The Personal Essay

Personal essays appear to be part of today's trend in reading topics. Many magazines include a personal essay on a regular basis. Southern Living publishes Rick Bragg's thoughts on life on the last page of every issue. Writing magazines often use personal essays pertaining to the writing world while other specialty magazines highlight someone who has knowledge of their theme. The descriptive term personal is probably why these essays have become popular.

One of the reasons we write personal essays is just what the poster for today tells us. Write what should not be forgotten. The topic is often some small slice of life experienced by the author. So, why is a view of a pond while sitting on a bench or a twenty second happening on your way to work worthy of publication? 

Why? Because you have found some universal truth in the experience. Huge? Not necessarily. It might be something very small but readers can relate to. That is what makes your essay interesting to a reader. 

Of course, the personal essays that get published have more than that kernel of universal truth, even though it is still of prime importance. Besides that reason for readers to peruse your essay, it also needs to be written with sensory details, active rather than passive verbs, no cliches, and all the other things that make up what we simply call good writing. Some passion about your topic definitely helps, too.

I could write about something that I witnessed but never add anything about what I learned and it ends up being merely a report of a happening. If I include the lesson I received or some universal truth, the reader can agree or disagree but they might have gained a new awareness, too, or re-enforced something were aware of long ago. 

You need not write a full paragraph about the universal truth or knowledge gained to conclude your essay. In fact, you're better off not expounding too greatly on it. A simple sentence will do just fine. You don't want to end up preaching. Simplicity is sensible. It doesn't need to be your final sentence either. This bit of knowledge can be woven into any part of your essay. Most often, however, it is going to be somewhere within the final few paragraphs. 

There are a number of books about writing the personal essay. Google writing the personal essay and you'll find a treasure trove. Choose one or two to further your understanding of the personal essay technique and to explore the subject in depth.

An Experience In Germany

Choir in Wertheim, Germany

Today, I'm going to share a story I wrote a few years ago. It's a combination of a travel piece and a personal essay that might also be submitted to a religious magazine. It's alright to combine the different kinds of non-fiction writing. It's also an example of taking a very small happening and expanding it into a full story. I hope you enjoy the story.

The Presence of God

By Nancy Julien Kopp

I’ve felt the true presence of God a few times in my life, so real it seemed that I might reach out and touch Him. Each of those events has been etched solidly into my memory. It’s safe there and I call upon it for renewal of my spirit whenever needed, my own mini-miracle.

One summer, my husband and I had the good fortune to travel by river cruiser from Amsterdam to Vienna. The trip afforded us many pleasures as we traversed the Rhine, Main, and Danube rivers. Cathedrals and castles, cobblestones and cafes--we savored them all on the land excursions planned for us each day.

Early one Sunday morning, our ship docked at the small town of Wertheim, Germany.

Here, we were told by our program director, we would have the opportunity to watch a glass blowing demonstration and then visit the retail shop that Hans, the Glass Blower, operated with his family.

 

“I’m so sorry that there are no other shops open since it is Sunday, but you can walk through the town and enjoy the buildings.” Renata told us as she pointed out a Protestant church. “There is a service here at 9:30 this morning, but it will be conducted in German."

Ken and I attend church regularly in our home community, but, since this service would be in German, we elected to attend the glass blowing demonstration. How much can you get out of a service you cannot understand?

Hans entertained us royally with his demonstration and lecture about his art. When we finished admiring the fragile merchandise in his shop, Ken and I strolled through this quaint little town situated alongside the river. The cobblestone streets and the half-timber houses reminded us of fairy tale books we'd read as children. We admired the architecture of the buildings and stopped to gaze in the shop windows, regretting that none were open for business on Sunday.

“It's a good thing this art gallery isn’t open,” Ken said. “If it was, I'd buy that picture.”  Lucky for me, the door was locked, and we had to move on.

Turning from the art gallery window, we found ourselves next to the church Renata had pointed out earlier. “Let’s go take a look,” Ken said. “The service is over by now.”

We climbed a flight of stone stairs and stepped into the cool interior of the church. No cathedral this one but truly lovely. An ornate altar with splashes of gold dominated the front. Twenty to thirty people clustered near the front pews, talking softly and milling around. They began to arrange themselves with backs to the altar and facing the mostly empty pews. Their chatter slowed, then ceased as they gazed steadily at a man who faced them. 

It dawned on me that this was a choir of some sort getting ready to practice. Ken and I slid into one of the back pews, prepared to listen. We were treated to some of the most beautiful music I have ever been privileged to hear. The choir sang three songs, all in German. I could not understand one word, but there was no doubt that they were worshipping God with their music, singing from their hearts. It was as if we were listening to the voices of the angels. Joy and adoration radiated in the faces of the choir members as they sang in the near-empty church.

