Walking Contradiction

Poetry and my stories.

I strongly dislike poetry. Always have. Wish I didn’t. Can’t help it. I do.

The reason? Well, it feels like only the most conceited writers are poets. The language in the prose is so “I know how to use a thesaurus better than you.” When a poet discusses their poetry, they don’t sound like writers. They sound like politicians of words or modern art painters or sculptors. Real writers, real artists hate themselves and hate their work…no matter how good they are. And, when they don’t hate themselves, they certainly don’t talk about their work like it was a work of art (granted, much of this is because 99% of the novels written today ARE crap).

But there’s a problem with my logic. Well, there’s LOTS wrong with my logic.

For starters, any good writer should love poetry and writing poetry. It’s a perfect exercise for writing great stories using amazing word choice and sentence structure. What’s worse? I write my novels to follow the pattern of poetry. How so?

What makes poetry poetry? Well, besides the arrogance and floofy language?

Poetry is poetry because every word is perfected hand-picked. No word is unnecessary. No comma or period is unwarranted. Every syllable matches perfectly where it should like an orchestra in perfect pitch.

Problem is, I only write stories that have more than one meaning.

Years ago, I wrote stories that had a purpose, but no plot. Melanie hated them. To be fair, they WERE shit. Then, I ran off to Wisconsin spending 4 years writing only nonfiction. By the time I finally lost funding, I wrote GOOD nonfiction. Even have several publications.

Now?

Now I write reasonable fiction. I write with a purpose. Sure, I have stories in my head that beg to get out. But first and foremost, I have something to say. THEN, I have a story to tell. However, I had to get the storytelling down before I could start considering my fiction reasonable. 

One thought on “Walking Contradiction

  1. I have written many poems – but they were crap – I only wrote one poem that was any good – it was born through pain and loss and it doesn't rhyme – but who knows I might be the only person that likes that poem!

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