Category Archives: poetry

10 Things I Learned at the WV Writers Conference

by
Jessica Nelson

I wanted to title this blog “10 Super-Cool-Awesome-Amazing Things I Learned at the WV Writers Conference,” but, alas, all that would not fit into the title bar on Blogger. But I digress.

So this past weekend was the annual West Virginia Writers Conference in Ripley, WV. This was my fifth year in attendance and my second year working it as an intern. As always it was a great time, but the thing I love most about it is that every year I learn something new. There is always an abundance of knowledgeable presenters to lead workshops and panels. Since many of you are non-West Virginia natives and may not ever make it to a WV Writers Conference, I’ve decided to share the top ten things I learned this year.

10. You have to be brutally honest with yourself. In particular, you need to be honest about your style and your work ethic. This came from Sheila Redling’s workshop. One example she gave was if you are the type of writer who only writes five words a day, you will not feasibly be able to put out two books a year. If you know you are easily distracted, take care of anything you know will be a distraction before you sit down to work. Hold yourself accountable for your work.

9. Sometimes when you’re stuck, it’s because you’re out of sync with your characters. Also from Sheila Redling, this advice resonated with me. On a fundamental level, it makes sense. How can you tell your character’s story when you and your character are not on the same page? So sometimes you need to take a step back from the story and focus on the character. When you and your character have reached a new understanding, go back to the story and try again.

8. Monsters are metaphors. Now, I know that not everyone writes fantasy, sci-fi, or horror, but this advice applies to almost any antagonist. Monsters in particular are metaphors, or embodiments, of our worst fears. A couple of classic examples instructor Frank Larnerd gave were Frankenstein’s Monster (fear of science) and Freddie Kruger (fear of being punished for our sins). And your monster metaphor should match your hero’s fear/weakness/past. That is how you “build a better monster.”

7. When making a “monster” (or villain, or antagonist), do a “monster sketch” that addresses the following: what makes him/her/it a monster? Why is he/she/it like this? What is one noble/good thing this monster does? This came from Marie Manilla’s workshop “Monster Theory…” and forces us as authors to create a fully formed, three dimensional, realistic antagonist. Seriously, try to answer these questions with your antagonist in mind. You will have no choice but to explore all the facets of your character.

6. For anyone writing in verse: the first word and last word of a line hold the most power, so choose your line breaks carefully. This can also apply to prose. The first and last phrases are the “power words” in a paragraph. I participated in a workshop by Kate Fox where we took a handful of lines, written out like prose, from famous poems and each re-wrote them into verse the way we thought they should go. Even though we were all using the same words, our choices in line breaks gave each version a different meaning and different effect on the reader. Even the length of the lines impacted the tone and message of the poem. So make sure your line breaks contribute to the intended effect of your verse. 

5. Start with a believable context. This applies mostly to fiction writers, especially those writing fiction with outrageous or paranormal or fantastical elements. This advice came from storyteller and champion liar Bil Lepp, who made us all believe he’d been smashed into the ceiling by a dentist’s chair. You want to know how he did it? He eased us into it. He started out telling us about a toothache he got, the subsequent trip to the dentist’s office, and getting bored sitting in the dentist’s chair while waiting for the dentist himself to come into the room. So he started playing with the pedals that made the chair change position. The story started so normal and familiar that when odd things started happening, we all subconsciously suspended our disbelief. We trusted what was happening in the story, because he made it fit and work within the context. This is great advice to fiction writers, because if you get too crazy, too quick, you lose your reader’s trust. And even if the point is to be fantastical and out-there, the use of real, normal, and familiar details helps to ground the reader and allow them to connect the story to their own lives.

4. Writing without “emotional language” (“I love this” or “she hates that”) allows the details to “show” your feelings without being sappy or overly sentimental. This nugget of wisdom comes from Jon Van Kirk. He discovered the truth of this statement when he did an assignment with his students at a university. He told his classes to describe a lost-to-them but still familiar location. In the first class, he told them not to use “emotional language” and the students produced vivid descriptions that evoked a range a heartfelt emotions—without ever once naming those emotions. The second class did not produce the same results. Because he forgot to tell them not to use emotional language.

3. In the first few pages of a novel, set up the character, conflict, setting, and voice. This advice came from Edie Hemingway’s “Strong Beginnings” workshop. It applies to any genre of writing and can even be adapted for short stories and other styles of writing. Basically, you want to set up everything the reader needs to know in the first couple of pages. Who is the story about? What are his/her age, race, education, and (to a lesser extent) appearance? What is the conflict of the story? You don’t have to spell it out, but you can start to hint at it or get the ball rolling. Where is the story taking place? And—this is very important—you need to establish the voice, which, ideally, is a combination of your voice as a writer and your character’s voice. Most importantly, establishing all that in the first couple of pages not only grabs the reader’s attention, but it will also hopefully grab a publisher’s attention and keep your manuscript off the slush pile.

2. Don’t get stuck on the first page. Chances are your original first page will change or the story will ultimately start somewhere else. This also came from Jon Van Kirk and his workshop “The First Fifty Pages.” Basically, you don’t have to write your draft in chronological order. You can write any scene from any point in the novel at any time you want. Then, when everything is written, you can figure out the order. For someone like me who gets stuck on the first few pages (every single time), this came as quite a relief. It was like I had been granted a stay of execution. Now if only I can get myself to walk away from the chopping block.

