Revisions as easy as pie: a writer's recipe

The messy and time-consuming personal essay process

A writer’s least favorite question: How’s the writing going?

“Great!” I reply. “It’s coming along.” Maybe I’ll say, “slow” or “I’m taking a break.”

More often than not, I want to say some version of: “It’s a mess,” or “I have no idea what I’m doing.” If I’m feeling cautiously optimistic, I might say, “I only cried six times last week!”

After one of the many “shitty first drafts” of my book, I said, “I should just burn it.”

Over time, I’ve learned that stopping and starting, diving in, and giving up are all part of the process. Light every revision on fire.

As many of you know, I am an “emerging” writer—an interesting category for a woman of 62. After writing brand stories, executive scripts, and marketing copy for decades, I jumped out of the frying pan and into the burning pit of critique and self-loathing that is an MFA program, concentrating on memoir and creative non-fiction.

I graduated in 2022, having studied lyrical essays, braided essays, personal essays, and Hermit Crab essays, among other forms. There was plenty of workshop feedback and craft advice, but one topic I wished we’d spent more time on was the revision process.

It’s like trying to bake a chicken pot pie without a recipe—it will be fine, have fun!—only to find the finished product inedible. Next step, as in on a cooking show, deconstruct the pie and make it better.

My recipe for revision pot pie¹

You might think your personal essay is complete, but wait until you try this twist! I will show (not tell) you how to deconstruct, reduce, remix, and shape your essay so that it feels like you’re writing a new one from scratch.

Why leave well enough alone when you can do better? Tighter sentences, a more logical flow, and a pithier epiphany can only enhance the flavor of your story. If you’re tired of leftover clichés, revision pot pie is for you! I make this a lot, so I should know.

Step One

Hole yourself up, not bothering to shower or dress for several heart-wrenching days while you slice and dice what seemed to be a perfectly fine essay. You’ll find it satisfying to take the meat off the bones, shred sentences, toss entire paragraphs, and turn your hard work into something unrecognizable on its way to being published—or at least submittable.

Step Two

Make an extra flaky crust of confessions. Open a bottle of wine, sit on the kitchen floor, and reflect on your emotional damage, your childhood, your recovery—whatever. This trick never fails to produce layer upon layer of trauma.

Step Three

Let it rest. Repeat steps one, two, and three.

Step Four

Repeat step three.

PREP TIME: Your life up until this moment.

COOK TIME: Several days. It could be weeks. Or you might never finish

Personal essay ingredients

For the crust:

• 1 painful memory, lightly beaten

• 2 1/2 cups self-doubt

• 1 tablespoon therapy

• 1 teaspoon blood

• 1 tablespoon sweat

• 1/2 cup tears

• A splash of icy water

For the filling:

• 1 perfectly fine essay

• Comments from 2 medium workshops

• 3 scenes, minced

• 3 cups (or more) new writing

• 1 heaping cup interiority

• 1/2 cup diced dialogue

• 1 cup cold hard truth, cut into bite-sized pieces (makes them easier to swallow)

• 1 pot of coffee

Step-by-step instructions

1. To make the crust, pour the first six ingredients onto a blank page. Splash your face with cold water. Form into a ball and chill.

2. Now for the filling. Pick through workshop comments thoughtfully, discarding duplicates and suggestions that make no sense. Toss the essay into your emotional blender and use the Track Changes attachment to blend comments until all scenes are totally minced. Pour off any defensiveness that may have surfaced.

3. Place the minced scenes on the back burner, allowing the contents to simmer until the meat separates from the bones. Set the bones aside (you’ll need those later) and hack what remains to bits to create a meaty essay stew. Cool off, then skim the fat from the top.

4. Over infinite cups of coffee, sift for the cold, hard truth and use a sharp red pencil to cut everything else until only the truth remains.

5. Pull 2,000 additional words out of thin air.

6. Add generous amounts of characterization, dialogue, and detail, and season with plenty of interiority. Don’t skimp on the reflection! Fold new writing into the essay stew and bring it to a simmer, stirring continuously to release the full flavor of each ingredient. This will take a long time.

7. Now, it’s time to give this essay some structure. Arrange the bones you saved in Step 3 on a lightly floured surface and place the ball of truth you made in Step 1 at the center. Use a rolling pen to connect the two, shaping into a smooth narrative arc. Gently place the result into a 12-point, Times New Roman template.

8. Trim overhanging words.

9. Brush with a wash of voice and bake.

Revision is tedious, and you may grow impatient with the process. Even when it gets hard, resist the temptation to throw in the towel, wash a load of towels, shop online for new towels, or attempt towel origami.

And if someone asks, “How’s the writing going?” tell them this:

Good things take time.

Work hard. Be brave. Believe.

Catherine

1. An earlier version of this essay was published in Multiplicity, June 2020 (my first literary journal acceptance).