Ken and I moved a little closer together, our shoulders touching. The light from the windows shone on the altar giving the gold leaf a vibrant glow. The choir voices appeared to surround us; melody and harmony blended to perfection. Soft, but clear as crystal, the music flowed from front, back and sides, even though the choir sang directly in front of us. As the resplendent voices rose and fell with the melody, I felt the presence of God so strongly that it seemed as if there was nothing else in the world but this church, this choir, and the two of us.

I could not have spoken a word at that point as emotion rose high within me. My eyes brimmed with tears. One thought surfaced--that I did not want this to ever end. But end it did. The last notes of the final song floated softly toward us, then ceased. The people in the choir moved to the pews, picked up their coats and sweaters, and came down the aisle chatting in German and smiling as they passed us. They were once again ordinary humans, not the angels who raised their voices to the heavens.

We sat there a bit longer and finally rose to follow them outside. The choir members  clustered at the top of the steps posing for a picture. One of the men stood below on the cobblestone street, adjusting his camera, and we slipped by him to continue our tour of Wertheim. Before we reached the corner, I turned for a last look at the German singers who had given us a taste of spirituality and perhaps a glimpse of Heaven on a quiet Sunday morning.

Minutes passed before either of us could speak, and, when we compared our feelings, we realized we had experienced something very, very special. No, we had not attended the church service that morning, but we found something never to be forgotten. It was one of those rare times when God makes his presence known giving us His love and assurance that He is always with us. What a wonderful way to have it revealed to us—through the voices of this gifted choir as they practiced, their songs a tribute to God.

When life’s trials and tribulations seem to be closing in on me, I close my eyes and bring the memory of that Sunday morning back once more. I see the golden glow inside the church, hear the angelic voices of the choir, and feel the presence of God. A warm sense of peace envelops me, and I'm ready to meet the rest of my day.

Write Personal Essays About Places You've Stayed

Have you ever walked into a hotel, spent a night or two, then fondly thought of it many times after you'd checked out? If a hotel impresses you, then you've found something to write about. The hotel above is in a small village outside of Munich, Germany. It did impress me and I did write about it and the essay placed in a contest and has been published.

It's such a small thing--a stay at a hotel--in the relative hugeness of our world. But if you write about the personal and the way things/places affect you, then you have a perfect inspiration. My personal essay and a few more pictures of this hotel are below. One suggestion is to write about the place soon after you have stayed there while the details are fresh in your mind.

A Hungarian Hotel in Germany

By Nancy Julien Kopp

 Our heads were fuzzy and our legs like jelly when we left the long, overnight flight from Kansas City to Munich, Germany. After clearing passport control and getting our luggage, my husband and I headed to the rental car area of the airport. Despite our fatigue, we managed the paperwork and check-out with only a minimum of frustration. An hour later, we settled into a Mercedes C Class sedan and made our way out of the city, Ken at the wheel and map in my hand. Our second job of the day was to locate the hotel we’d booked on the internet. I’d searched diligently for a reasonably priced hotel not too far from the Munich airport. I found many, but somehow one kept calling to me, so I clicked and clicked until we were booked for the first three nights of our three week stay in Germany.

    

The half hour drive to Hohenlinden turned into an hour, then another hour. We learned that German roadways are excellent but that German road signs leave a great deal to be desired.  We also discovered that the GPS in our rental car was programmed in German. Useless for us. Round and round we went, on highways and byways, roundabouts and little traveled pathways. I was near tears and Ken near eruption point when we somehow

 pulled into the small, rural village of Hohenlinden. Relief is far too mild a word to describe our feelings. Surely the Hotel Zur Linde would soon appear.

    

“I think it’s on the outskirts of the town,” I told Ken as he gripped the steering wheel more firmly.

    

“Not so,” he said slowing down in front of a three-story stucco building with Hotel Zur Linde painted  on the side, right in the middle of town. He pulled into the side drive and around the back to a minuscule parking area, and we walked wearily into the hotel. A small reception area appeared dark and rather uninviting, but a young girl in the office cubicle smiled and greeted us so warmly, our spirits rose like a hot air balloon on a sunny day.

    

All we wanted was to go to our room, take a shower and change clothes, but it was not to be.

    

 “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the young woman said in perfect English. “You cannot go to your room until 2 p.m. But you can have lunch first. Her smile erased any irritation we might have had as she led us to the outdoor biergarten surrounded by greenery, an arbor and sweet-smelling flowers. We could easily kill an hour and a half here.

   

A tall glass of the local beer and a bowl of Hungarian soup helped revive us. We lingered in the pleasant outdoor garden until 2 p.m. when we unloaded our luggage and stepped into a tiny elevator to go to our room. It was small but clean and nicely furnished. A big window looked out on a church across the road. The bed with the snowy white duvet, sheet and soft pillows looked so inviting.

