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| 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
