(6 Types of Personal Essays for Writers to Try.)

What struck me most was not the punchlines or the details, but the act of slowing down. Of listening deeply. Of acknowledging that these moments are finite. We will not always have the people who matter most to us, but we can hold onto their stories.

And that, in many ways, is where compelling storytelling begins: with the willingness to notice the moments that sparkle.

Every writer has experienced this challenge: You know something meaningful happened in your life, or in your family, or in your childhood, but when you try to turn it into a story, it lies flat on the page. You can feel its importance, yet the translation from life to narrative is murky.

This is where the concept of the Sparkling Moment comes in.

A sparkling moment is a tiny, vivid memory—positive, resonant, emotional, or simply alive, that captures something essential. It’s not the whole story. It’s the spark that leads to the story.

The exercise comes from a chapter in my book A Story For Everything, and I’ve used it for years to help both new and experienced writers find clarity and contour in their narratives. It’s simple, it’s surprisingly powerful, and it teaches you two skills at once: how to listen and how to shape.

Below is the core exercise, and then we’ll break down how to use it in your writing practice.

Step One: The One-Minute Story

With a partner (or a voice recorder if you’re working alone), tell a very short true story, something happy, positive, or meaningful that can be told in 60 seconds. It could be something from childhood. Or something from this morning. The smaller the moment, the better.

Examples often sound like:

• “My daughter finally rode her bike without training wheels today.”
• “My grandfather taught me how to fold a fitted sheet when I was ten.”
• “Yesterday, a stranger paid for my coffee and it shifted my whole day.”

These are memories, not epics. They’re sparks.

If you’re working with a partner, have them listen fully without interrupting. Their only job is to be present. If you stall out before the minute is up, they can encourage you with gentle prompts like “Go on” or “Tell me more,” but they should avoid asking questions that steer the story.

Step Two: The Retelling

This is where the magic happens.

After you finish your one-minute story, your partner retells the same story back to you, from memory.

Sometimes I ask the reteller to speak in first person, as if it were their own story. Other times, I ask them to retell it exactly as heard. Either way, the real work is happening not in the retelling, but in your listening.

When you hear your own story told back to you, you immediately notice:

• Which details they remembered.
• Which details they dropped.
• Which parts they emphasized.
• Which parts surprised you.
• Which emotional beats landed without you trying.

This is live, instantaneous feedback on how your storytelling is being received.

Writers spend so much time inside their own heads, shaping sentences and rearranging paragraphs, that they often forget a story is a two-way experience. Someone else has to hear it, understand it, and feel something from it. The Sparkling Moment exercise shows you exactly how much of your story is actually crossing that bridge.

In workshops, I don’t reveal this retelling step ahead of time. Inevitably, listeners laugh and groan when I tell them they’re going to have to retell the story, because most weren’t truly listening. They were half-listening and half-preparing their own story for when it would be their turn to talk.

Sound familiar?

Writers often do the same thing: Instead of staying inside the moment, they jump mentally to what’s next. Instead of sitting in the sparkling memory, they try to build the whole narrative arc before they even understand what the story is really about.

Listening is not passive. It is generative.

Step Three: Identify the Emotional Pivot

Once you hear your story reflected back to you, ask yourself:  Where did the story change?

Every compelling story has a pivot; the moment when something shifts. It might be tiny. It might be emotional rather than external. But it’s the pivot that gives the story meaning.

In the restaurant last week, my dad told a story about a painting he kept in his dental office for years, an image of the Patron Saint of Dentistry. He originally bought it from another dentist; recently, he passed it down to his nephew (my cousin), who is also a dentist. On the surface, it’s a simple story about a painting changing hands. But as he spoke, the emotional pivot became clear. It wasn’t about the sale at all. It was about passing the torch. It was about tradition, and pride, and the “spirit” of the profession he devoted his life to. The painting itself was an object, but its transfer from one generation to the next revealed continuity, identity, and legacy.

The pivot is where the story stops being a list of events and becomes an experience.

When you identify that pivot, you’ve found the beating heart of the story.

Step Four: Add Reflection

A true event becomes a compelling story when you add reflection, when you connect the moment to something larger.

