Caught Up in the Truth

Cindy Matthews, personal essayist“Refuse to write your life and you have no life.”—Patricia HamplWhile seated in the departure area of the Edmonton airport a while back I noticed a woman madly scribbling in a notebook. Scattered by her feet were a leather computer bag and a pink suitcase. She possessed an enviable ability to appear as though she were ignoring what was going on around her while actually immersed in the creation of a mind-map. I was tempted to videotape her process. It was slick, deliberate, and resourceful. With a handful of coloured pencils, she captured in pictures and words the physical attributes and snippets of conversation of the individuals and families in the immediate vicinity: details she might later inject into stories.My studio-office is heaped with such notebooks, binders stuffed with loose-leaf pages and moderately soiled napkins littered with strings of adjectives for future use. I always carry a red Moleskin with me. My writing benefits from soaking up minute details, particulars others would consider mundane. I spy and steal from ordinary folks, people like you and me.Crafting a personal essay that dazzles fulfills me more than any other writing I do. I’ve heard many say this type of writing is effortless. After all, what could be easier to write than an essay about yourself? It’s a basic form perfected in elementary school, right? Wrong! What separates mediocre from brilliant is constructing text with burning appeal and relevance for the reader. Sharing the events of a summer vacation or some other personal experience can be dull or gleaming. It is through the injection of significant sensory details and vividly written scenes that genius is conceived.

An orderly whisked Kimiko off to insert a long, sterile needle deep into her abdomen to extract amniotic fluid. We were to have had this test and an ultrasound but for some reason not clear to us, we cancelled. I imagined how excruciating the abdominal test would be, how Kimiko would shove a hand to her mouth and bite down to suffocate the screams. (From “Ringo”, Volume 11, Tincture Journal, Australia.)

Creating the right amount of controlled space within and between scenes fascinates me as a writer. If every single detail is shared, little is left for the reader to interpret and consider, thus creating writing that is too predictable.The writing of personal essays also offers me an opportunity to meld with earlier times and breathe fire into my version of things. As an only child of deceased parents, my recollections can no longer be fleshed out and validated by others. Through putting memories to paper, there’s a chance to revisit intimate times, events, impressions, and space. There’s power in being the one person remaining to come to terms with her narrative.

I lean against the door jamb and watch her purge the floor of blemishes. There is a calm rhythm to the way she does chores. There is no impatience, unlike me who is always irritated by menial jobs. Muti elects to scrub from hands and knees using a pair of my deceased father’s underwear. Her keenness to do things the same as her mother is rooted in thrift that stems from the war. (From “Nothing by Mouth”, short-listed in the 2014 EVENT Contest)

When I write fiction, I am often surprised by what lands and sticks to the page. The same is true of personal essays. My ultimate goal is to create a reader who cares—a reader who is beguiled by the narrative and as surprised as I am to see what sticks and resonates.

Strips of pummeled red meat fisted bundles of pickles, onions, bacon, and salt. A cup of butter folded into flour formed a roux for the gravy. Cold, fresh whipped cream infused the layers of a Black Forest torte, its glossy surface sprinkled with curls of chocolate. Nothing but the best for Edward. (From “Red Beets Mingle with Potato Skins”, forthcoming in Nomfiction, an anthology by Big Truths)

By the end of a personal essay the reader will find herself on a peninsula of silence. At times it’s an awkward space. It is a place for further reflection and thought, almost like the reader’s been placed under a spell. It’s an occasion to utter “Oh, my!” at how the story has changed her. Then and only then are reader and writer co-conspirators. It is this shared intimacy, that sensation of a lip brushing an infant’s cheek, fleeting yet still so satisfying, that draws me to write the personal essay.This sort of writing beseeches vulnerability. It is in that precise moment that risk-taking occurs. Immense courage is required to put voice to memory and share in a blood-letting manner. At times, the writing of personal essays can cost the writer, so much so that it’s essential to press pause and invest in self-care.And yet, I would argue that it’s worth it, because telling these sorts of stories means, in the end, being understood.Cindy Matthews has worked as a chamber maid, potato peeler, data entry operator, teacher, and vice-principal of special education programs. She writes, paints, and instructs online courses for teachers in Bruce County, Ontario, Canada. Her fiction and non-fiction have been published in Canada, the US, the UK, South Africa, and Australia. She is a frequent book reviewer for Prick of the Spindle and Professionally Speaking. “Ringo”, a creative non-fiction piece, was awarded third prize at the 2015 Northwestern Ontario Writers Workshop Writing Contest and appears in Volume 11 of Tincture Journal, Australia. “Nothing by Mouth” was shortlisted in the 2014 EVENT Magazine Non-fiction Contest. Find her work at cindymatthews.ca.