You probably know the feeling. Something stirs within you — a thought that won’t let go, a subject that captivates your mind. You want to write about it, but where do you begin? An essay offers precisely that space: a form where your personal voice is not only welcome but essential, where you’re allowed to explore and doubt, and where you ultimately reveal something of yourself. In Freemasonry, we call this kind of work “building” for good reason. Let’s explore together how to shape such a written piece of work.
What Exactly Is an Essay?
The word “essay” comes from the French essayer, meaning “to try” or “to attempt.” And that says everything about what an essay truly is. It’s not a scientific proof, not a journalistic report, and not fiction. It’s an attempt to explore a thought, to weigh it, to get to the heart of it. You try to understand something by writing about it — not by pinning it down definitively.
In the sixteenth century, the French philosopher Michel de Montaigne began writing short pieces in which he reflected on everyday subjects: friendship, education, death, habits. He called them essais — attempts, trials. Since then, the essay has grown into one of the most personal literary forms. It demands honesty, a voice that dares to doubt, and a willingness to examine your own assumptions.
The First Stone: Begin with Yourself
Before you put pen to paper, ask yourself: what truly fascinates me about this subject? Not what you think others might find interesting, but what genuinely moves you. In Freemasonry, we speak of “working the rough stone” — shaping the raw, unpolished self into something more refined. Writing an essay begins the same way: with your own raw material, your unordered thoughts.
Take a pen and paper, or open a blank document, and write for five minutes without stopping about your chosen subject. Don’t judge, don’t structure — just write. This is your rough stone. Within it lie the seeds of your argument, the questions you want to investigate, the tension that will bring your essay to life.
The Writer’s Working Tools
A good essay has a recognizable structure, but that structure must serve your thought — not the other way around. Think of it as the tools of a stonemason: the hammer and chisel give shape, but it is the craftsman’s hand that determines what emerges.
Consider these three essential components:
An introduction that invites the reader in and introduces your central question or thesis. A middle section where you develop your thinking with examples, counterarguments, and deeper exploration. A closing that isn’t so much a hard conclusion as a resting point — an invitation to think further.
What sets an essay apart from other forms of writing is its personal tone. In an essay, you’re allowed to say “I.” In fact, you must. You share your own thought process, your doubts, your discoveries. The reader essentially looks over your shoulder as you think.
The Craft of Rewriting
There’s a piece of wisdom often heard in lodge: the real work doesn’t happen in the first act, but in the repetition, the refinement, the patient returning to what you’ve created. This is supremely true for the essay. Your first draft is never your last. Rewriting is where the magic happens.
Writing is rewriting. The first draft is merely the conversation you have with yourself. The second draft is the conversation with your reader.
Read your text aloud. Where do you stumble? Where does a sentence feel too long, too vague, too grandiose? Cut ruthlessly. A strong essay is often shorter than you’d expect. Every sentence must earn its place.
Five Practical Steps to Start Today
Enough theory. Here is a practical plan you can put into action right now:
1. Choose a subject that personally moves you — however small it may seem.
2. Write freely for five minutes about this subject without stopping.
3. Formulate one central question or thesis from your freewriting.
4. Sketch a rough outline: an introduction, three to five key points, and a closing.
5. Write a first draft in a single sitting without going back to re-read.
Then let your text rest for at least a day. Return with fresh eyes and begin rewriting. This rhythm of writing, resting, and revising is the very heart of the craft.
Writing as Inner Work
In Freemasonry, we regard every activity that leads to self-knowledge as a form of inner work. Essay writing fits seamlessly into this tradition. By ordering your thoughts, questioning your assumptions, and sharing your insights, you are working on yourself. You come to know your own thinking — with all its twists and blind spots.
Moreover, an essay is always an act of connection. You don’t write only for yourself but also for a reader. You offer something — a perspective, a question, a moment of recognition. In that exchange, something emerges that is greater than the sum of its parts. That is the art of the essay: to be deeply personal and yet touch upon something universal.
Writing an essay is not an academic exercise but a craft you learn by doing. Start small, start personally, start today. Take that subject that won’t let you go and give it form. Accept that your first attempts will be rough — because it is precisely in that roughness that the promise of refinement lies. The rough stone is only shaped by the hand that dares to begin.
Copyright text & image: devrijmetselaar.nl
Texts are based on the ideas and content of the author of devrijmetselaar.nl, reviewed, corrected, and supplemented with the assistance of OpenAI. Images are created based on the ideas of the author of devrijmetselaar.nl using OpenAI/DALL-E.
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