“Advent” on Easter

It seems odd to announce, on Easter Sunday, that an essay of mine, “Advent,” is now up in r.kv.r.y quarterly‘s “Faith and Doubt” issue, but perhaps it’s not so odd after all.  Musings about being lost and found, decline and recovery, living and learning — I suppose it’s always a good time for that.

“Private Devotion” by Suzanne Stryk, the artwork paired with my essay. See more of her gorgeous work here: http://www.suzannestryk.com/index.html.

You can read “Advent” by

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To the girls behind me watching Wonder Women

Dear girls behind me watching Wonder Women,

I wasn’t thinking about you while I was there.  In fact, I didn’t even know you were there until the moment I left.  I was so happy to be out with a friend (and away from my darling but draining two-year-old twins) and watching the documentary Wonder Women: The Untold Story of American Superheroines at Busboys and Poets while eating sweet potato fries — I wasn’t thinking about who else was there and what they were getting from this evening, or what they needed to get from this evening.  I was just feeling, well, wonderful.

But after the film there was a panel discussion, not about the film but about the two panelists.  I’ll admit that I wasn’t paying much attention during the introductions — I was letting the film wash over me, and thinking about the twins, and what kind of world they might grow up in.  I was also thinking about maybe ordering a slice of cake and a cup of coffee.  But I sat respectfully if distractedly as I heard something about Women’s History Month and the two panelists being strong Hispanic women, and one of the filmmakers is Hispanic, and Linda Carter (who, as you know, played Wonder Woman on TV in the 70s) is also Hispanic (which you might not have known; I didn’t).

But then the first panelist started speaking and I came out of my happy haze, first puzzled, then uneasy

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How should an essayist be?

The New Republic recently published an article called “The New Essayists, or the Decline of a Form?”  In it, Adam Kirsch wonders if the work of self-proclaimed essayists like David Sedaris, Sloane Crosley and Davy Rothbart is more like a reality TV show in writing than a collection of actual essays.

The new essayists? (Image from newrepublic.com.)

I read David Sedaris many years ago and was so put off by a particularly gross and fecal scene that I haven’t picked him up since.  I think I need to do so, if only to see what I’m missing.

I read Sloane Crosley a few years ago when my agent and I broke up because I wouldn’t revise my collection of essays into something a little dirtier, a little sexier, a little more like a memoir — a little more like Sloane Crosley.  I think I need to read her again, now that my heartache has dulled and I am even more firmly committed to the form of the essay.

And I’m reading Davy Rothbart right now.  Davy and I were

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