Reflection answers the question:

Why does this story matter?

It doesn’t need to be profound. You don’t need to have learned a grand lesson. But you do need to articulate meaning.

Look back at your sparkling moment and ask:

• What did this reveal about me?
• What changed?
• What do I understand now that I didn’t then?
• Why did this moment stay with me?

Reflection turns memory into narrative. It’s where the sparkle becomes illumination.

Step Five: Expand the Edges

Now you have everything you need:

• A vivid moment.
• A clear emotional pivot.
• A meaningful reflection.

All that’s left is expanding the edges, adding just enough context and detail to immerse the reader without burying the moment.

Most writers do the opposite. They start with too much backstory or setup, drowning the scene before the reader ever finds what’s important. The Sparkling Moment exercise reverses that instinct. It makes you start with the moment that matters most, then build outward with intention.

The Spark Is the Story

Sitting around that dinner table with my parents and brothers reminded me that storytelling is not a performance; it is preservation. We talked for hours, savoring stories we’ve told before and discovering ones we’d forgotten. And as I listened, I felt something that has stayed with me since: These sparkling moments, once spoken aloud, become the way we hold onto each other.

A story doesn’t have to be big to be unforgettable. It only has to be true, told with presence, and anchored in the moment where something shifted.

You don’t need to be a “natural storyteller.”

You just need to notice your sparkling moments, and let them shine.

Check out Corey Rosen’s A Story for Everything here:

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(7 Tips to Write Funny Headlines.)

When you pay attention with humor in mind, you’ll find “funny” at every corner. The world we live in is quite preposterous and full of incongruities, contradictions, and plain oddball happenings. Just look at any news service, and you’ll see headlines like these:

• An aggressive squirrel in California sent two people to the emergency room.
• Pennsylvania flood museum temporarily closed due to flood.
• A wandering wallaby is on the loose in Berlin, police say.

What the heck is a wallaby?

At the coffee shop where I’m penning this life-changing column, there are two women nearby gossiping about their neighbor who doesn’t cut his grass.

Woman #1: “I can’t even look at the yard next door. It’s horrible.”
Woman #2: “I bet some aggressive squirrels live there!”

Here are seven ways to collect your humor armor:

1 — Watch

Stand-up should be a daily pick on your Netflix list. I watch stand-up often, and I’ve performed at a few open mics. It sharpens your humor and gives you courage to push the limits. Here’s one: “When I first immigrated from Syria to the United States in 1984, friendly Americans would ask me, ‘How do you like it so far?’ I would reply, ‘Yeah, it’s pretty far!’”

2 — Listen

In addition to coffee shops, you can eavesdrop on trains, restaurants, malls, and just about anywhere else. Once, at the grocery store checkout lane, I heard a couple whispering about how they hoped the kids wouldn’t walk on them again like the night before. That’s enough material for three columns!

3 — Read

At my first job at the Birmingham Post-Herald newspaper in Alabama, we had a copy editor who picked discarded materials out of garbage cans to read. You don’t have to go that far, but comedy can be found in the oddest of places. Once, at a bookstore, I saw a book titled: “The Beginner’s Guide to Sex in the Afterlife!”

4 — Travel

Different cultures interpret humor in diverse ways. In India, burping after a meal is considered a compliment to the chef. In the Middle East and other regions, you must remove your shoes at the door (hope your socks don’t stink). In Iran, they have squatting toilets. Tell me you can’t go on and on about that one!

5 — Socialize

Social media, especially Instagram and TikTok, are treasure boxes for humor. YouTube can also be a useful source. Funny influencers have millions of followers for a reason. Find your favorites, watch them, then use their funny bits and ideas for your own material.

6 — Imitate

I’ve gleaned so much humor from watching several shows, including The Office. On occasion, I act like Michael Scott’s character without even realizing it. My kids call me Michael Scott sometimes—and it’s pretty hysterical. Pick your favorite characters from television, novels, stand-up, or any other source, then borrow away.

