When I'm reading through submissions for After Happy Hour, I see a lot of submitters making the same kinds of mistakes. Across genres, the most consistent one that is likely to get a submission rejected is, broadly, sending work before it's ready. This can mean a lot of different things, but there are some definite trends that I see over and over in the creative nonfiction submissions where I finish reading and think, “This is going to be a great essay—once it's actually finished.“
There's a lot of advice out there for writing short fiction, and much of it applies to narrative nonfiction, too. But writers of short nonfiction are pulling from a different substrate. Fiction writers can get inspiration from the real world, but they're not beholden to it. If something doesn't quite fit, they can change it. Nonfiction writers don't have that luxury. Where fiction writers invent, nonfiction writers curate, deciding which moments and details from reality will best tell the story they want to tell. That difference is the root of a lot of the unique issues I see in personal essays.
What exactly is a personal essay?
Personal essays are a form of narrative nonfiction—in other words, something that is true but aims to tell a story. They often use the same building blocks as fiction, like characters, dialogue, and scenes, and are typically in the first person, told in a more conversational, intimate voice than something like a newspaper article. Most importantly, the piece needs to have some kind of arc. Usually that means a clear plot with a beginning, middle, and end, but it can also be an evolution in the character or an emotional journey. The bottom line is, it needs to have a point of conflict or tension that's introduced at the beginning and somehow resolved in the end.
I'm starting with this because it's one of the common mistakes submitters make: misunderstanding what type of nonfiction they've written. Personal essays can include elements of research, but facts and history are given in order to provide context or necessary information to help the reader understand the central arc. If the purpose of the piece is to inform the reader about a historical or scientific fact, then it's researched nonfiction, not a personal essay.
There's another part of this that some submitters overlook: the “personal” aspect. A personal essay should focus on a story directly from the author's life. Other people can be a large presence in the essay—if the essay is about things inherited across generations, for example, then it would make sense to share parts of your parents' or grandparents' stories as part of that. But you are still the viewpoint character. If the essay is an entirely third-person story about someone else, that's not a personal essay, even if it's both true and has an arc.
For creative nonfiction writers, understanding what kind of essay you've written is the first step in figuring out the right market fit. Some places will publish third-person narrative nonfiction, literary criticsm, or research-based articles alongside personal essays, but others have a tighter focus. Pay attention to the specific phrasing of a journal's nonfiction guidelines, and make sure what you've written fits the type of work they're looking for.
Common mistakes in personal essays (and what to do instead)
Usually around 10-15% of the creative nonfiction submissions we get in a give reading period are things like scholarly essays and other types of nonfiction that we don't publish. Among the CNF submissions that are the kind of stuff we publish, there are some definite patterns in the kind of mistakes that end up resulting in a rejection. Here are what I'd say are the most common things for writers to look out for.
The scope is too broad.
This the single most common issue that I see. Many essays aim to tell a story that could easily fill an entire memoir in the span of 10-15 pages. Inevitably, this means it's told in narrative summary instead of scene, and there's no space to develop characters or a voice, which leaves the piece feeling flat.
In this respect, personal essays are similar to short stories: they are often at their best when the focus is kept fairly narrow. You can still tell big stories in a personal essay, but they need to be framed with a tighter lens than when you have a full memoir to explore them. Instead of explaining an entire chaotic childhood, for example, you can use a single, pivotal incident as an exemplar, showing it fully in-scene with narrative commentary from the author that puts it into the broader context.
A related issue that's also very common is for an essay to simply include too many moments or details. This can also dilute the focus and ends up dragging down the pace. There is never space in a personal essay to fully explain everything or capture every nuance of a real-world situation. The writer's job is to selectively identify the few key details that will get the essence across to the reader quickly. Many of the personal essays that we reject, the reason is that it's an unevenly paced, 5,000+-word piece that needs to be condensed down to a tighter 3,000-4,000 word one.
There's no arc.
Like I mentioned earlier, an arc in a personal essay doesn't need to be plot-based, but there does need to be some kind of tension-release movement from the beginning to the end. I read a lot of flash-length CNF especially that would be better referred to as a character study or a vignette. They describe something or someone that exists in the real world, but it's static and lacks any emotional or narrative energy.
The first step to fixing this is to identify the key source of tension in that moment or person being described. Why are you focusing on this person, place, or moment? What's important about it? What emotions do you feel when you think about it? Thinking about those questions can help you to tease a full story out of what you've written and give it the arc it's lacking.
It's all “what” and no “why”.
This is actually a variant of the “no arc” issue, and one that's I think a bit trickier to spot. In these essays, there is a defined series of events that happen, so they do have a plot. The issue is that this is all there is to the essay. It's just explaining something that took place, the same way they might answer the question “What did you do this weekend?“
A personal essay needs to go deeper than that. There needs to be a sense for why you're showing the reader this exact moment, and why the reader should care about it. This is what ultimately gives a personal essay not just forward movement, but the kind of rise and fall that makes it interesting and satisfying to read. A lot of times this comes down to how the writer tells the story and what details they focus on. If you're just telling a story about a family vacation, the reader might wonder why they care. But if the vacation is framed as the trip that sparked your love of food and eventually led to you going to culinary school, then the reader starts to understand why it matters.
The first step to fixing this issue is answering that question for yourself. Why do you want to tell people this story? How was this moment important in the course of your life? Just as importantly, think about it from the reader's standpoint. What kind of person might have had similar experiences, or might relate to yours? What core idea would you want someone to take from the piece? Answering those questions can help you find the essay's “why”.
They're too vague or surface-level.
The best personal essays walk a metaphorical tightrope. They tell a very personal story, but in such a way that it's relatable to a broad audience, or contains some elemental or universal truth that gives it layers of meaning beyond what's written on the page. When writers don't quite hit this balance right, in my experience they err too much on the “global” side of things and don't dig deep enough into the specific, personal details that will really bring the piece to life.
Part of this, I think, is that identifying those personal details isn't always comfortable. It can sometimes mean confronting painful experiences and raw emotions, or showing yourself or others you love in a less-than-favorable light. Some of the most powerful essays are about things that aren't easy to talk about, but that's part of the essayist's job: to reveal those deeply human, deeply personal details, in such a way that other people can empathize (or feel seen, if they've felt or experienced the same things). Often, when a writer shies away from this depth, they instead revert to generalizations or cliches. Read through your essay to look for moments that you fall back on familiar, broad language, and consider whether this is a spot you can dig deeper.
There's another side to this, too, and that's specificity at the description and detail level. Unexpected descriptive language adds energy to any kind of prose, fiction included, but this kind of detail is especially important in a personal essay. Specificity is what brings the reader into your unique lived experience, but too often I read essayists who fall back on standard descriptions that could apply to any similar thing. If you're talking about your childhood dog, for example, you don't need to tell the reader it was cute and furry, any more than you need to tell them it has four legs and a tail—they're going to assume that by default. Instead, think of the specific way it was cute—maybe a look it would give you, or a particular way that its ears flopped. What's a thing that when you see it on other dogs, it makes you immediately think of your one-time pet? That's the detail that will resonate with the reader, too. This also applies to descriptions of locations, objects, and events. Using sharp, precise descriptive language helps the reader fully picture them, which makes them more immersed in your specific personal experience. That anchoring is what lets them feel the more universal emotions and relate to your story, helping to give it that layered meaning that editors look for in a personal essay.
See similar posts: