The "E" Word

I wrote this a while ago, actually, but it's been on my mind as I've been writing my NINE short essays for the English Teaching application:

Essays are like babies: impossibly delicate and in constant need of coddling.  I think it’s the precise and fragile nature of essays that, like babies, kind of freaks me out.  “Type up two pages,” “Jot down your thoughts:” these directions feel simple enough, and I can knock them out as quick as ripping off a band aid.  But once the word “essay” is thrown out, I know my professor means business.  It requires a scrupulous thought process as I inch painfully through my MLA-formatted paper.  I struggle through brainstorming, research, and analysis, all the while imaging a spectacled silhouette wielding his beloved red pen in the half light of his office, ready and eager to pounce upon the tender offspring of my labors.  Every portion of an essay must be significant: the words, the structure, and the syntax.  These must combine together in each sentence and paragraph, while still linking back to the pervading theme.  You must never sound forced, but allowing too much casualness into your paper destroys credibility and consequently the very foundation of your argument.  And always, always, always, be sure not only to address the “how” of the prompt, but also the “why.”

            Keeping such exhausting specifications in mind, how should you start an essay?  Most of the best methods have already been taken.  You can’t begin with a “universally acknowledged truth,” a pithy paradox about the times, or even a simple “call me Sarah.”  I usually find myself staring at the blank document until my eyes bleed, then manage to mash a few mangled phrases together and create a weak but workable thesis.  I don’t get too attached, though—my thesis only changes 10,384 times before I actually finish.  As the focal point of the argument, a thesis must, of course, be perfect.  There is no worse error than an unsatisfactory thesis.

            Mr. Werts, my AP English Composition teacher, originally impressed upon me the importance of effective theses and essays throughout my junior year.  The instruction began with my summer reading essay, which at the time I believed was a feat of literary genius the likes of which had never before graced the hallways of Flower Mound High.  Upon reading it, universities across the world would immediately beg my attendance, the Bronte sister angels would descend singing Shakespeare sonnets, and a starving child in Africa would get his very own birthday cake.

            I received a 73%.

            Clearly Mr. Werts was an unstable misanthrope who ate only pickled beets and went home every night to his bald cats and battered copies of Emerson.  Still, I was determined to astonish and inspire him with my analysis of “An Author to her Book.”  After over a week of editing, eating chocolate, and refining, I was awarded with a measly 81.  For the next several months, I wrote, re-wrote, attended teacher-student conferences, cried, re-wrote again, and ultimately dragged myself through a kind of masochistic writing boot camp.  By March, I realized how much Mr. Werts forced me to develop as a writer.  I knew now to explain the significance of the literary devices, and not just show that they were there.  I realized the beauty of embedded quotes and power of a persistently threaded thesis.  I sowed the embryonic beginnings of a halting style that I’ve since continued to cultivate.  Most significantly, I learned that writing is not a skill that, like a cheap soap opera, reaches a dramatic climax and then plateaus.  Rather, the diligent student must always seek to improve and be willing to begin again, while, of course, not tearing their hair out in the process. Patience and perseverance is a must.

            Remembering the Werts “draft, but don’t go daft” theory is absolutely essential for effective body paragraphs.  They must each feature a topic sentence consisting of a transitional phrase and a clear yet stealthily smooth introduction of what the paragraph will discuss, taking care to thread the explanation back to your actual thesis without being repetitive.  I believe accomplishing this in one sentence or less feels vaguely like patting your head and rubbing you stomach while performing Shawn Johnson’s 2008 Olympic gymnastics routine, and will take several attempts to get it right.  Be willing to re-write.  The paragraphs each present the detailed meat of your argument, so using no quotes whatsoever makes you sound like a geezer shouting baseless thoughts from the back porch.  In such cases, start again.  Don’t go overboard though—too many quotes and minimal analysis is called regurgitation, a trait graders find particularly revolting.  The wording should be powerful but clear; using particularly esoteric or hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian vocab might confuse or distract your audience. My own writer death trap is failure to check back to see if I have stayed aligned with my thesis.  If (when) you stray from your original claim, rehash either your paragraph or your thesis.  “Be thou consistent.  Keep thyself on the straight and narrow argument, and thou shalt earn an A” (Shakespeare).

            As for a conclusion, connect to your intro but in a zesty and exciting new way.  I try to think Seventeen Magazine: each issue presents essentially the exact same information but with new models, accessories, or other unique little twists.  If possible, throw in a literary device—professors love that and it makes you sound approximately 6.39 bajillion times more impressive than you actually are.  If you want to sound really profound, apply your message to the world today.  People want to be told what to do, so give them some philosophical advice and they’ll hail you as a bona fide Socrates.

            Essays are a difficult art fraught with complexities and contradictions.  They require painstaking attention to detail coupled with a broad understanding of overarching themes.  The near impossibility of accomplishing both requirements make them particularly frustrating for perfectionists and may instigate multiple psychological break downs resulting in burnt copies of Dickens novels and a dramatic increase in the number of 1950’s musicals viewed per week (not that I would have any personal experience in this area).  None the less, it is possible to finish your 12 page analysis essay by the due date.  Stay vigilant, nurture your brain-child, avoid unnecessary eye ball removal, and remember: as your professor will gladly inform you, your paper will never be perfect.  But my gosh, you had better try.