We met last Saturday, March 20, at the Villa. Elizabeth gave a talk on poetry and there was a good discussion/question and answer session. For anyone who couldn't be there, here is what Elizabeth spoke about (although a few more examples were provided during the actual talk):
On Writing Poetry
How I write poetry: I always start a poem with an image. Sometimes, I see something that strikes me. Sometimes an image just pops into my mind. Sometimes I use a prompt. I prefer picture prompts or short, two or three word prompts. Looking at the striking object or the prompt, a phrase and a general feeling will come to me. I usually use that first phrase as the first line of the poem. Then I build on that line with more lines, using the general feeling as a guide to them. Usually, for longer poems, I'm telling a story.
After a line or two, I have a sense of which form I want to use for the poem. I want to mention here a few things about forms. I have a set of forms I like to use. If I read a poem in a new form I like, or read about a new form, I usually try to write a poem of my own using the form to see if it fits my style. Using forms really improved my poetry, because a form is a pattern, and provides patterns that are pleasing to the reader. I'll talk more about specific forms in a moment.
Occasionally, I won't pick a form after the first couple lines. I'll write the whole poem in free verse, then go back and fit it to a form. I usually do this when I'm not sure right away what I'm trying to do with the poem. I'll discuss a little more about how I do this later.
I often go back as I write and change already written lines to fit the further lines, and how the poem is developing. This is a little tricky sometimes, because with or in addition to the form, I always try to have a syllable or meter pattern going on. Some forms are defined by these patterns, some are not, and if I'm using a form without a pattern, I try to make sure I create one of my own.
Once I have a poem, I read it again as an editor, making sure that it flows the way I want it to. Sometimes, especially if I'm just dashing something off for practice, I'll leave it here. Otherwise I'll keep working on it. If I'm not happy, I set it aside. I don't always finish a poem in one sitting. I write notes to myself about where I see the poem going, and what I hear in it already, and then I set it aside. I'll come back and work on it more later.
I know Amber wanted to know about punctuation in poems, so I'll talk about that next. It's really just like prose. A period is a full stop, a comma is a pause before a new phrase or idea. A long dash is used as a pause, but not a full breath like a comma. Or think of it like this: A period is to start a new idea entirely, a comma is to insert a new idea without finishing the old one and a long dash is to add a comment to the idea. And just like prose, colons set off lists, and semi-colons separate the items of the list if commas are used within the items. These last two are used rarely. Also, avoid the temptation to punctuate the end of every line. The end of a line (and a stanza end, too) is a natural break, and a pause, so you don't need to add anything unless it fits naturally.
Next, I want to talk about forms and meter so you have an idea what they are and how I like to use them, and then I will walk you through a poem I wrote and show you where the ideas came from and how I fit it together.
First, a little about meter. Mary Oliver explains it much better than I can, so please see the first handout you have. This is from her book, A Poetry Handbook.
These are just my favorite forms that work best with my writing style. There are lots of other forms out there, some of which I have tried. Each poet needs to work out for herself which forms work best for her. You can find forms by searching on the Internet, or in books. I particularly like Poetry Handbook: A Dictionary of Terms by Babette Deutsch and A Poetry Handbook: A Prose Guide to Understanding and Writing Poetry by Mary Oliver. Both these books have lots more information on poetry than just the forms.
Haiku: Three lines, using syllable count. I like it for writing short descriptions of an object.
5
7
5
Pantoum: A repeating form. It's a French adaptation of a Malaysian form. It's good for telling stories, particularly ones with repeating themes. Each stanza is four lines. After the first stanza, each stanza's 1st and 3rd lines repeat the 2nd and 4th lines of the preceding stanza. The final stanza uses the 2nd and 4th lines of the preceding stanza and the 1st and 3rd lines of the first stanza, as couplets, either the lines of the preceding stanza and then the lines of the first stanza, or vice versa. I letter the stanzas, and number the lines, so I can keep it all straight. There are usually 4 or 5 stanzas, but there can be as many as the author likes. No rhyme or meter is necessary, but I often try to use a meter (either the same one for all lines, or alternating. Using an alternating meter pattern means the pattern will reverse in each stanza, e.g. tetrameter/trimeter in the first stanza becomes trimeter/tetrameter in the second, and so on.) You will see variations on this form, particularly in the final stanza. When repeating lines, you can change a word or the tense, or change punctuation, but each repeated line needs to be essentially the same as the original.
