How I Write Essays (Spring Equinox 2016)

Left Behind

A few weeks ago, someone asked me the difference between essays and stories. I replied that I see essays as true stories slightly embellished for impact, while stories are pure fiction. Of course, those lines tend to blur with stories based on real events and essays with unreliable narrators, which all writers are to some degree. So maybe it comes down to point of view and intent, the author saying this really happened versus this could have happened. Or, in the simplest terms, the difference between “there I was” and “once upon a time.”

With certain of my essays, those lines seem even less distinct for my readers. More than once, I’ve written an essay base on a personal experience in my past only to have someone wonder aloud if I’m just messing with them, just making it up to make a point. The answer is always no. When I write an essay based on a memory, I try my hardest to relate the facts as I remember them. Though, in the spirit of full disclosure, I sometimes fill in the details that I don’t remember based on impressions and consistency. So in that regard, not everything I write in an essay is completely true. But no one’s memories are.

I think part of their impression stems from the strange things that happen to me and around me. Or maybe it’s that I dwell on those strange things rather than writing them off and forgetting about them. Or it’s just I have a strange take on events.

Another part may be that I’m willing to relate certain events that most people would hide because they fear they would reveal a vulnerability that others could exploit. I experience that same fear, too. But I also feel pretty strongly that someone else might benefit from my sharing certain events and feelings, that they might feel just that much less alone. I’ve also been bullied most of my life, and feel as though I can handle those few people who feel lucky enough to try.

Red Smith is famously quoted as saying, “Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed.” That is the way I approach my essays. It’s like donating blood: losing that little bit won’t hurt me. For me, essays aren’t hard. I write to express myself. I write to be understood.

That’s only one component of how I approach essays. The other is relating the thought or memory to something more current. That could be the meaning of one of the Celtic holidays, say the coming end of winter at Imbolc, or the thought of rebirth at the spring equinox. Without that contemporary anchor, my thoughts are just reflections, my memories just reminiscing. I don’t feel particularly inclined toward either.

Because most of my essays are written to the schedule of Celtic holidays, I often use that as my theme. Sometimes I find a memory running through my mind before a deadline, so I run with it, then try to weave something meaningful at the end. Other times, I sketch out a number of memory-related events or life stories in advance for an entire year then pick the most appropriate for the particular holiday. A few times, I just focus on what’s going through my head or what’s going on outside my office window.

My essays tend to break into three broad categories: Memories, observations, and nature. Each has its audience.

Memories I’ve already touched on. They can be some of the toughest to write because they dredge up a number of old feelings, some I didn’t know still lingered. More than once, I’ve found myself typing with tears in my eyes. Or rage in my heart. Sometimes both (“Darkness”). I always think I’ll eventually run out of experiences people might find interesting but I haven’t yet. They tend to have the most impact on my readers.

Anymore, observation essays are mostly one-offs not written to any schedule. They tend to be about what I’m thinking or experiencing at the moment. Some start as random thoughts that flash through my mind while going through something unusual (“Digging”). Others are more of an internal rant involving current events (“Storm Watching” and “In My America”). Many apply the twisted filter I view this life through to otherwise completely normal events (“Trash Migration” and “Der Panzer Toaster”). With each, I just tried to develop the theme into something funny or poignant or thought-provoking.

The final set encompasses the nature essays. That’s a broad category that includes things I see firsthand, from birds at the feeder to spider webs in the screen. Many of the lines for these come from staring at something and trying to figure out how to describe it, like a sunset or a sky condition. Most of the daily lines I wrote for a year back in 2009-2010 ended up in these. A number of them drift into the mythological, relating natural cycles to legends or the old rituals of the Celtic holidays. Samhain is particularly rich soil to till for that. These tend to be more poetic, some might say straying into purple prose. Most are simply titled for the holiday they on which they are posted.

One of the strangest parts of being a writer is that certain ideas can be adapted equally well into essays, poems or stories. As an example, when I first wrote out the idea that became the poem The Unwanted Gift, it was as a short story for the Christmas series. I could have made the poem Laughter equally as effective as a much longer essay. Any number of essays, from “Commerce” to “Bully” to “Teamwork” could have been adapted into literary short stories. Any number more could have served as backstory or motivation for a character in something larger (quite often, other minor memories do). I just decide what I need or want at the moment.

Most essays only take a matter of hours or days to finish. Generally, I reserve out only three days before the deadline to write and edit an essay. For me, they are easier than poems or stories. They flow more effortlessly from my fingers. One sticking point I tend to run across is weaving in the theme, sometimes uncovering it if it isn’t obvious. Another is leaving enough time for Karen to take a photograph or draw an illustration.

A final one is trying the stick the landing. The opening and closing lines of an essay are the ones that leave a lasting impression. Often times, I’ll do that through a bit of literary legerdemain. Sometimes, it involves a change in thought that seems like a tangent but truly just serves as a crossing lace to tie off the bow. Other times, that’s just a matter of mirroring the closing to the opening.

Since I used the thought break once earlier, I’ll simply reflect back on the opening, the difference between a story and an essay. At the heart, there isn’t as much as fiction and nonfiction writers or readers would like to think. A good story reads like a well-told tale of something that really happened. A good essay like a compelling story where all the events and characters just happen to be true. Like the light of the spring equinox, the trick is in finding the right balance between the two. 

© 2016 Edward P. Morgan III