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On Poetry.

Status: So tired, and yet – work beckons.

In the interests of getting back to some really complicated notes on conversational implicature, I shall keep this post pretty short.

Poetry is a form of creative expression that I’m not too familiar with. While I do write poetry, I maintain that my writing is far stronger than my poetry. I am by no means a bereft person – my mind works in whole sentences, and that tends to bleed into my writing. A friend of mine, whom had read some of my poetry, tells me that my poetry reads like prose. Which of course, isn’t a bad thing – I like that. But my point is: I’m not a poetry type of person.

My general thoughts on poetry are this: I love the style and form of a poem – those who work within the constraints of form to achieve beauty are those who gain the most of my respect. I love rhyme scheme, I love meter, I love dazzling imagery, I love beautiful metaphors.

But most of all, I think one of the most interesting things about poetry is that it is able to pack so much into a few lines. In many ways, poetry sustains the imagination through the lines, building up things from the barest of details, yet leaving you satiated.

Poetry, to me, is rather much like a study in construction and architecture. A good poem considers every word and builds up the mood from the form. While in writing, my belief is that you have a lot more space to play with, and therefore can be more loose in your words (there is after all, a limit to how much a reader can take in before they give up), poetry doesn’t have that luxury. Poetry packs density like sardines into a tin – and that is one of the most admirable parts of a poem.

Of course, I do believe that poetry can come in all forms and sizes, but hey — this post is just an opinion piece, and I should end off before I get too into the idea of writing a ten thousand word poem right now.

To end off – a poem I wrote, a rather long time ago.

Cast aside once novelty wears
Beware, heart of mine. Beware!
Shut yourself behind closed doors and
Let no one in ne’ermore.

There is no prize for rotten judgement,
In fact, there is none at all.
So beware Heart, beware ‘gainst Love,
Beware the lying, silver-tongued dove.

Hide your soul, hide the joy you feel.
Shroud it behind a gauzy veil.
Give no one the key to your heart.
Do not be stung by fiery darts.

I hope you don’t get hurt like me,
And so I hope you will see.
This key is yours, as is the veil.
Choose wisely what you want to feel.

Jasper

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….Poetry….

Because I’m a bad person, I left this till two days after I was supposed to have it up.

And so this may be quicker than I’d initially thought.

And then I can go to sleep.

…That would be nice.

 

I like poetry.  There’s something about having the right words in the right place, and sometimes what I think of as poetry or prose isn’t necessarily what other people might think of as poetry or prose.  For instance: the words “susurrus”  or “penultimate” are poetry to me.  Their syllables fall perfectly on the tongue in a way that is pleasing on the ear.  However, I also like more conventional poetry: like Blake, or Poe.

But that doesn’t really matter, because most of the time, as long as the words say what you want them to in the right way, it still counts.

To explain: A new anthology about BorderTown got finished recently, and one of the contributing authors was Cory Doctorow: not exactly the first person I’d think about to write a story set in an urban fantasy elf-realm type world. (Both of these are fantastic, by the way.  BorderTown was one of the worlds that saved my sanity in high school and Cory Doctorow’s For The Win and various other works are fantastic.) At any rate, the main character is trying to bring Internet to a place that operates on a mix of science and magic…depending on which way the wind is blowing that day.  Say, for instance, if you had to charge your phone, you’d buy a spell box from a reputable wizard.  Or if you needed a decent charm to keep your house together, you might need a AAA battery to keep the thing running.

So he’s got a bit of a problem.

My point is that at some point in the story, the characters are explaining how elf rules work.  And it’s all, okay, so it obviously needs justice…but there’s also a required level of aesthetic.  Or tragedy.  Or drama.  Like, if I were to toss a paper bag in the Red River, here I might get slapped with a fine or something.  There I’d have to go on a quest to make a weeping willow laugh.

So it’s weird, and a little ridiculous…but it’s also really beautiful, and something really cool might just happen.

That’s poetry.

 

…I’m going to sleep now.


…Fanfiction?

One: Yes, we are all alive.  I could say that, for me, work happened, and school happened, and yadda yadda…the truth of the matter is that I suck and I procrastinate way too much. (Procrastination is evil.  Procrastination leads to the dark side.)

Two: Apparently we’re starting with what we left off on last time, which was …*dum dum dooom*….fanfiction.

