To Go

a short lesson on short, playful essays

I wrote the essay below last week and posted it on my other page. I wanted to share it here with you as a lesson. It is a very simple lesson, but first read the essay if you haven’t (it is very short):

To Go

We all know English is a bastard language but I say it is beautiful in its abundance. Like America itself, American English is made up of many different languages from many different peoples, meaning we have many different words and phrases to choose from.

Take the phrase “I have to go” for example. You can also say I have to leave. I have to split. I have to bounce. I have to take off, to jet, to dip. To run, to bolt, to boogie.

If you want to be cool you can make like a tree and leave, or make like a banana and split, or make like a check and bounce. You may have to get on up out of here, or make like a baby and head out. You might tell everyone to take it easy, or, if you’re a bit of a badboy, take it sleazy.

You can say Have a good one, got to go, good seeing you. Laters, peace out, Bye, Felicia.

If you want to be more formal you can say I must take my leave of you. I must be making my move. I’m signing off now. I look forward to our next meeting.

Shakespeare, of course, said goodbye best:

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

— Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene 2

“Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

— Hamlet, Act V, scene 2

“Give me now leave to leave thee.”

— Twelfth Night, Act II, scene 4

“Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth.”

— Henry VI Part III, Act II, scene 3

But Shakespeare was also great at telling people to leave:

“Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!”

— Hamlet, Act III, scene 4

“Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone.”

— Troilus and Cressida, Act IV, scene 2

Lots of leaving in literature: Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web, Old Yeller, when George tells Lennie about the farm again, just before he shoots him.

Jesus has the greatest goodbye when he said “And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age,” but “Do not let your hearts be troubled” and “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you” are pretty good too.

If you’re a cowboy you might say you have to mosey, or have to hit the dusty trail, or you need to head back to the ponderosa. If you’re in elementary school you might say Later, Gator, or Afterwhile, Crocodile, and sometimes when we were cool in college we’d say Smell ya later or I’m Ghandi when we wanted to leave. We’d say I’m gondola or I’m gonderosa or I’m gonzo. Ta ta, toodle-oo, sayanara. Hasta la vista, see you when I see you, wouldn’t want to be you.

None of this is to be confused, of course, with having to go to the bathroom or the bano or the latrine or the restroom or the potty. Nothing to do with going #1 (or #2), nothing to do with taking a leak, nothing to do with going wee-wee.

In the Midwest you just slap your knees with both hands and say “Welp,” when you’re ready to leave, and everyone will know it’s time to head for the door. You don’t even have to say go, or goodbye, which is another way of saying you have to go. It’s a shortened form of God be with you, and that’s all I wish when my daughters walk out the door, or Jenn is driving home or the phone rings late at night and I see a family member’s number on the screen.

God be with you, friends, whatever God you worship, and wherever you may go.

Take care. It was a pleasure speaking with you. I hope you have a wonderful week.

Adieu, au revoir, and goodbye.

---

---

---

Your lesson for today is to play. I am playing with language in the above essay. I am playing with alliteration and assonance, with sounds and signs and symbols. It is a riff on language itself, on naming conventions and human conversations. I started thinking about the ways we use the word Go and all this came out, but it started with fun. With playfulness and curiosity and a willingness to get a little silly.

Sometimes lowering the stakes can loosen up your approach. Writing through a different lens can uncover techniques or ideas or images you might have been hesitant to try. When we sit down to write we have all these expectations: to write a “good” piece, to communicate with someone else, to grow your Substack, to enter the world of “writing.” But sometimes those expectations work against us. We get tensed up before we even start. We put the idea before the sentences we plan to construct the idea with. We’re so focused on writing something “good,” we forget to just write. To fall back on the practice and patience of the writing process and trust ourselves.

It’s good to lighten up a little. To change your focus some mornings. Shake things up. Take another direction. Go down a new road. Find a new perspective. You can’t take yourself too seriously because the game is too hard and there are too many people doing it. Your chances for success are low—that’s not a comment on your writing skills, either. It’s the state of publishing. It’s hard, and we need to acknowledge that. You’re also competing with streaming services and video games and music and going to museums and the great wide world of everything out there.

Which means if you’re waiting for the world to notice your writing, you might be waiting a while. In the meantime, loosen up, have some fun, and try to write a short playful essay about language or lyricism or poetic lines. About the act of play itself, or poetry or prose or whatever calling causes you to write.

Here’s another example of a playful word/language essay: https://www.craftliterary.com/2020/11/18/flash-cnf-paul-crenshaw/

I don’t like to give word counts, but these kinds of essays tend to work better as short essays. Also—I’d like to host a Zoom reading for paid subscribers on a Friday night in the near future, so maybe some people could try this assignment and read their essays for us.

I will if you will.

---