A1
A2
A3
A4
B1 A2
B2
B3 A4
B4
C1 B2
C2
C3 B4
C4
D1 A3
D2 A1
D3 C2
D4 C4
or
D1 C2
D2 C4
D3 A3
D4 A1
Rictameter: A nine line poem using syllable count in a pattern:
2
4
6
8
10
8
6
4
2
The first and last lines are identical. I like rictameters for describing a scene, or a brief story.
Syllabic Verse: From Mary Oliver: “The number of syllables in each of the lines in the first stanza is exactly repeated in the following stanzas. . . . Because of the strictness of syllable-count, and the inevitable variety of stress-pattern, syllabic verse creates a music that is highly regular and at the same time filled with engaging counterpoint.” I like syllabic verse for subjects that do not lend themselves to repetition and yet I want a regular pattern to fit the story to.
Now, how I write a poem. This one was in response to a prompt, a photo of a blue lake among sand dunes and it was supposed to be a four line poem.
It started out:
Cool water, shaded
A blue gem hidden between sand dunes
What a precious treasure.
It was only three lines and a little dissonant and without pattern. I decided to use a meter. Changing the first line to
Cool water, shrub-shaded
was more descriptive and in iambic trimeter (three feet per line). The middle line was in iambic tetrameter (four feet per line) and I decided that would fit the rhythm I wanted better. So I rearranged the lines, looking for tetrameter, resulting in:
A blue gem among sandy dunes
Sky reflecting, shrub shaded,
Cool water for thirsty drinkers
What a precious desert treasure.
But 'precious' is too long, so I changed it to 'lovely.'
A blue gem among sandy dunes
Sky reflecting, shrub shaded,
Cool water for thirsty drinkers
What a lovely desert treasure.
You'll note that the poem goes straight from disorder to tetrameter. I couldn't have done that a year or so ago, but when I started trying to use meter and syllable count in my writing, the easier it became. Now I just need to have a meter or syllable count in mind, and the lines will usually match what I want, or be very close.
Showing posts with label writing advice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing advice. Show all posts
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
10 rules for writing
Check out this link on Elmore Leonards 10 Rules for Writing. These are really good.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/24/elmore-leonard-rules-for-writers
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/24/elmore-leonard-rules-for-writers
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Some words of Wisdom
On of the blogs I read is Meet Your Muse written by author Jennie Nash. Her latest post had some real gems in it. I asked her I could post it here and she kindly consented.
Writing and Faith
I wrote these words for Eric over at Topic Turtle. I thought they had a place here, too....
Sitting alone in a room putting words on a page in the hope that someone, someday will read them and be moved by them can easily be seen as an act of folly or desperation. We live at a time, after all, when many people struggle to pay for health care and put food on the table. In this economic climate, it’s easy to think that storytelling is superfluous, unnecessary, narcissistic — or worse. In order to continue doing it, day after day, with little or no encouragement or support, is an act of faith — even if you’re “just” doing it for half an hour in the morning before work, or on your lunch break, or in whatever time you can snatch in between carpooling the kids and doing the dishes. But the question is, how do you maintain the kind of faith that’s necessary? What do you to tell yourself to continue to carry on? Here are five suggestions:
1. I Have the Power. It helps to remind yourself that you have what it takes to write a story that will move people. We all have what it takes. We have been crafting stories and telling stories, and listening to stories our entire lives. My friend Lisa Cron, who has been a script reader and story analyst in New York and Hollywood for many years, says that there is a secret language of storytelling – and that we all know it by heart. The problem is that when the challenges of writing overwhelm us, we forget what we know. We forget our power. We give in to the doubt and the voices that tell us that we should quit. When this happens, remind yourself that the ability to tell stories is as uniquely human an asset an as opposable thumb – and start typing again.
2. I Have the Desire. I go to an ophthalmologist who is absolutely stunned that anyone would spend their days writing. “So are you still writing?” he asks me, every time I visit – and his tone is not merely idle office chit chat; I can tell that what he really means is, So you really sit there all day making up stories? and that what he is waiting for me to say is, Oh no, I finally gave that up that silly practice. I used to be offended by his tone, but on this last visit, he told me that he has attempted to finish the same book on each of his last five vacations but he can never seem to do it; suddenly I got it. My ophthalmologist is a man of science, a man who served this country in the armed forces, a man who has successfully run his own business, but he is not a reader and he therefore can’t understand why anyone would be a writer. If you, unlike my eye doctor, feel drawn in by words and stories, if you feel the desire to write, if you feel called, don’t fight it. Take faith from its existence in your life, because not everyone feels it. And it means something.