I am not a huge fan of fanfiction.  Never have been.  A lot of this tends to be that the really well-known fanfiction is stuff like My Immortal, (Links to a rehost and to the fantastic comic someone made of it), Fan Fiction Friday over at Topless Robot (which IS Not Safe For Work, and I do NOT suggest reading if … well, ever.  I’m trying to save your tender sensibilities here), and Fifty Shades of Grey (Based off of Twilight Fanfiction – here’s a link with possibly mature material in the comparisons).

So my experiences with fanfiction has given me this perspective that all fanfiction authors are these crazy, slavering mobs of fangirl English class dropouts.  Which is wrong on a couple of points.

For one, I shouldn’t generalize.  My current roommate has confessed that, at some point in her high school career, she madly shipped Zutarra and wrote several fanfics about it. (I asked her if I had her permission to link here, and she said yes, with the proviso that we remembered that “it was a dark time in my life,” :D)  And my roommate is fairly sane, for a Math major.

For two, I myself got into reading (and writing) a little fanfiction (Watsonlock; don’t judge me :D) this last year, and found that a few of the stories were not only well-written, but also had plot.  (I will include no links because I don’t remember them.  And because you’re already judging me. :D)

However, it is true that to find the good fanfictions, you have to sort through a lot of crap.  Which is where I find that my original generalization does hold true.

I don’t really have anything super witty to close with on this subject, honestly.  All I can say is that some fanfiction (and authors) are really cool.  Some are not.  But I guess I’m still making up my mind on it.

-lockpique


We’re Coming Back, Don’t Worry

Hi! So, I realize that we’ve been gone for a while… sorry about that. Don’t worry though, we’re getting back into the swing of things (with the exception of Raven, who will be back at the end of summer. We hope.)

So, the other people will be finishing up last block’s theme in the next couple weeks, then I’ll come back with an actual post.

Excited to come back,
Kip/Hunger


The Land of Mary Sue…

Hey y’all! This block we’re going to be writing about fanfiction. (I think that one of us has done this before. But we’re going to stretch it into a block’s topic.)

Fanfiction is one of my guilty pleasures. Yes, I do read fanfiction. Attempt to, at least. You see, the thing is that Fanfiction is where Mary Sue and her cousin Gary Stu live.

The problem with fanfiction is that a lot of it is written by

  • Twelve-year-olds
  • People who have no idea how to write in proper English but think they have an amazing idea
  • People who can at least get grammar in but cannot make characters to save their lives

Now, I’m not saying that all fanfics are this bad; I’ve actually found a couple good ones in my searching. But sometimes I just want to cry. When I read it.

I’m sorry for the short and somewhat pointless post. I’ve been feeling a bit of an inspiration block lately, but I’m going to try to break out of that by the next time I post.

Until next time, my loves

Hunger


Posty Post for Middle Earth

The Middle. Heh. How can I write on the Middle, if I can’t even write beginnings? Apparently, most people know where their stories start and end, but they have trouble with all the Middle Things. All the Middle Ground you have to get through. Me? I’d rather be given a Beginning, write the Middle, and have someone else write the End. 

I like the Middle. Done with the exposition nonsense that I can never get right, and with no worries for the loose ends I’m sure to leave at the End. The Middle is where I find comfort in killing characters, causing drama, and doing all kinds of other things that are neither Beginning nor End appropriate. 

So I’m going to tell you to come to terms with the Middle. I’m one of the odd ones that actually enjoys the Middle, but I believe everyone should come to terms with the Middle Earth, if you will.


Scripting. Wait. What?

Personally, when I was confronted, by dear Hunger no less, by the thought of Scripting for Screnzy, I was a little terrified. Still am, and it’s four days into April. I’ve been in plays, and I did solo acting in high school for speech. So I have performed scripts, read them, interpreted them. But I’d never given thought to writing one. Now I have.

For my Screnzy I’m writing short 8 to 10 minute monologues/dialogues that can be used as speech entries. This is impressively harder than I had thought it would be. Not only because I’m no longer in the head of my character, which is something Lectin pointed out, but also that I can’t describe things.

The lack of ability to describe setting, facial expressions, props, clothes is what gets me. That is what makes it almost impossible to write a script.  I write prose with a lot of dialogue; it’s just how I write. But when I’m not writing dialogue I’m world building, or describing everything. And with scripting I can’t do that. And that is why I gave up Screnzy, four days in.

So, short post. But I don’t have much to say about Scripting. Enjoy your day.