What is a micro essay
Generally speaking, a micro essay, also known as a flash essay, is a very short work of writing, usually less than 1,000 words. These essays take a variety of shapes––sometimes they are lyrical, sometimes they are cultural critiques, sometimes conceptual humor pieces, etc. The word “essay” connotes nonfiction, and often micro essays are creative nonfiction (meaning artful communication of nonfiction)––though they sometimes exist in the space between fiction and nonfiction.
We will look at some humorous examples of micro essays, including from McSweeney’s https://www.mcsweeneys.net/tendency and The New Yorker “Shouts and Murmurs.”
Note in these examples an awareness of form and of the rhetoric used in these forms.
There are droves of satirical essays and web content, including The Onion and Clickhole, that satirize form and culture. There are also many literary micro- essays that deal with more personal subject matter. The examples included in this handout are somewhere between these two: they are not as quick and silly as The Onion, but are less personal than personal narratives and memoir- type essays.
KNEEL BEFORE ME, THE GODDESS OF AUTUMN By Glenn Boozan
The New Yorker
Greetings, my children.
The weather has turned brisk and the leaves have begun their slow forfeiture of chlorophyll. When winter comes, I shall quietly retreat back to my SoulCycle classes and my marketing job at a P.R. company, but for these few months I demand that you kneel before me: the Goddess of Autumn.
Fear me. For I do autumn better than anyone else.
Do you know why I have been anointed, dear disciple? Why it has been heralded to my friends, family, and co-workers that I alone may wear the orange-leafed crown? I am Goddess because, fair neophyte, fall is, like, my favorite season.
You mere mortals understand not the power of the months which lie between August and December. You know nothing of autumnal pleasures, yet I was created in divine image for the explicit purpose of wearing chunky-knit sweaters and those rain boots from L.L. Bean.
However, I am a kind Goddess.
Genuflect to me and I shall bestow upon you a bountiful Instagram harvest: photos of butternut-squash salads, latte-foam art, and me smiling while throwing a bunch of leaves in the air.
I invite you to sip from my chalice the sweet nectar of cinnamon chai tea. My gloves, ever without fingers, shall be perpetually wrapped around a mug. I do not need two hands to carry said mug, yet I will use them.
Bask in the glory of my mustard-colored pants. Marvel at my multitude of layers—my leg warmers, my wrist warmers, and my forehead warmers zhush-ed to perfection, as if by Jenna Lyons herself.
My scarves are plentiful, nay, infinite. Forged in the fires of Anthropologie, I shall don one each day, regardless of whether I’m indoors, or it’s just too hot
for a scarf. Should the urge overtake me, perhaps I shall knit you a scarf myself, for that is the extent of what I can knit. Just a straight piece of cloth.
I shall baptize my followers from a goblet of my “literally famous” mulled wine—whose secret ingredients are writ in the sacred book of AllRecipes.com—and we shall light the ceremonial wood-fire-scented candles of Dyptique.
On the Sabbath, I shall drape PennySavers on my small kitchen table to celebrate the annual carving of the pumpkins. We shall bathe in the sounds of my “Fall Coffeehouse Chill 2” Spotify playlist as I impart divine wisdom upon my flock.
“Oh, Goddess, what shall I be for Halloween?” they will ask. And, because I am merciful, I will provide. I shall come up with a costume idea for each one of them. And it shall be good.
Let the cynics and the non-believers run their tongues raw with blasphemy. You may call me a “basic bitch,” but I will turn the other cheek. Because when the day of reckoning comes and I organize a group of people to go apple picking, you shall not be invited. And you will be sad. Because apple picking is super-fun.
So, in the vernal months, worship freely. But, come fall, you shall bow to me, because I am crisp. I am cozy. And I put cinnamon on fucking everything.
I am . . . the Goddess of Autumn.
In this example, the writer satirizes the idea of the “basic bitch.” This piece creates a fictional character who is a conglomeration of cultural trends. The style and tone of the piece are high, formal, and archaic. Its mimicking of mythology/the style and form of mythology in contrast with the arguably trivial content emphasizes a sort of silliness in these fall pleasures.
5 SIGNS THAT YOUR TINDER DATE IS ACTUALLY A TGI FRIDAY’S BAKED POTATO SKIN.
By Becky Mandelbaum McSweeney’s
- His pictures consist of exactly 50% stock images of American Adult Men and 50% blurred images of TGI Fridays Baked Potato Skins.
- His interests read: Adult male human activities such as ball sports, sexual intimacy, sour cream, walking on beaches with my two male human adult feet, heteronormativity, bacon bits, cats followed by a list of nutritional facts and a link to the TGI Friday’s online menu.
- When you finally gather the nerve to call him, he answers with what you later discover to be audio clips from The Talented Mr. Ripley:
YOU Hey, how’s it going?
“HIM”: That scent you’re wearing. I bought that. For you.
YOU: Sorry, what was that? I don’t think I heard you right.
“HIM”: I don’t know what to believe.
YOU: What are you talking about, Brad? You’re scaring me.
“HIM”: Whatever you do, however terrible, however hurtful, it all makes sense, doesn’t it? In your head? You never meet anybody who thinks they’re a bad person.
YOU: Does this have anything to do with that message you sent me about causing heart disease in children?
“HIM”: Don’t you just take the past and put it in a room in the basement and lock the door and never go in there?
YOU: Okay now you’re just being a dick hole.
“HIM”: That’s what I do…. And then you meet someone special, and all you want to do is toss them the key and say, Open up, step inside. But you can’t. Because it’s dark. And there are demons. And if anybody saw how ugly it is…
YOU: I still have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m seriously aroused.
- He invites you on a date to TGI Fridays and when you get there he’s an order of Baked Potato Skins.
- Despite being 99.9% sure that he’s a TGI Friday’s Baked Potato Skin you continue sending messages and the occasional topless photo. Eventually he calls you a bitch and blocks your account after you admit to kind of liking Applebee’s potato twisters.
McSweeney’s often satirizes the listicle form. The situations tend to be absurd, and the signs work to characterize the perceived reader, and more so, the culture which informs listicles. Here, we might interpret a critique of Tinder and its users/internet dating culture. And, I guess, TGI Friday’s!
We can write this or a similar paper for you! Simply fill the order form!
