they create paragraphs, pages and even entire chapters or complete essays. This is what art of any form is all about: the passion of the moment and the magic of the muse. I am not saying this always happens; it doesn’t. Writing is a difficult labor in which a daily grind or struggle (ideally with a regular schedule, as Annie Dillard concludes) is inevitable. But this first part of the experience— for most writers, most of the time—is rather loose and spontaneous and, therefore, more creative and fun. The second part of the writing experience—the craft part, which comes into play after your basic essay is written—is equally important and a hundred times more difficult.

The Building Blocks of Creative Nonfiction: Scene, Dialogue, Intimate Detail and Other Essentials

The craft part means the construction of the essay (or chapter or even book):how the research, reflection and real life experience are arranged to make a story meaningful and important to readers.

The primary way this is accomplished in creative nonfiction is through the use of scene. In fact, one of the most obvious distinguishing factors between traditional journalism and creative nonfiction—or simply between ordinary prose and good, evocative writing—is the use of vignettes, episodes and other slices of reality. The uninspired writer will tell the reader about a subject, place or personality, but the creative nonfiction writer will show that subject, place or personality in action.

There’s an easy way to see how essential scene is to building a story; I like to call it “The Yellow Test.” Take a yellow highlighter or magic marker and leaf through your favorite magazine—Vanity Fair, Esquire, The New Yorker or Creative Nonfiction—or return to a favorite chapter in a book by an author like Annie Dillard or John McPhee. Highlight the scenes, the passages—large or small—where things happen. Then return to the beginning and review your handiwork. Chances are, anywhere from 50 to 80 percent of each essay or chapter will be yellow. (This test works equally well with other forms of creative writing: Plays are obviously constructed of scenes, as are novels and short stories and films. Even most poems are very scenic.)

But what makes a scene? First and foremost, a scene contains action. Something happens. I jump on my motorcycle and go helter-skelter around the country; suddenly, in the middle of July in Yellowstone National Park, I am confronted with 20 inches of snow. Action needn’t be wild, sexy and death-defying, however. There’s also action in the classroom: A student asks a question, which requires an answer, which necessitates a dialogue, which is a marvelously effective tool to trigger or record action.

Dialogue, another important element of creative nonfiction, means people saying things to one another, expressing themselves. It is a valuable element of scene. Collecting dialogue is one of the reasons writers immerse themselves at a police station, bagel shop or zoo. It lets them discover what people have to say spontaneously—not just in response to a reporter’s questions.

Another technique that helps writers create scene may be described as “intimate and specific detail.” This is a lesson that writers of all genres need to know: The secret to making prose (or, for that matter, poetry) memorable—and, therefore, vital and important—is to catalogue with specificity the details that are most intimate. By intimate, I mean ideas and images that readers won’t easily imagine—ideas and images you observed that symbolize a memorable truth about the characters or the situations about which you are writing. Intimate means recording and noting details that the reader might not know or even imagine without your particular inside insight. Sometimes intimate detail can be so specific and special that it becomes unforgettable in the reader’s mind.

A very famous “intimate” detail appears in a classic creative nonfiction profile, “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold,” written by Gay Talese in 1966 and published in Esquire. In this profile, Talese leads readers on a whirlwind cross-country tour, revealing Sinatra and his entourage interacting with one another and with the rest of the world, and demonstrating how Sinatra’s world and the world inhabited by everyone else often collide. The scenes are action-oriented; they contain dialogue and evocative description, including a moment when Talese spotted a gray-haired lady with a tiny satchel in the shadows of the Sinatra entourage and put her in the story. She was, it turned out, the guardian of Sinatra’s collection of toupees. This tiny detail—Sinatra’s wig lady—made such an impression when I first read the essay that even now, years later, any time I see Sinatra on television or in rerun movies, or spot his photo in a magazine, I find myself searching the background for the gray-haired lady with the satchel.

The gray-haired lady was a detail that readers wouldn’t have known about if Talese hadn’t shown it to them, and her constant presence there in the shadows—hovering to service or replace Sinatra’s toupee— offered important insight into Sinatra’s character. And although we can’t achieve such symbolism each time we capture an incident, writers who want their words to be remembered beyond the dates on which their stories are published or broadcast will seek to discover the special observations that symbolize the intimacy they have attained with their subjects.

Of course, all of these vividly told scenes have to be organized according to some larger plan to make a complete story. We call this plan, or structure, the frame of the story. The frame represents a way of ordering or controlling a writer’s narrative so that the elements of his book, article or essay are presented in an interesting and orderly fashion with an interlaced integrity from beginning to end.

The most basic frame is a simple beginning-to-end chronology. For example, “Hoop Dreams,” a dramatic documentary (which is classic creative nonfiction in a different medium) begins with two African American teenage basketball stars living in a ghetto and sharing a dream of stardom in the NBA, and dramatically tracks both of their careers over the next six years.

Other frames are very complicated; in the movie, “Pulp Fiction,” Quentin Tarantino skillfully tangles and manipulates time. For a variety of reasons, writers often choose not to frame their stories in a strictly chronological sequence. My book “One Children’s Place” begins in the operating room at a children’s hospital. It introduces a surgeon, whose name is Marc Rowe; his severely handicapped patient, Danielle; and her mother, Debbie, who has dedicated her every waking moment to Danielle. Two years of her life have been spent inside the walls of this building with parents and children from all around the world whose lives are too endangered to leave the confines of the hospital. As Danielle’s surgery goes forward, the reader tours the hospital in a very intimate way, observing in the emergency room; participating in helicopter rescue missions as part of the emergency trauma team; and attending ethics meetings, well-baby clinics, child abuse examinations— every conceivable activity that happens at a typical high-acuity children’s hospital—so that readers will learn from the inside out how such an institution and the people it serves and supports function on an hour-by-hour basis. We even learn about Marc Rowe’s guilty conscience for having slighted his own wife and children over the years so that he can care for other families.

