WEAVING THROUGHLINES INTO NARRATIVE NONFICTION

By Donna Janell Bowman

Have you noticed that the term “throughline” pops up in webinars and editorial letters more often these days, but not always with clear definitions? In 2021, after realizing that the term is rarely highlighted in craft books beyond screenwriting, I embarked on my first deep dive to better understand how throughlines ensure structure and continuity in fiction and narrative nonfiction. Sometimes, throughlines emerge organically during the writing process. At other times… not so much. Being conscious of throughlines was certainly helpful during my writing of Wings of an Eagle: The Gold Medal Dreams of Billy Mills, a collaboration with Native Olympian Billy Mills. Let’s try to demystify the term here.

Note — As you read this article, keep in mind that there are countless variations in children’s narratives. For example, narrative nonfiction picture books often have unique structures, creative approaches, non-human subjects, and illustrations that tell part of the story. Throughlines will vary, too.

What are throughlines?

Technically, a throughline is any storytelling element that is employed from a story’s beginning to its ending. Think of throughlines as threads of different colors and textures that, when woven together, result in a satisfying layered tapestry.

Critical Throughline — The Character Arc / Internal Throughline

Sticking with the weaving analogy, the character throughline is like the Warp threads — the foundational spine — in a tapestry. In a human-centered (or living being) narrative, the character’s journey and struggle toward a goal or resolution IS the story. Not surprisingly, the character arc in a narrative is akin to the Character Spine or Super-objective in a screenplay. On a theoretical stage, an actor might ask “what’s my motivation” so that they can stay in character throughout the fictional story. In narrative nonfiction, research reveals the character backstory, traits, inciting incident (if applicable), and the motivation that propels them into action. By stitching every scene or spread with the essence of the character and their slow transformation, we ensure a strong character arc throughline that holds up the entire story and results in the narrative theme, which we’ll address later. Every other throughline in a story is in service to the character throughline.
            I am so grateful for my collaboration with Billy Mills, because, from my very first draft of Wings, I knew the story focus, and I knew Billy’s internal motivation — to chase his Olympic dream as a way to emotionally survive poverty, heartbreak, grief, and systemic racism. I also knew the story’s ending — Billy’s Olympic success and what he did with it. For the character throughline to be cohesive, every scene between the beginning and the ending had to show his internal transformation.

Character + goal/problem + motivation + ordeal = character transformation / character arc

The character throughline is like the Warp threads of a tapestry

Tip — What if research doesn’t reveal enough backstory or details to authentically show character change? When there isn’t enough evidence for internality and an obvious character transformation, try crafting the protagonist as a Flat/Steadfast character. For narrative purposes, this kind of character doesn’t transform as an individual on the page. Rather, they change their world in a notable way. The throughline for this kind of character might rely more on their pragmatic efforts, external goals or processes, or how others perceived the character and their contribution. Bring them to life by showing them in action.

Critical Throughline #2 — The Narrative Arc Throughline:

As you know, in most narratives, the all-important character arc begins when the character is propelled into action by their goal/want/problem. The plot — the action/things that happen in a story — becomes a narrative arc when the author gives the events meaning for the character through a beginning-middle-ending structure. As mentioned earlier, once you know your story focus, select scenes that specifically drive the story forward and reveal the character arc. 

During my research and conversations with Billy, a few obvious narrative throughlines for Wings revealed themselves. For example, we wanted the narrative to end with Billy’s post-Olympics Giveaway — a Lakota tradition of generosity. For that scene to be cohesive and powerful, I first stitched the idea into a third spread scene that shows Billy’s first memory of a Giveaway when he was a child.

Tip — Occasionally, a major throughline must change mid-story. For example, the beginning of Anita Pazner’s book, Words Matter: The Story of Hans and Sophie Scholl, and the White Rose Resistance, shows the two characters naively excelling as members of the Hitler Youth group and the League of German Girls — the initial narrative throughlines. But when the characters learn the truth about Hitler’s horrifying plans, they turn against Hitler, form the White Rose Resistance, and spend the rest of their short lives acting against him. If this kind of switch is necessary for your character, logically resolve the first throughline(s) before picking up the new thread.  

Themeline (Theme Throughline)

By the end of a narrative, what the character endured — internally and externally — reveals a universal relatable truth, the organic moral of the story. It is literally why the story matters and likely what drew you to the real character in the first place. The themeline begins in the character setup, possibly faint at first, but as the narrative progresses and the character changes as a result of the narrative arc, the themeline becomes such a prominent thread in the story tapestry, the reader grabs hold of it and takes it into their own life.

The theme slowly reveals itself through the character’s actions and reactions, direct quotes or internality, or the author’s creative storytelling choices.

Tip: There can be more than one theme in a narrative, but there should be one primary theme.