3. I Am Part of a Noble Tradition. At a certain point, faith in your own desire and your own power isn’t enough. In order to continue, you have to believe in something bigger than your own small self. For some people this faith can take the form of belief in god, but for writers across the entire spectrum of spiritual belief, it helps to believe in the great writers who have gone before you. Rather than be deflated by their brilliance (easy to do when you read something that soars and has lasted for centuries, or something that soars and just made the New York Times Bestseller List), you can be uplifted by your shared reality. My favorite explanation of this kind of faith comes from guitarist Glenn Kurtz, author of the book, Practicing: A Musician’s Return to Music: Everything I need to make music is here, my hands, my instrument, my imaginations, and these notes. For most of their lives, Segovia, Casals, Bach, and Stravinksy were also just men sitting alone in a room with these same raw materials, looking out the window at people on the street. Like me, they must at times have wondered how to grasp the immensity of music’s promise in a few simple notes, how to hold fast to their devotions against a cutting doubt that would kill it.
4. I Don’t Have to Write a Blockbuster. The fastest way to kill your faith in writing is to tie your notion of success to the marketplace. The publishing business is too fickle and unpredictable, and books aren’t like ketchup or dish soap; no one knows why, exactly, one book sells 5 million copies and another doesn’t sell any, and you can’t game the system by trying to figure it out. All you can do is tell your story in the most crisp, clear, engaging way you can, and hope that you will be lucky enough to connect with even a small audience who is moved by your story. You can always hope that your story will be the one plucked from obscurity and celebrated all over the world, but hope is different from reality. You can’t take hope to the bank. You can enjoy it, and use it, and be motivated by it. But hope can't be what makes you write. Bookseller Christine Deavel, co-owner of Open Books in Seattle, Washington, sums up this reality nicely. “Most people in the book business know they will not make a lot of money,” she says, “There’s never been a bubble burst here — we never had a bubble. We find other rewards. There are still poetry lovers. Just a few minutes ago, I had a conversation with someone about Robinson Jeffers and Emily Dickinson. That is a form of payment for me.”
5. Writing Matters. If you lose faith in yourself as a writer, have faith, instead, in the power of writing itself. Writing has the power to illuminate, to heal, to amaze, to shock, to galvanize, and it can do so one-on-one, or within entire nations. Your story may seem small to you, but it could be enormously important to someone else. When you feel doubt about what you are doing, try to recall a book that had an impact in your own life. Think back to a writer who helped you over a hurdle, gave you an epiphany or brought you a measure of peace. Your feeling of gratitude for that experience can be enough to push you forward with your own work. It can remind you of why you’re doing what you’re doing, alone in your room, while the recession rages on. As Junot Díaz, author of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, says, “What we do might be done in solitude and with great desperation, but it tends to produce exactly the opposite. It tends to produce community and in many people hope and joy.”
Written by Jennie Nash.
Writing and Faith
I wrote these words for Eric over at Topic Turtle. I thought they had a place here, too....
Sitting alone in a room putting words on a page in the hope that someone, someday will read them and be moved by them can easily be seen as an act of folly or desperation. We live at a time, after all, when many people struggle to pay for health care and put food on the table. In this economic climate, it’s easy to think that storytelling is superfluous, unnecessary, narcissistic — or worse. In order to continue doing it, day after day, with little or no encouragement or support, is an act of faith — even if you’re “just” doing it for half an hour in the morning before work, or on your lunch break, or in whatever time you can snatch in between carpooling the kids and doing the dishes. But the question is, how do you maintain the kind of faith that’s necessary? What do you to tell yourself to continue to carry on? Here are five suggestions:
1. I Have the Power. It helps to remind yourself that you have what it takes to write a story that will move people. We all have what it takes. We have been crafting stories and telling stories, and listening to stories our entire lives. My friend Lisa Cron, who has been a script reader and story analyst in New York and Hollywood for many years, says that there is a secret language of storytelling – and that we all know it by heart. The problem is that when the challenges of writing overwhelm us, we forget what we know. We forget our power. We give in to the doubt and the voices that tell us that we should quit. When this happens, remind yourself that the ability to tell stories is as uniquely human an asset an as opposable thumb – and start typing again.