7 — Read

There are many comedy masters worth studying. My favorites are Dave Barry, Bill Bryson (his A Walk in the Woods memoir is a masterclass in humor writing), Dorothy Parker, David Sedaris, and Fran Lebowitz. I also find Garrison Keillor and his Lake Wobegon books terrific sources of material. Did you ever listen to Prairie Home Companion? I was addicted to that show on NPR. Look up Keillor’s bit on The Ketchup Advisory Board!

Create your own sources and start collecting funny bits. I use an actual journal. You can type in your phone, but something unique happens in the brain when pen meets paper.

I’ll end with this: Why shouldn’t you write humor columns with a broken pencil? Because there’s no point.

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(Starting Your Romance Off With a Bang.)

Here are five easy things to consider when wanting to lighten the mood in your novels, in whatever genre you are.

#1: Whenever things start to feel intense in a scene, step back and purposefully add a comedic side character or comment. 

There are probably going to be intense scenes in your novels in whatever genre you write. People get cancer. People die. Go to funerals. Face infertility, heartbreak, etc. After all, this is a novel, and you must have some conflict to overcome. 

But a very, very easy thing to remember when trying to keep your books from getting too intense is to split a surprisingly humorous person or comment in those deepest, hardest scenes. It feels personal anti-intuitive, but that’s what’s so important. It breaks the spell for readers when their hearts are aching. It helps them take a breath and chuckle and remember we are okay before diving into the book again. 

It happens all the time in movies and sitcoms. It’s like an opening scene in New Girl when Nick walks in to say his father just died (huge and shocking sadness for a sitcom) and the reaction was that Jess and the roommates had just been inhaling helium so their voices were like humorous munchkins as they came in for a hug. Think: comedic relief.

#2: This is not only a very simple hack but a rather practical one for you the writer as well: Give nicknames to random characters in a scene. 

Capitalize them. It not only helps you keep it clear who you are referring to, but it does so in a casual, slightly humorous way. I just finished a scene in Without a Clue (a murder mystery rom-com I’m finishing up for 2026) and one of the initial villains in a scene became labeled Pineapple Trunk Man (due to his swim trunks). 

I’d be careful not to overdo this in books and face the consequence of the law of diminishing returns, but every once in a while it’s nice. It keeps the scene bouncy and fun.

#3: Use the side character. 

I always have comedic side characters in my books. Always. At least one. You need them. In my opinion, they are the true stars of the show. 

In my February release, The Perfect Rom-Com (titled so for SEO value and the protagonist’s aspiring task), the lovable and comedic side characters are her adult immigrant and refugee ESL students. As you can imagine (and I, given I used to be an adult ESL teacher to many), Bryony Page teaching adult men and women from around the globe with all their clashing cultures and worldviews has a lot of potential when done right (as in, don’t get political). 

Creating a lovable and highly quirky cast of characters to infuse into romantic scenes helped keep the scenes themselves both funny, romantic, and fun.

#4: Surprise people. 

Aristotle is known for saying, “The secret to humor is surprise.” 

Obviously it’s a bit more too, but there is some real truth there. Spring in surprise in your dialogue. Want to be the king/queen of humor? Have a surprising second layer to your jokes. A sudden, unexpected and innocent twist that makes people laugh.

#5: And last and quite simple, use terrible grammar. 

(See the tiny little tongue-in-cheek moment there, when you didn’t expect me to write that?) 

But truly. I once had an editor continuously pull out my sentences, rewrite it all according to her often-cited Chicago Manual of Style, and put it back in. I had to talk to my main editor about it (which we agreed wasn’t supposed to happen) and manually go over and fix it line by line. Why? Because I’m not writing a dissertation. I’ve been through a Master’s degree at seminary, and there’s a reason nobody checks out people’s dissertations for kicks and giggles. 

You can add a lot of humor with italics. You can add a lot of punch by chopping your sentences up. Just. Like. This. You can even yell DON’T MESS WITH MY MANUSCRIPT, CRADY LADY in all caps (*cue shock in a grad school) and it all works together to keep your scenes light, airy, funny, and real. It’s very fun to write too.

So that’s it.

Go forth and write hilarity into your novels.

I look forward to it.

