April is the Cruelest Month

As most of you know, April is National Poetry Month. As most of you did not know, I always have high hopes for tremendous poetic output during the month yet usually fail a few days in. Life gets in the way, of course. That's my excuse, but it's true. What is also true is that Life is the fodder for poetry much of the time. Write about what is happening now, like a snapshot of the moment.

On April 1st, I composed:

I don't always compose poetry,

But it's April, the poetry month!

So here goes nothing, as I see

Hope you like my first attempt

...That doesn't quite rhyme

Or make any sense

But is a tweet

On Twitter

Yeah

These days, poetry writing comes when I have time on my hands. When I have to wait for a while, for example, I'll whip out my phone and go to Twitter and find a poetry prompt and, rather like a brainteaser, I'll knock out a quick few lines of verse - sometimes prose, depending on the prompt. Lots of poetry or "very short story" prompt accounts on Twitter. Given the tweet format, short poems work best: limericks, couplets, quatrains, haiku, etc. When Twitter expanded tweets to 280 characters, the poetry world really exploded.

Sometimes I have to wait

Even if I fear being late

So out comes the phone

Like a dog's well-chewed bone

Tapping here and there

Entertaining myself ...somewhere

Usually it's tweets I do

Some for me, some for you--

Until I hear my name

And the world stops being the same

The only problem I encounter on that platform is the evil of predictive text which often ruins a perfectly fine poem in the nano-second I click tweet.

One of my favorite prompt places is @vss365 which means "very short story". With a daily prompt, I test my creativity. Eschewing the usual definitions and usage of the given word, I'll try to go for the bizarre or a pun. For example:

On April 22nd, I composed this one, playing on the prompt word "vague":

This tweet probably gonna be a little #vague because coffee out and sky being fuchsia with tens over twenties when Koolio was on the ramparts with Z.

#vss365

This example may remind some blog readers of my love of purple prose. Twitter poetry is perfect as an outlet.

Her #ephemerality left him only a wisp of hope teetering on the edge of her grave, a sense of a scent of a scene long evaporated.

#vss365

Because there is such a thing as a "prose poem" in the many genres of poetry, I consider these "vss" to be a form of poetry even though they tend to tell a story, which is the point. However, I still compose more traditional poetic forms - such as these "haiku":

Customer service

Teachers serving students

Super-sizing grades

Rather be writing

A vampire novel than this

Required lecture.

Accusative voice

Customer service lecture

I'll play on Twitter

I was stuck in a mandatory lecture/chastisement session and took the opportunity to complain about having to be there. While I know these are not haiku in an authentic sense, they fit the 5-7-5 syllable pattern which most people would call haiku. 

However, to be authentic the haiku must have some reference to the season or to natural beauty while presenting a question and answer form. Anything about modern life or thoughts of love or (in my case here) disdain would more properly be called a senryu. 

On April 7th I composed a more traditional poem, using rhymed couplets:

I blogged today

That's enough, I say

But others disagree

They don't really know me

I write when it's right

I sleep when it's night

That's how I roll

I'm not a troll

This is my Sunday verse

Not quite a weekend curse

Ready to log off now

Ready to take my bow

Again, I had time to kill so I just sat back I thought of how I felt, what I thought of my feeling, and how I felt about that. The rest was just finger tapping. Sometimes I'll incorporate into a poem what is actually happening, such as when I was pressed to give a lecture about writing and publishing on the excuse of my third vampire novel coming out, this time as a limerick:

Today is the big reading session

Reading from my new book is my mission

The words will be spoke

As long as people stay woke

Until I'm the last one to be leavin'

Not every day in April was a good day for poetry. But I even managed to use the non-poetic aspects of life to my advantage. The point is that anything can be fodder for a poem. And even a bad poem is better than no poem. For example, I composed the following on a bad Monday morning (April 15):

Monday is probably the worst day to write poetry

It's worse than Tuesday or ummm Wednesday

And not as good as, ya know, Thursday

Friday is good

Saturday maybe

Sunday

Sometimes a thought comes to me which is too profound for some kind of frivolous rhyme scheme and out it comes (using the prompt word "veneer"):

Not every artist has a thick skin.

Most have had layers shaved off

Sharp tongue lash by sharp tongue lash,

Until only the thinnest #veneer remains

To protect the soul from the final straw.

#vss365

Sometimes I'll try my luck at other short prompt ideas, such as @hangtenstories, where the goal is to write a story based on the prompt but only using 10 words. It is often a challenge and I have committed a few faux pas by composing wonderful stories which - whoops! - have a lot more than 10 words. Here is one I scaled back to ten words, using the prompt "fathom":

Ishmael only dared to go 20,000 #fathoms under the sea.

