When I was in grad school, I took an essay writing course. We were assigned an anthology called The Best American Essays, which still sits, all marked up with black ink, on my bookshelf. (If I could find a link, I’d put it here, but I can’t.) In it, I discovered the work of Lucy Grealy, author of Autobiography of A Face, and Susan Orlean, specifically her piece on taxidermy, Lifelike. Just to name my favorites.
I loved the essay form because I could explore a topic, turn it this way and that way in the light, and never have to come to any particular conclusion. Essays could be funny, or scientific, or insightful, or sad, or anything I wanted them to be, so this anthology showed me.
In a personal essay, which may or may not be part of a collection or an anthology, the writer writes about an experience without necessarily having to prove a point. The author needs only to introduce the subject and theme (which is an idea that recurs in or pervades the work). This type of essay, as opposed to an academic essay, is based on feeling, emotion, personal opinion, and personal experience. And, man, I’ve got plenty of those. I bet you do too.
When my writing clients have trouble stringing their stories together cohesively, I often encourage them to step away from their larger project and just write an essay. To give up trying to make every single thing fit into the narrative arc. That way they can follow a line of thought for a good long time, come to conclusions they wouldn’t have arrived at any other way. The result always impresses us both. (Then we sneak the stuff into their book.)
So, I thought, just for fun, I’d share a few of my favorite essays. Believe me, there are so many more. Notice how different they are from one another. Notice which style, tone, or voice makes you want to write one of your own.
I hope you enjoy.
Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear
I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.
And That’s Why You Should Learn To Pick Your Battles
Then Laura came to pick me up so we could go to the discount outlet together, and as Victor gave me a kiss goodbye he lovingly whispered, “You are not allowed to bring any more goddam towels in this house or I will strangle you.” And that was exactly what I was still echoing through my head an hour later, when Laura and I stopped our shopping carts and stared up in confused, silent awe at a display of enormous metal chickens, made from rusted oil drums.
IT WAS EASTER SUNDAY in Chicago, and my sister Amy and I were attending an afternoon dinner at the home of our friend John. The weather was nice, and he’d set up a table in the backyard so that we might sit out in the sun. Everyone had taken their places when I excused myself to visit the bathroom, and there, in the toilet, was the absolute biggest piece of work I have ever seen in my life–no toilet paper or anything, just this long and coiled specimen, as thick as a burrito.
Without these fellowships I would take drugs. Because, even now, the condition persists. Drugs and alcohol are not my problem, reality is my problem, drugs and alcohol are my solution.
