May 2022

Andrew Banks

Writing poetry is challenging. It’s as simple as that. The very act of setting the right words in the right order in just the right way is sometimes such an insurmountable endeavor that most simply do not attempt it, and the hard-headed ones keep at it. The number of issues, pitfalls, and conundrums writers face are innumerable. However, among the challenges that I’ve seen with many poets at the beginning of their craft both as a tutor of four years and as an editor of this Spring’s edition of The Dazed Starling, one challenge stands out as both glaring and easily fixable: they don’t know what contemporary poetry really looks like or what its tenets are, and as a result, they write in styles that are outdated and destined to flop.

However, as much as this issue has to do with a lack of familiarity, I don’t blame any young poet doing their best to attempt a Wordsworthian lyrical ballad or a Shakespearian sonnet, no more than I blame myself for attempting something so cringeworthy. I blame the fact that the first time I read a lick of contemporary poetry that made sense, (that wasn’t so blatantly avant-garde or simply some photo on Instagram), wasn’t until I took a creative writing class in my second year of my undergraduate study. I blame the fact that as a supposed major in English Literature, the only frames of reference I had to write a poem were Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Tennyson, and Dylan Thomas. All beautiful poets in their own rights and in their own times, but not our time, not in 2022.

As much as I’ve written in first person, this issue isn’t unique to me. It is so ubiquitous, in fact, that much of the poetry I’ve read (and much of the poetry I wrote) falls back on some archaism, no matter how contemporary it attempts to be, and some read completely as if they’ve never seen any poetry written after 1850. This is likely because, if my experience serves me right, they simply haven’t read enough, as I certainly did not. Names like Dana Gioia or Mary Oliver rang no bells, felt obscure, and their poetry even more bewildering.

“Are these even poems?” I asked.

Certainly, they are. They just follow different conventions than what we, as readers and aspiring poets, are used to.

Despite the fact that this post is a rant about not hearing Gioia’s “Prayer” early enough, I am no expert in the “tenets” of contemporary poetry. For one, there are no “tenets” per se; there are only trends, broad tendencies, commonalities in poems written today that we can just barely put our fingers on. If any neophyte poet wishes to grasp these trends, I would recommend Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook as a starting point. I return to this book often as a source of inspiration and correction for my own poetry, and as such is indispensable.

Short of buying a book, however, I do want to recommend one idea to every poet that might read this that is having trouble updating their style, besides actually reading contemporary poets, two of which I have already mentioned: Write as simply and plainly as possible. Aspiring poets, myself included, are often guilty of taking off our “normal speaking” hats, and putting on our “Poetry hats,” (there is usually a quill that sticks out of the brim, very stylish), and we write in ways that to any other reader sounds like we are doing our best impression of our favorite romantic poet. Take the hat off, and throw it across the room, even hide it in your attic if you have one, because as long as you try to sound like someone else, particularly if they have been dead for over two hundred years, you will never write like yourself, or anyone else alive for that matter. I will take a cue from Mary Oliver’s book, and ask that you write as if you were speaking intimately to your reader: with intent and intensity, but not overblown, or with false poetic

Trinton Spencer

The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.

Tom Clancy

When people typically read a story, they tend to connect with the characters or the story’s world. These connections are not simply enjoying the world or having a favorite character but connecting the fantasy to the readers’ reality. So now, the character the readers love may stem from their background and their relationships with the real world and its people. Although many readers and scholars would agree that associating their real-life experiences with the story brings the imagination to life, Felix Martinex-Bonati disagrees. In his article, “The Act of Writing Fiction,” he explains why attaching one’s life to the story destroys the narrative and the imagination.

It may sound unbelievable that attaching yourself to the story can hinder the piece because part of human nature is that we form bonds. These bonds aren’t just with people and animals, but they can be with anything capable of interaction, such as T.V. shows, movies, nonfiction, and fiction stories and music. The way a character is designed or interacts can trigger a memory, potentially giving readers more enjoyment and another reason to keep reading. The readers may also see themselves within a character or world making it more immersive or providing an escape from reality. With these bonds being connected, it raises the question of is it good, is it better to have this immersive world, or should it stay a fantasy and be pure fiction.

One of the problems Martinex-Bonati addresses is when people associate their life with the story, they “succeed only in reading, unsatisfactorily, some fragments of it, and we find ourselves forced to give up this task” (1). Linking with the story takes away its credibility. It makes the fictional world crumble because expectations must be met since that is how the reader imagined the story or character would act. If the fictional world created can be controlled by reality and the reader’s perspective, is it still considered a fantasy world if the reader is in it? The line between reality and fantasy gets blurred, and if the two struggle to be distinguishable, the illusion is gone.

As writers and readers, we must ask ourselves which is the better option. If you plan on writing, would you want the world to be immersive and have the audience feel connected to it? This outcome could lead to a polarizing response since some may love the story’s direction while others may hate it and try to change its direction somehow because it’s not how they would have acted or how they imagined something should have been. The other option is asking yourself is better to have the line separated, making the fiction unattached with a potential loss of readers due to the lack of immersion, which may lead to fewer backseat writers? Both options have positives and negatives, so it is up to you to decide if there should be a barrier between reality and fantasy.

Martínez-Bonati, Félix. “The Act of Writing Fiction.” New Literary History 11 (1980): 425.

Allison Hall

I am not a creative writer.

