Discipline may not be your problem. Confidence might be the block. Or comparing yourself to your favourite writer could be your nemesis. Or maybe it’s a fear of putting yourself out there, revealing your deepest, darkest wounds for all the world to see.
One of the problems with writing an essay, and maybe writing anything, is your Uncle Max. Remember when he said, “You can’t make money as a writer. Go to nursing school, honey”? Or your high school English teacher, who thought he was being funny when he held up your paper in front of the whole class and said, “Keep your day job” ? Or just your own inner critic whispering, then yelling, “Who do you think you are? What, you’ve got something so interesting to say that everyone needs to hear it?” Or maybe your inner Eeyore tells you, “Everything’s been said before, so why even try?”
Let’s disarm these ogres one by one, shall we?
Nothing compares to you
Who wants to follow Emerson or C. S. Lewis or Susan Sontag? Who wants to compete with James Baldwin and George Orwell? Who wants to come up against the likes of Alice Walker, Virginia Woolf or Angela Davis? If I compared myself to Anna Quindlen, I’d never write another word.
Actually, I did try to get Anna Quindlen’s job. It was 1994, and I’d just heard an interview with her on NPR. She announced she was leaving her coveted perch at The New York Times, where she’d gained a huge national following for her column “Life in the Thirties.” She was leaving because she wanted to write novels and be home with her kids. I didn’t have any desire to write novels, and at that point I desperately wanted to be away from my kids.
So, after I turned off the radio, I gathered a bunch of my pieces that had aired on All Things Considered or been published in various newspaper Sunday magazines, put them in a big manila envelope, and addressed them to the Times Executive Editor Abe Rosenthal.
In those days I swung between positively knowing that I’d never be able to write another good sentence and having the balls to apply for Anna Quindlen’s actual position at The (excuse me) New York Times.
One of the things I say over and over in the writing workshops I teach is, “Don’t compare yourself to ANYONE!!!” So instead of measuring yourself to Zadie Smith or Mary Kerr or Flannery O’Connor (God knows I tried to be her for years), let your favourite one become your inspiration, your teacher, your muse. Read their work, and then sit down and write as a tribute to them.
Of course, when I go to write a new piece myself, I realize that not falling into the comparison well is easier said than done. When you feel yourself starting to slip is precisely when you block your ears or take a gummy or become your own dearest friend—and you sit down and write the damn thing.
Your story has never been told
If you read an essay someone else wrote about being a kid whose mother died in a car wreck, and that’s exactly what happened to you, it’s foolishness to think there’s no point in writing yours.
No one else can write your story. No one else had your back porch with the loose step, no one else had your Aunt Esther with the space between her front teeth, no one else got bubble gum stuck in her braids and had all her hair cut off the day before her first day of sixth grade at a new school but you. No one else is you.
If you get intimidated, it’ll stop you. Don’t stay in the shadows thinking, Well, no one will be that interested. How will you know if anyone would be interested if you never even put it into words?
I think it’s safe to say that we’ve all either heard the question “Who do you think you are?” or “What makes you think anyone would care about your story?” or we’ve uttered it to ourselves. So many of us have been told “You’re not good enough,” “There’s only so much to go around,” “Only certain people get published,” “You’re not thin enough,” “You’re not pretty enough,” and on and on.
But what we all have in common is that little wise person in our bellies that, if we listen hard enough, we can hear say, People will care. Yes, you are good enough. You are indeed. You are everything. You are the universe. And the universe takes orders well. Now go write about whatever it is your unique personal history tells you to write.
If you need a little more of a mindset shift, go buy a Ganesh (remover of obstacles) to keep on your desk. Go pick out your outfit for your big meeting with your editor. Go rehearse your gratitude speech thanking your agent and your mother … and me.
Or just sit down and write.
Sharing is caring for yourself
Essay writing is personal. Sharing what you think about a certain topic is risky. Especially if what you think isn’t what everyone else thinks. Writing an essay is like playing strip poker when you didn’t wear enough layers so of course you keep losing.
Whether it’s for school or work or because you have a response to something that’s going on in your neighbourhood, your town or the world and you just want to get your take on it out there, you’re going to be seen without your skivvies.
But revealing yourself in this way is a gift. You get to express your innermost thoughts rather than letting them marinate inside you in an imaginary conversational stew.
The thing to remember when you feel uncomfortable or insecure about coming out and letting people know who you really are is that the alternative isn’t good for the soul or the body.
Think about a nice piece of steak or fish or chicken or even asparagus or broccoli. When you marinate it and wait too long to cook it, it grows white fuzz. The meat actually becomes rancid, or the veggies get limp and slimy. I guarantee that if you don’t get your pressing ideas out of your pancreas, your liver or your heart, those organs will punish you for not letting your wisdom see the light of day.
Would you please just treat yourself the way you would your best friend? When you start doubting yourself and saying mean things to yourself, pretend you’re your BFF and say nice things to cheer yourself on instead. My gramma used to say, “Play nice, children, play nice.” So when you’re being tough on yourself, I offer you her words: Play nice, play nice.
At least write it. Then decide whether you want to share it with the world.
The writing gods will meet you halfway
I’ve also learned that when you’re willing to work, even if you only go halfway, the universe becomes your partner. If you’re in the middle of writing a piece and you need the name of a river that begins with a P and has four syllables, the phone will ring, and your friend will breathlessly tell you about her Viking River Cruise down the Pilcomayo River. Pil-co-ma-yo.
How does that happen? I’ll tell you how it happens. The writing gods who live under your desk are watching all the time. You commit. They come out.
Oh and PS. I didn’t get Anna’s job.
No one did. She wasn’t replaced.
The author of Memoir as Medicine and Writing from the Heart, Nancy Slonim Aronie is the founder of the Chilmark Writing Workshop on Martha’s Vineyard, where she lives. She has been a regular contributor to National Public Radio’s All Things Considered as well as a columnist for multiple newspapers. She has taught writing at such venues as Kripalu, Omega, Esalen and Harvard. Learn more at ChilmarkWritingWorshop.com.
Excerpted from the book Seven Secrets to the Perfect Personal Essay: Crafting the Story Only You Can Write. Copyright © 2024 by Nancy Slonim Aronie. Reprinted with permission from New World Library. www.newworldlibrary.com
images: Depositphotos