Sub throughlines:

While the character and narrative throughlines are foundational, sub throughlines are like colored and textured threads that produce an intentional tone and reader experience. As already mentioned, technically, a throughline can be anything that stitches through the length of a narrative, including voice, refrains and irregular refrains, repetition, subtext, subplot, visual or narrative motifs, an objective correlative, literary devices, etc..

Weaving sub throughlines into the lyrical voice in Wings of an Eagle: The Gold Medal Dreams of Billy Mills was surprisingly enjoyable. Inspired by Billy’s memories and the poetry of Native Americans, I crafted bird-inspired metaphors, similes, and verbs throughout the text. So, too, with the use of “footsteps.” You will also find the refrain of “We are stronger together,” which was inspired by the Lakota prayer, “We are all related.” Any other sub throughlines are fodder for another day.

Authors aren’t the only creators to use throughlines. In addition to the use of pictographs and a traditional Lakota art style in Wings, illustrator S.D. Nelson added the visual refrain of a background eagle that stays with Billy throughout the story. The artistic choice works in beautifu synergy with the text.

I hope this distillation has demystified throughlines for you. Now it’s your turn! How will you stitch your narrative with just the right throughlines to weave a memorable story tapestry for your readers?

Happy writing, friends! 

 

Donna Janell Bowman is an award-winning author of books for young readers, including Wings of an Eagle: The Gold Medal Dreams of Billy Mills, co-authored with Billy Mills (Oglala Lakota); Step Right Up: How Doc and Jim Key Taught the World About Kindness; Abraham Lincoln’s Dueling Words; King of the Tightrope: When the Great Blondin Ruled Niagara; and others. Donna’s books have garnered such accolades as starred reviews, state book awards, a Robert F. Sibert Award Honor from ALA, and awards and honors from NCTE, NCSS, ALSC, TLA, Oprah Daily, Library of Congress Great Reads, Best-Of-The-Year lists, and more. Armed with an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts, she writes from her Central Texas home and enjoys teaching writers and speaking at schools around the country. www.donnajanellbowman.com

 

 

THINKING LIKE A FICTION WRITER

by Leslie Barnard Booth

When I write nonfiction or informational picture books, I pretend I’m writing fiction. Why? We humans have been telling stories since time immemorial, and stories—complete with characters, tension, drama, and resolution—are compelling to us. We pay attention to stories. We remember stories. We enjoy stories. They make us giggle and worry and sigh with relief. Stories don’t just teach; they also touch our hearts.

But isn’t nonfiction supposed to be about facts? Yes, but great nonfiction is more than the sum of its facts. Facts can be found on Wikipedia. Stories cannot. As an author of informational picture books, it is my job to find the story within the facts—the story that will bring those facts to life for young readers.

Thinking like a fiction writer starts at the very beginning—in the idea-generation stage. At this point, I am exploring topics. Maybe I’m learning about rocks. Maybe there’s something about rocks that I find interesting. So, I ask myself, is there a story here? Is there a narrative arc? Is there tension? Most fundamentally—is there change?

For a story to truly be a story—for the reader to feel catharsis when they turn the final page—I would argue that there has to be tension. There has to be an arc. This doesn’t mean there has to be one clear, concrete problem that a character solves after making three failed attempts (an effective structure often found in fiction picture books). In an informational text, the tension might be more subtle. The “character” might be, for example, a (non-anthropomorphized) rock—an actual rock that experiences an actual transformation. 

My first book, A Stone Is a Story, follows a stone through the stages of the rock cycle, as it forms and transforms over hundreds of millions of years. As soon as I understood the rock cycle as a process of change and transformation, I knew I had a story. I had tension (what would happen to this rock?), I had drama (volcanoes! glaciers! erosion!), and I had a resolution (you’ll have to read the book to find out what happens to the rock 😊). Note that this is a rock we’re talking about—a seemingly inert object! Yet it experiences profound change and holds the key to a story.

Our lives, our planet, the whole of our universe is defined by change. Nonfiction that highlights this change has a shape our minds and hearts crave—the shape of a story. As you go hunting for your next nonfiction book idea, I encourage you to think like a fiction writer. Within the facts, hunt for tension, hunt for drama, hunt for a narrative arc. Use these tools of fiction to build a nonfiction manuscript that’s as surprising and emotionally potent as fiction. It’s a tall order, but the real, true, factual wonders of our dynamic planet call for nothing less.

 

 

About the Author:

Leslie Barnard Booth writes lyrical picture books about science and nature. She is the author of One Day This Tree Will Fall and A Stone Is a Story, both of which were named Outstanding Science Trade Books by the National Science Teaching Association and Children's Book Council. Her next book, I Am We: How Crows Come Together to Survive, releases in fall 2025. Leslie lives in Portland, Oregon, and loves exploring the natural world with her family. Visit her at lesliebarnardbooth.com.