Check out Melissa Ferguson’s The Perfect Rom-Com here:

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My strengths are building quirky characters and taking serious plots or themes and injecting the work with humor. I’m not referring to one-liner jokes and slapstick-style humor, but the kind of whimsy and respite built from setting, dialogue, and the intrinsic makeup of characters. Humor is a tool I use to dial down tension, sadness, and heavier material. It’s my pressure-release valve, and I prefer this when I read novels for pleasure.

(The Story Wrote Me)

Give me Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keyes and Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. Throw in A Man Called Ove and Chemistry Lessons, all brilliantly written and sugared with laughter and wit.

Whether it’s a learned skill or one that’s innate, flashes of funny spring naturally as I write. Maybe because I was raised in the South where we like our tea sweet and our barbecue spicy. Every funeral I’ve ever attended diluted the weeping with stories about the deceased that brought on laughter. Even during murder trials, the defense, prosecution, or witnesses often throw something in that makes spectators chuckle.

As writers, we must go with what we’re good at. But for years I fought it, trying my hand at writing serious fiction, the kind that wins prestigious prizes. I read the classics, drank dark wine, sipped coffee strong enough to dissolve crowns, and studied woebegone poetry. Once, I even bought a tweed suit, thinking if I looked and felt the part, surely I could write like the next Elizabeth Strout. I tried to think deep thoughts and put esoteric, multi-syllabic words on paper. I got as far as having a short story published in a prestigious literary journal, but that’s where my foray into serious lit dead ended.

I couldn’t do it. Not only did I lack the talent, but I also wanted to feel more than just anger and sadness when reading a book. Yes, I love beautiful words and complex and heart-wrenching topics, but please, for the love of amusement, give me a novel that will also make me laugh.

Laughter is the great healer, a leveler, and an emotion strong enough to forge bonds between people. We are drawn to people who make us laugh. And most of us are also fond of characters who charm us with a great sense of humor. The most successful writers weave their novels with layers, knowing a palette of emotion is what readers crave.

After years of enjoying modest success writing nonfiction humor books, I decided to write a novel and use these skills. My topic, based on a true story of a woman who survived horrific spousal abuse, was tragic, but it was a story I felt compelled to tell. This novel, my debut, Chimes from a Cracked Southern Belle, was first published by Grateful Steps in 2013 and won an Independent Publishers Book Award for Best Southeast Fiction. Someone asked my publisher how I managed to make a sad story, at times funny.

“Reinhardt achieves what would ordinarily be an impossible task, that of presenting a tragic heroin in a continuously amusing light, while never forfeiting sensitivity to her plight…”

I believe the key word here is sensitive. Never sprinkle comedy into weighty material for a cheap laugh. Humor must be organic and subtle, not a complete about-face within the pages.

“As long as it comes across as the characters finding some relief from the seriousness and shows compassion,” said my friend and avid reader Angela Booth. “It would be weird if it was just thrown in there flippantly.”

“A little humor can be a real gift to mental health,” my writer friend Nancy Rollins agreed.

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For my second novel, The Beautiful Misfits, which Regal House publishes in March, I knew my topic about the opioid epidemic was heavy but one that needed exploring. I also realized only the dour and sour would want to slog through 300 pages of angst.

This is the novel in which I did what the old guard suggested. I opened a vein, severed an artery, and bled all my emotions onto the pages. But I scattered the scenes with humor as if a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. The novel, about a mother going to extreme and unlikely lengths to save her millennial son from opioid addiction, is at times grueling, heart-breaking, and tear-jerking.

But to write an entire novel without glimmers of hope or dashes of laughter isn’t my style. I want all the feels. I want to love and I want to hate. I want to weep and I want to laugh out loud. With The Beautiful Misfits, I chose to use a secondary setting at a mall makeup counter as the backdrop for the funny parts.

Humor, if done in batches, keeps readers turning pages. We all want to feel good and walk away from a novel feeling more than just depressed. Readers want to close the book and feel moved, changed on some level, and buoyed by the experience.

As filmmaker Joss Whedon says, “Make it dark, make it grim, but then, for the love of God, tell a joke.”

Click to continue.

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