I have never been, and I probably never will be. The problem for me is the creative aspect. Give me any topic or essay assignment, and I can write my heart out. But, when you ask me to make up my own story, poem, or topic, that is when I completely blank. It was not until about eight weeks ago that I started to have to do some creative writing. In my final semester of college, I had to take one last English class to graduate, and it turns out that class was “Introduction to Creative Writing.” These past few weeks in the class have been a struggle for me. It has been hard to develop my own ideas and translate them onto paper. While I have been having a rough time with this, I have turned more towards my textbook to give me some ideas about what I should write. So, if you are like me and struggle to come up with ideas for that next short story or poem, look no further because I have a few topic ideas for you.

Topic 1: Write about a routine.

For the first poem that I had to complete, I wrote about my night time routine. When writing about my night time routine, I described that exhausting feeling about coming home from work and then going into my relaxing night time regime. What’s great about this topic idea is that everyone has some sort of routine. Whether it is a morning routine, a typical drive that you have to take, a workout regime, or making memorized meals, many of the tasks in our daily lives consist of some sort of routine. These routines can elicit many different emotions, which further expands the topic. By writing about a routine, you write about what you know and describe the emotions and actions that go into completing that task.

Topic 2: Write about an object.

One popular activity to do these days is to go out shopping and more specifically, thrift shopping. So, while going out and doing this activity, find an intriguing object or clothing piece and center a story around it. Have the character be attached to that piece, whether they wear it or have it in their home. Antique pieces found thrift shopping have a life before being sold to the store. By coming up with ideas on where the piece has been, you can start creating many story concepts.

Topic 3: Write about an image.

While in my creative writing class, our professor put up a few images onto the screen and told us to write about them. We were able to write about either what was seen in the image or to make up a story with that image in mind. This idea offered a lot of possibilities, but by having an image in mind, it does not seem like you are starting from scratch. You have an idea and can build upon it. Along with this idea, writing about a painting could also spark an idea. Write about the Mona Lisa or The Starry Night. These pictures and images will initiate a great start to a story.

Taylor Wheatley

For those unsure of what prose might be, the simple answer is anything that isn’t poetry. So instead of following a strict structure such as rhyme or meter, the only structural requirement is that it follows conventional grammar. By this definition – I’m sure everyone has written in this style, and while prose can be anything from academic to casual, I want to focus on creative prose. If you find that you are more of a poetic writer, this probably won’t be helpful. Although you are more than welcome to stay.

Now let me get to the point of this post. Every writer I have met falls into one of three categories in writing and planning their stories. The plotter outlines every idea and situation, the pantser just comes up with an idea and figures out the rest as they write (“by the seat of their pants”), and finally, the plantser, who typically does equal parts of both planning and winging it. None of these are right or wrong when it comes to writing. It just depends on what works for you. Personally, I am the planster. The plotters will like the first book on the list best. However, it is helpful for everyone and is a good idea to read, whether you utilize the ideas or not.

1. Outlining your Novel by K.M. Weiland

This book is a fantastic place to start because it highlights the different types of outlines and teaches the reader how to make and use one effectively. Who knows, maybe you are a plotter after all. The second book on this list is by the same author but doesn’t lean towards any specific group. Instead, it focuses on creating characters.

2. Creating Character Arcs by K.M. Weiland

Whether we like it or not, characters are what make or break a story. It doesn’t matter if the plot is amazing if the reader doesn’t like or care about the characters. This is why I am recommending this book. The more you know about the character and their arc, the more realistic they become. Not to mention easier to write. Finally, the third book on the list is what the pantsers will love. The book I put on here is one I am still going through myself but can be easily supplemented with another one of a similar style.

3. 400 Writing Prompts

Sadly, I could not find the author of this. But I placed a prompt book on the list to encourage writing even the most ridiculous ideas. Sometimes the best way to learn is to do. Remember, all writing advice is simply advice. In the end, you figure out what works the best for you. But these books can certainly help the process.

Morgan Brownell

Margaret Atwood once wrote “You’re never going to kill storytelling, because it’s built into the human plan. We come with it.” She was not talking about one group of people over another, not talking about a single career, she was speaking universally. Every human in existence has come with the innate ability to tell a story. Whether it be their own story, a story about somebody else, or even a story in a fantastical world, it doesn’t matter; the ability is instinct.

There are people who claim that creative writing and professional storytelling should be kept to those who pursue it as a career–I claim the opposite. I base this claim on Margaret Atwood’s words and my own experiences. Storytelling does not always have to come from a view of professional careerism; it can come from a place of love and passion for the craft. It can be an escape from reality for those whose lives seem to offer less than magnificent circumstances. A work written from passion can be just as amazing as one from somebody who spends their life dedicated to authorship. Claiming that writing belongs to one group is like asserting that breathing is withheld from those who have fully functioning lungs–it’s ridiculous. Storytelling is as natural to humans as breathing and as such it should be recognized as being just as important and universal.

In every sense of the world, storytelling is around us, maybe not in a written medium but perhaps in an expansive colorful design. There is no one way to tell a story, so why would we claim it belongs to only a single career (or major!), style, or genre. I want to read stories about dragons and magic just as much as I want to read an inspiring memoir about the hardships of living in different circumstances. Billions of people, trillions of stories, and all of them are part of our universal human need to tell, and to receive, stories.