2. I Have the Desire. I go to an ophthalmologist who is absolutely stunned that anyone would spend their days writing. “So are you still writing?” he asks me, every time I visit – and his tone is not merely idle office chit chat; I can tell that what he really means is, So you really sit there all day making up stories? and that what he is waiting for me to say is, Oh no, I finally gave that up that silly practice. I used to be offended by his tone, but on this last visit, he told me that he has attempted to finish the same book on each of his last five vacations but he can never seem to do it; suddenly I got it. My ophthalmologist is a man of science, a man who served this country in the armed forces, a man who has successfully run his own business, but he is not a reader and he therefore can’t understand why anyone would be a writer. If you, unlike my eye doctor, feel drawn in by words and stories, if you feel the desire to write, if you feel called, don’t fight it. Take faith from its existence in your life, because not everyone feels it. And it means something.
3. I Am Part of a Noble Tradition. At a certain point, faith in your own desire and your own power isn’t enough. In order to continue, you have to believe in something bigger than your own small self. For some people this faith can take the form of belief in god, but for writers across the entire spectrum of spiritual belief, it helps to believe in the great writers who have gone before you. Rather than be deflated by their brilliance (easy to do when you read something that soars and has lasted for centuries, or something that soars and just made the New York Times Bestseller List), you can be uplifted by your shared reality. My favorite explanation of this kind of faith comes from guitarist Glenn Kurtz, author of the book, Practicing: A Musician’s Return to Music: Everything I need to make music is here, my hands, my instrument, my imaginations, and these notes. For most of their lives, Segovia, Casals, Bach, and Stravinksy were also just men sitting alone in a room with these same raw materials, looking out the window at people on the street. Like me, they must at times have wondered how to grasp the immensity of music’s promise in a few simple notes, how to hold fast to their devotions against a cutting doubt that would kill it.
4. I Don’t Have to Write a Blockbuster. The fastest way to kill your faith in writing is to tie your notion of success to the marketplace. The publishing business is too fickle and unpredictable, and books aren’t like ketchup or dish soap; no one knows why, exactly, one book sells 5 million copies and another doesn’t sell any, and you can’t game the system by trying to figure it out. All you can do is tell your story in the most crisp, clear, engaging way you can, and hope that you will be lucky enough to connect with even a small audience who is moved by your story. You can always hope that your story will be the one plucked from obscurity and celebrated all over the world, but hope is different from reality. You can’t take hope to the bank. You can enjoy it, and use it, and be motivated by it. But hope can't be what makes you write. Bookseller Christine Deavel, co-owner of Open Books in Seattle, Washington, sums up this reality nicely. “Most people in the book business know they will not make a lot of money,” she says, “There’s never been a bubble burst here — we never had a bubble. We find other rewards. There are still poetry lovers. Just a few minutes ago, I had a conversation with someone about Robinson Jeffers and Emily Dickinson. That is a form of payment for me.”
5. Writing Matters. If you lose faith in yourself as a writer, have faith, instead, in the power of writing itself. Writing has the power to illuminate, to heal, to amaze, to shock, to galvanize, and it can do so one-on-one, or within entire nations. Your story may seem small to you, but it could be enormously important to someone else. When you feel doubt about what you are doing, try to recall a book that had an impact in your own life. Think back to a writer who helped you over a hurdle, gave you an epiphany or brought you a measure of peace. Your feeling of gratitude for that experience can be enough to push you forward with your own work. It can remind you of why you’re doing what you’re doing, alone in your room, while the recession rages on. As Junot Díaz, author of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, says, “What we do might be done in solitude and with great desperation, but it tends to produce exactly the opposite. It tends to produce community and in many people hope and joy.”
Written by Jennie Nash.
Friday, May 1, 2009
How to fall back in love with your story
One of the blogs I regularly read had some great advice today so I am sharing it here.
http://growwings.blogspot.com/2009/05/how-to-fall-back-in-love-with-your.html
Also there is a writing group at Barnes and Noble the first Wednesday of the month at 7 pm.
http://growwings.blogspot.com/2009/05/how-to-fall-back-in-love-with-your.html
Also there is a writing group at Barnes and Noble the first Wednesday of the month at 7 pm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)