Nonfiction writing includes many different types of creative work, including essays, memoirs, biographies , and autobiographies . But nonfiction also includes different types of instructive/informational writing, such as academic textbooks, self-help books, and travel/reference books. If you're interested in writing nonfiction, you'll want to decide on a type of nonfiction that you're most interested in and read as much as you can by popular authors in that field. Once you've gotten the hang of the genre, you'll be ready to write your own compelling work of nonfiction.
It is amazing how the picture “American Girl” still creates the debate: was it posed.? It decidedly was not, and I am still alive and ready to describe that day, that moment in August l951 when Ruth Orkin and I were in Florence, and the photograph was taken. It was not staged, nor was it posed. Period. Ruth and I were literally fooling around, thinking of ways to show what it was like as a single American woman, traveling in Europe at that period. We had met the night before, and thought it would be a caper. I was not, and am not a professional model. We were walking toward the Piazza della Republica at l0:30 in the monring. Ruth ahead of me. She turned around to see the l5 men looking at me. Delighted, she asked that I stop, turn around, go back a few paces, and walk forward again. That was literally it. And I am still here to tell the story. Two shots, in two minutes, that captured the spirit of Florence on that August mornig. Jinx Allen (Ninalee Allen Craig)
The second installment of my story here concerns the first time the word “Negro” was said to me, as a direct reference to my racial origins, by someone in the science-fiction community. Understand that, since the late ’30s, that community, that world had been largely Jewish, highly liberal, and with notable exceptions leaned well to the left. Even its right-wing mavens, Robert Heinlein or Poul Anderson (or, indeed, Campbell), would have far preferred to go to a leftist party and have a friendly argument with some smart socialists than actually to hang out with the right-wing and libertarian organizations which they may well have supported in principal and, in Heinlein’s case, with donations. April 14, 1968, a year and—perhaps—three weeks later, was the evening of the next Nebula Awards Banquet. A fortnight before, I had turned twenty-six. That year my eighth novel The Einstein Intersection (which had materialized as an object on the day of the previous year’s) and my short story, “Aye, and Gomorrah . .” were both nominated.