Cathy and I had a small serviceberry tree planted in our landscaping this summer. The tree, as is often the case, was just a tad crooked. Today, we finally got around to staking it with straps and ropes meant to straighten the trunk. In other words, we interrupted its natural growth to train it to grow in a way contrary to its natural inclination. We’re forcing it to be what it doesn’t want to be all in the service (pun intended) of straighter ascension.

When we write an essay, whether it be narrative or lyric, we’re money ahead if we do our best to not predict where the piece might go. We have to be open to the leaps and leans that take us in directions we didn’t know we needed to follow. We should give ourselves and the essay permission to meander, to jump from one thing to another, trusting our intuition to let various directions appear and being willing to follow the trails they lay out for us.

The serviceberry tree, for instance, is also known as shadbush, shadblow, or shadwood. It’s named after the fish that run and spawn while the tree is in bloom. This fact, connecting as it does the tree and the fish, provides an association that may be useful. The forced straightness of the tree held next to the hither and thither motion of the spawning fish provides a binary that might provide the central line of inquiry of an essay.

All essays are in some way a means of thinking out loud on the page. When we begin, we may not know what we need to think about, but if we follow the natural motion of the piece, and if we listen carefully to the clues it provides, we should be able to understand what’s brought us to the essay in the first place. Why, for instance, do I feel the need to write about straightening a tree whose other names honor the spawning fish?

Let’s say I need to explore this binary of permanence, as represented by the straight tree trunk, and escape, as represented by the fish, because my life has been disrupted in some way, and I find myself at a place where I have to decide whether to stay or to run. That’s the sort of context—and I could be more explicit—that provides the circumstances from which, in this imagined essay meant to let us think more deeply about how essays come to be, I write.

Think about something that draws your attention—something like the serviceberry tree—and open your essay with something about it. Then, make a leap. A bit of research might help. I had no idea the serviceberry tree was also known as shadwood, which led me to the spawning fish and its run. With that binary established, all you have to do is open yourself to further associations and possibilities. For instance, shortly after Cathy and I finished staking the tree, I found a crimson maple leaf that’s perfect in every way. It’s really one of the most beautiful maple leaves I’ve ever seen. What does it represent? Possibly, either a deepening of the binary or else a reversal. Let’s say most of the essay seemed to be leaning toward escape only to let the maple leaf be an example of perfection. Think about how the details want to connect. Maybe a detail at the end of the essay subverts what appeared to be an obvious connection, leading you to thoughts or emotions you didn’t know you had.

By the way, in case anyone wonders, all is more than fine with Cathy and me. I created the examples above to illustrate how one might construct an essay by following the leaps and associations it wants to make.