The book ends when Danielle is released from the hospital. It took me two years to research and write this book, returning day and night to the hospital in order to understand the hospital and the people who made it special, but the story in which it is framed begins and ends in a few months.

A Code for Creative Nonfiction Writers

Finally, harder to define than the elements of craft are all the ethical and moral issues writers of creative nonfiction have to consider—the kinds of questions audiences ask me about whenever I speak about the creative nonfiction genre, the kinds of questions that lead me to proclaim that I am not, and do not want to be, the creative nonfiction police.

But I will recommend a code for creative nonfiction writers—a kind of checklist. The word checklist is carefully chosen; there are no rules, laws or specific prescriptions dictating what you can or can’t do as a creative nonfiction writer. The gospel according to Lee Gutkind doesn’t and shouldn’t exist. It’s more a question of doing the right thing, following the Golden Rule: Treat others with courtesy and respect. First, strive for the truth. Be certain that everything you write is as accurate and honest as you can make it. I don’t mean that everyone who has shared the experience you are writing about should agree that your account is true. As I said, everyone has his or her own very precious and private and shifting truth. But be certain your narrative is as true to your memory as possible.

Second, recognize the important distinction between recollected conversation and fabricated dialogue. Don’t make anything up, and don’t tell your readers what you think your characters are thinking during the time about which you are writing. If you want to know how or what people are or were thinking, then ask them. Don’t assume or guess.

Third, don’t round corners—or compress situations or characters— unnecessarily. Not that it’s absolutely wrong to round corners or compress characters or incidents, but if you do experiment with these techniques, make certain you have a good reason. Making literary decisions based on good narrative principles is often legitimate—you are, after all, writers. But stop to consider the people about whom you are writing. Unleash your venom on the guilty parties; punish them as they deserve. But also ask yourself: Who are the innocent victims? How have you protected them? Adults can file suit against you, but are you violating the privacy or endangering the emotional stability of children? Are you being fair to the aged or infirm?

Fourth, one way to protect the characters in your book, article or essay is to allow them to defend themselves—or at least to read what you have written about them. Few writers do this, because they are afraid of litigation or ashamed or embarrassed about the intimacies they have revealed. But sharing your narrative with the people about whom you are writing doesn’t mean that you have to change what you say about them; rather, it only means that you are being responsible to your characters and their stories. I understand why you would not want to share your narrative; it could be dangerous. It could ruin your friendship, your marriage, your future. But by the same token, this is the kind of responsible action you might appreciate if the shoe were on the other foot. I have, on occasion, shared parts of books with the characters I have written about with positive results. First, my characters corrected my mistakes. But, more important, when you come face to face with a character, you are able to communicate on a different and deeper level. When you show them what you think and feel, when they read what you have written, they may get angry—an action in itself that is interesting to observe and even to write about.

Or they may feel obliged to provide their side of the situation— a side that you have been hesitant to listen to or interpret. With the text in the middle, as a filter, it is possible to discuss personal history as a story somewhat disconnected from the reality you are universally experiencing. It provides a way to communicate as an exercise in writing—it filters and distances the debate. Moreover, it defines and cements your own character. The people about whom you have written may not like what you have said—and may, in fact, despise you for saying it—but they can only respect and admire the forthright way in which you have approached them. No laws govern the scope of good taste and personal integrity.

The creative nonfiction writer must rely on his or her own conscience and sensitivity to others, and display a higher morality and a healthy respect for fairness and justice. We all harbor resentments, hatreds and prejudices, but being writers doesn’t give us special dispensation to behave in ways that are unbecoming to ourselves and hurtful to others. This rationale sounds so simple—yet, it is so difficult. The moral and ethical responsibility of the creative nonfiction writer is to practice the golden rule and to be as fair and truthful as possible—to write both for art’s sake and for humanity’s sake. In other words, we police ourselves.

By saying this, I do not feel that I am being overly simplistic. As writers we intend to make a difference, to affect someone’s life over and above our own. To say something that matters—this is why we write, after all. That’s the bottom line: to impact society, to put a personal stamp on history, to plant the seed of change. Art and literature are our legacies to other generations. We will be forgotten, most of us writers, but our books and essays, our stories and poems will always, somewhere, have a life.

Wherever you personally draw lines in your writing, remember the basic rules of good citizenship: Do not recreate incidents and characters who never existed; do not write to do harm to innocent victims; do not forget your own story but, while considering your struggle and the heights of your achievements, think repeatedly about how your story will affect your reader. Over and above the creation of a seamless narrative, you are seeking to touch and affect someone else’s life—which is the goal creative nonfiction writers share with novelists and poets. We all want to connect with another human being— or as many people as possible—in such a way that they will remember us and share our legacy with others.

Someday, I hope to connect with the woman with the badge and the bare feet, face-to-face. I have never forgotten her. She has, in some strange way, become my conscience, standing over me as I write, forcing me to ask the questions about my work that I have recommended to you. I hope we all feel her shadow over our shoulders each time we sit down, face the keyboard and begin to write.