#hangtenstories

I like to go for irony in these short stories on Twitter. It's in my nature, anyway. Looking for the unusual, the side view, the unthought thought, the hidden seam, the mangled lexicon - such as this doozy for "maelstrom":

He used to storm through a room, like any other male. But when he was drunk, when he couldn't type  correctly, he would write #maelstrom and slur the words together. Even so, they all knew what he meant.

#vss365

And... well, because Life is full of life events, I composed a poem sharing my feelings about something real in my life (but not actually about vests; the prompt was "vestige"):

I'm impressed

You adore the rest

So I always wear a vest

Mostly when I'm out West

But that's no reason

To say it's not in season

Or rag on my quirk

Wearing vests to work:

A mere #vestige of my art

A desire that we'll never part

Yet your posts online

Tell me it's time

#vss365

If you are into haiku, I recommend @haikuchallenge, which also gives a word you must use in the haiku. Here's one I composed on April 20 (prompt was "apart"):

#Apart from haiku

He writes long epic novels

And nothing between

There it is: truth with a lowercase T. Give it a try. If you try to avoid Twitter, just jot down your verse in a notebook, if not for the world then at least for yourself. Read them later. Share with the next generation. Not every line of words is a thing of beauty (to misquote John Keats) but they can last forever. Go for it!



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(C) Copyright 2010-2019 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Year That Wasn't

This is the first year in which I realize I am getting old. There have been other years in which I felt old. Or I could imagine getting old in an esoteric, quasi-philosophical sense. But this year - finally- I know it's happening. And I'm not much impressed with this development.

You see, I'm used to living my life in five-year plans much like the Communist parties of Russia and China used to do. You have a goal and five years to achieve it. Mine went a bit differently, however. I had a goal and muddled around for five years until I needed to come up with a new goal. So each period of five years has seemed to be a life in and of itself, with no ties to the future or to my own mortality. I have always assumed - based on this pattern - that I would simply start again, start a new plan. And that seemed to work - until this year.

I am in year eight of the current plan. There is no end in sight. I have passed the post, left the farm, and have no more fodder for renewing myself. The best I can do is write a story in which I can play for a time as a fictional character. It helps ward off the morbid thoughts that come at night, when the house is silent and the shadows deep. Then I worry about vampires, which have not been a concern until recently.

No, this year started all right, as most years do, full of joy and positivity, resolutions and such. Then things started to happen. Some good, most bad. This was not a model year, which is one reason I feel the turn has occurred for me. No more five-year plans.

It was easy enough to launch an epic fantasy novel involving dragons. That was in March, when dragons hatch. It was also delightful to teach a course on Romantic Literature. Both helped remind me of my youth, my origins in fantasy, both reading and writing. I remembered that I was a Romantic at heart. Yes, I knew it intellectually, but in my spirit I needed reminding. Returning to the works of poetry and prose which matched and fired up my spirit gave me new life. I soared! I wrote silly poetry again. I wanted to fall in love once more, one last time.

Then summer came and all manner of obstacles to moving forward were thrown up at me. But I got to China, taught the class on business writing, still filled with that Romantic spirit. Life was good. Especially including a former student of mine turned dear friend (code name: Maria). I returned home still filled with that delight, still soaring. I had high hopes. I could make a new five-year plan - despite my true age. Then it all came crashing down.

Throughout the year, I've posted blogs about all sorts of things. Many times when I've been about to post a blog full of silly trivial topics, something awful has happened in the world. The usual suspects: man-made violence or natural disasters. With so much reality in our consciousness it seemed pointless, even counterproductive, to post a blog about, say, writing tips, when people had lost loved ones, lost property, didn't know where their next five-year plan would go. 

Often I posted a blog, feeling cheery, only to have the news report of something awful later the same day. I began to be leery of posting any blog until I checked the news reports. This year, it has seemed that far too many weekends have contained awful events - to the point where I felt like giving up. If every time I try to post a blog about something stupid, going for humor, something truly terrible happens, then maybe I'm the jinx.

Well, it's been a few weekends with nothing worse happening than my football team extending their losing streak. So I'm blogging again. About blogging. The obvious topic. In fact, many bloggers recommend blogging about blogging when you can't think of anything to blog about.

Did I mention hurricanes? This year featured three big ones and finally - finally! - it involved me. My parents' home is/was near the beach in Texas when Harvey the Hurricane came to visit. Dealing with that clean-up (on-going) and taking care of my elderly parents (they have long accepted their ages) has ruined what should have been a continuation of my summer delight. My five-year plan is ruined. It lays in tatters now. And finally, seeing these two old people relying on me shows me - in a show-don't-tell mantra we writers like to repeat - that I am heading there, too.