    

Showered and clothes changed, we set off on a walk around the town. Quaint houses, small shops, and flower gardens brought smiles to our faces and cooled our blood pressure back to normal. In one front garden, a man wearing a long cotton coat, worked with wood using a standing saw. Seeing him thrilled Ken. He told me he’d seen pictures of men doing work like that and wearing the coat to protect their clothes. As we walked, we discussed our plan for the next day when we were to go back to the Munich airport to pick up good friends from South Africa, who would be traveling with us.

    

In the evening, we went to the formal dining room and enjoyed a leisurely and excellent meal served by a waitress who had charm plus. Several patrons ate with well-behaved dogs lying next to them. The girl who had checked us in that afternoon was gone, and her mother was the dining room hostess and hotel clerk for the evening. Mama was tall, slender and blonde, wearing spike heels and a low-cut blouse. We chatted with her and were a bit surprised to learn we had booked into a Hungarian hotel.  Good German beer and German food like roast pork, red cabbage and potato dumplings and a few Hungarian items on the menu, so not a problem, especially with the special way we’d been welcomed.

    

When our waitress brought our food, she asked what we would say in English to wish someone a good meal. “Enjoy!” I told her, “or even Bon Appetit!” With eyes sparkling, she called out “Enjoy!” as she hurried back to the kitchen. Our food proved to be as satisfying as the hotel itself.

We’d noticed the church across the street filled the summer air with its bells every hour on the hour--lovely bells which chimed for a couple of minutes. We strolled over to the church after dinner and found a small cemetery on one side of the building. Each plot was outlined in paving stones and perennial flowers, some with stone angels adorning the area where the marker sat. We were taken with the care each grave had been given and the gentle, dainty look the flowers and statues added. Hand in hand, we crossed the road to our hotel and bed. “I can’t wait to see Mike and Mavis tomorrow,” I said to Ken.

    

At 6 a.m., the church bells began to peal. Nice, I thought, as I pulled up the duvet and snuggled deeper into my feather pillow. But the bells went on and on and…. fifteen minutes worth! Enough to wake the entire town! Surely, no one in Hohenlinden needed an alarm clock.

    

After a pleasing breakfast, we zipped into Munich in less than half an hour. Amazing what you can do when you have the proper directions. We picked up our friends at the architecturally impressive airport and brought them to Hotel Zur Linde. Our innkeeper greeted them warmly as new guests and we as old friends, having been there an entire 24 hours.

   

 “Oh, what a nice place this is,” Mavis said to me as we helped them to their room down the hall from ours. We met in the biergarten for a tall glass of beer to toast the beginning of our time together. Living halfway across the world from one another, our times together are treasured. We ate outdoors that night with many of the locals who were having a good time if judged by the chatter and laughter.

The next morning I asked if there was a guest computer. “Oh yes,” the innkeeper said, and she led me to a folding screen in the breakfast room which hid the computer. I tried and tried to get onto the internet but could not find the @ on the keyboard. I finally gave up, and went to the office to ask for help. “That is a Hungarian keyboard,” the woman told me. “Come, I’ll show you what to do.” Hit Shift and q and the @ comes up. Success at last, but the y and z were in the opposite places of our keyboards. Otherwise, they were the same. I finally got it figured out and was able to check my e-mail.

   

We woke up each morning to the 6 o’clock bell concert. By the third morning, I was awake and waiting. Instead of being irritated at the early awakening, I looked forward to it, knowing a wonderful German buffet breakfast awaited us on the floor below. Fresh fruit, cereal, cold meats, cheeses, and hard rolls accompanied by strong coffee and a few pastries filled us to satisfaction as we lingered in the sunlit dining room.

    

Before we checked out of the hotel, we booked it again for our last night in Germany, negotiating a lower price for our return.

    

After touring the back roads, small towns and villages of southern Germany, for three weeks, we returned to Hohenlinden. When we pulled into the parking area, it almost felt like coming home. The four of us strolled into the reception area, and our Hungarian innkeeper came to greet us, three inch heels clicking on the tile floor, her face alight with a warm welcome. We were definitely home.

    

A rainy night meant dinner in the formal dining room with a fire burning to take the chill out of the air. Good food and drink and a recap of all we’d done while touring Germany gave us a lovely final evening in the Hotel Zur Linde.

    

The grand finale came at six the next morning when the church bell concert began. I lay in the comfortable bed, listening to the swell of the bell tones, pleased that I’d found this charming small hotel, or did it find me? With so many choices, why did this one keep calling out to me?

    

We checked out after breakfast and loaded the car, ready to go to the airport. The four of us made one last trip inside for a warm farewell from the Hungarian hostess of this special hotel. The church bells rang to let us know it was eight o’clock as we drove out of town.