I am a couple weeks away from instigating my first ever ten-year plan. If I should live that long. However, I don't know what will happen beyond the first month. I have no resolutions - never have, actually, but I like to say the word. I hope to launch the sequel to my 2014 vampire novel in the spring, so I suppose I will then start writing the third book so I can call it a trilogy. And I'm scheduled to teach a course in World Literature, which again should lift my intellectual spirits. I think I will return to China, as well, for perhaps the last time. I will drink more coffee and consume less ice cream. It is a plan.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2017 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Week That Was...Or Shouldn't've Been

What a week! First the solar eclipse then the terrifying hurricane. Plus the day job. I need a break so here is some poetry from my Twitter (@StephenSwartz1). It's not great, obviously, but trying to fit a poem into a tweet is worth the challenge.

SOLAR ECLIPSE 2017*

The eclipse is here
So be a dear
Bring me some glasses
As fast as
You can
Cuz I never plan

When the moon
Comes too soon
To the late afternoon
You must swoon
Like a loon
& sing a tune

Darken me now
O big moon cow!
Make the sun go away
Come again another day
It's a two minute wow!

The thrill has come
The thrill is done
Were we dumb?
Was it fun?
Just being a bum
Under the silly sun.

*The trick of poetry on Twitter is the 140 character limit.

HURRICANE HARVEY

It's Friday & Harvey comes to town
Make your way quick or you'll drown!
Stay high & dry
Or question why
Clime change follows you around!

(The following were not written on Twitter:)

The port of last resort:
Full mugs, laughs, a snort 
Before the winds blow hard
And the tide crashes in
"Thoughts and prayers," the bard
Cries loud, "We shall win!
Yet our revelry we must abort!"

Picking up the pieces, such a chore
Wish we were burdened with a bore
Scattered near and far
Missing our favorite bar
When we need a drink the most--
We survived! And that's our boast!

Awkward summers abroad and ill-thought doggerel composed between classes is how I fight off dementia, so be kind in your comments, as my parents might read them. Until next time, adieu! Stay high & dry & love thy neighbor.



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(C) Copyright 2010-2017 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Got Author Bling?

I've been noticing--because I am a professional observer of life, though semi-retired--that being the author of literary fiction or science fiction is not the best way to be noticed. That is, if one wishes to be noticed, of course. I always had the idea that by merely arranging words on a sheet of paper, the world would beat a path to my door, demanding more. That was my childhood dream--after deciding against being a magician. After football player and Classical music composer....

No, it seems if I want the world's attention, I'm going about it all wrong. I need to stop writing silly stories and get on the reality bandwagon. Plenty of Reality shows out there, of course, when when the first one, Survivor, appeared I really believed the poor participants would be savaged and left rotting in the jungle. But no, it was just a "crummy" game show--to borrow the phraseology of Ralphie in A Christmas Story.

Now we have the ol' song 'n' dance shows, where if you were an alien visitor from planet Xanax you might presume that those kind of talents were most valued of all. Or, in the pejorative sense, the ol' song 'n' dance was meant to distract the audience from the deception going on. Hmm, perhaps there may be something to the reality show phenomena. But I digress...which is also a song 'n' dance simulation.

What I would like to propose is a reality show--game show, if you must--based on the fine art of writing. Instead of a new act to perform each week, contestants would prepare a new story (or poem) to present to an audience of literary aficionados. The audience would vote on the best story. I realize this would be difficult to judge, writing being such a subjective thing. But they have Country and Hip-Hop and Rock competing against each other, so why not Romance versus Paranormal versus Crime Thriller? Judge them on plot, characterization, twists, and spelling.

That way, authors could once again stand tall and be somebody. Authors would be praised and become role models! Kids would want to grow up to write. Authors would be on TV and strut down the streets with their entourages and fight with paparazzi. They could show off their swag and jiggling their bling, and be part of the glitterati. Remember when an author could be pulled aside at a cocktail party for a good quote or some juicy gossip about characters in a sequel? For that matter, remember cocktail parties?

Another variation could be poetry. Much like comedy improv, a contestant would be given a topic and a poetic form and be required to produce a poem on the spot, or with some brief time to prepare. Take the limerick, for instance. Of course, the natural evolution of the poetry contest would be something akin to a slam poetry reading. Or, taken further, we find ourselves in a rap-off, two rappers competing against each other for the best rap lines. And there would be singing and then dancing and then bling....

Well, it seemed a good idea while I thought of it. But given that I thought of it, it was doomed from the start. Therefore, I need not worry about becoming a Renaissance rapper. I don't know where to shop for bling, anyway. And I only have swag when I swagger down the dock on Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day.

Bling for Writers

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(C) Copyright 2010-2013 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.