1. Writers are amazing people. Technically, I am re-learning this, as I do every year at the conference. And it’s something you learn from the conference as a whole. Writers are big-hearted, friendly, encouraging, and just all-around-awesome people. Not to mention talented. I’m always thankful that there are writers willing to share their talent and knowledge—not just in the form of presenters, but the attendees as well. And writers are just nice. I had nearly half a dozen people or more come up to me at some point over the weekend to tell me I was doing a good job, or thank me for my hard work, or tell me that they liked my writing. I’m not sure there is anything that makes a writer glow more than another writer complimenting her work. I also had one woman call me over in the parking lot on the very last day. She handed me a copy of her poetry book with the handwritten inscription “Thanks for all you do,” which left me a sentimental puddle all over the asphalt. And, of course, every year I make new friends and reacquaint myself with old friends. Let’s be honest, a conference is only as good as the people who are there. And if you are at a conference that’s filled to bursting with writers, it’s guaranteed to be amazing.

My First Semester in an MFA Writing Program

by Rhonda Browning White

I had no idea what to expect when I arrived on the idyllic campus of Converse College for my first semester in their MFA in Creative Writing Program. I was nervous about meeting my dorm-mate (Me? Staying in a dorm? With a total stranger? At my age?), who turned out to be a spectacular poet, mother and now my sweet friend. I wondered if I’d be accepted among a group of sixty students, forty-five of whom already had a history together, or if the professors and visiting authors would look down from their lofty positions as they berate my writing. After all, these people were real writers—authors whose names I recognized, whose novels and poetry collections sit on my bookshelves even now.

I needn’t have worried.


These same instructors and brilliant students are now my friends: we touch base via email, follow each other’s daily lives on Facebook, share links to interesting blog links and sometimes chat on the phone about everything from a class assignment to a great novel we’ve read to a recipe you’ve just got to try!


But what is a low-residency program, and what do you do in it, I’m often asked. Well I can’t speak for all of them, but I can tell you about mine. Here’s a typical day in the life of a Converse low-res student:


Breakfast in the dining hall (surprisingly yummy food), begins at seven and lasts until nine, and you are welcome at a table with your cohorts, or you might want to sit with a professor or a visiting author to chat about, oh, anything.


Before the first session of the day begins following breakfast, students can attend one-on-one meetings with their faculty mentor to discuss the semester syllabus, to brainstorm about a current project, or to chat about suggestions for their reading list. On some days, student group meetings are held in this time frame, as well. If students don’t have a scheduled meeting, they’ll often use this for a leisurely chat over coffee, free writing time, strolling the campus grounds (beautiful gardens, impressive statuary and quiet nooks for settling in with a good book).


The day’s first craft lecture follows. Doesn’t this sound boring? I mean, come on, a craft lecture? Let me tell you, these things are amazing! This semester, Dan Wakefield taught us using his late friend Kurt Vonnegut’s fiction, authors Leslie Pietrzyk (my mentor this semester—Yay!) and Marlin Barton gave inspiring lectures on story beginnings and using violence in fiction, and national bestselling author Robert Olmstead lectured on how characters’ thoughts can change the whole direction of a story. Powerful stuff, and these were only a few of the fiction lectures! “But wait,” you say, “do you mean you studied things other than fiction in a fiction program?” Absolutely! One of the reasons I chose Converse is that students are encouraged to attend lectures by professors outside their primary genre. Not only does this present inspiration in directions you might not have considered, but it provides a broader scope should you decide to teach in the future. Hence, I enjoyed seminars by phenomenal poets Denise Duhamel, Suzanne Cleary and Albert Goldbarth. I also benefited from seminars, lectures and readings by guest faculty and speakers, including Brock Clarke and Marshall Jon Fisher and faculty Susan Tekulve and our amazing program director Rick Mulkey.


A leisurely two-hour lunch followed each day’s first seminar, when you’d hear chatter and laughter throughout the dining hall and across the campus as new relationships budded and old friendships grew fonder. Of course, some of this two-hour period was usually spent writing or reading, digesting not only dessert but the instruction and information we’d received in our day’s first lecture.


A walk in the sun across the campus green led us to our afternoon workshop. Workshops are broken into genre—fiction, non-fiction and poetry—and each workshop includes only five to ten students and one or two professors in a roundtable setting. It’s here where the real work occurs, where students watch their skills grow like magic and their writing improve before their eyes. No kidding. I’m still amazed at how much better my writing was on the last day as compared to the first day. Not only were we instructed in methods to improve our work, but we applied those things to our writing and discussed what worked and what didn’t. Workshops were very “hands on,” and over the course of the residency, each student had an hour’s discussion and constructive critique of their own work by the workshop instructors and fellow students. Instructors welcomed our questions and encouraged each student to offer feedback and share their opinions of the selections we read and the writing exercises we completed.


A second stimulating lecture period followed our craft workshop. Some days, these periods consisted of events like a panel discussion of authors or even a sit-down Q & A with Algonquin Publishing’s Executive Editor Chuck Adams. Receiving this kind of insight into the world of publishing is critically advantageous to a developing author’s success and, as students, we were ever aware that we were being provided a “secret map” that will guide us through the tangled jungle of submission and publication.


Dinner (and more laughter) follows this last lecture of the day, then we’re treated to an hour of guest speaker, faculty or student readings. The readings are casual and comfortable, and some of the stories and poems shared take us from hilarity to tears and back again. The night’s readings end with a social hour, which tends to morph into social hours. As our ten-day residency progressed, these social gatherings grew longer as our conversations grew deeper and our friendships became stronger. A few at a time, students and faculty disbursed to grab a snack, study, write, or do a load of laundry. The common areas of the dorm (usually the veranda) always remained a social meeting place, however, even into the wee hours. Get an idea you need to bounce off someone? Head to the veranda. Can’t think of a word you need to complete a rhyme in your sestina? Head to the veranda. Can’t finish your bag of popcorn? Don’t worry, your friends on the veranda will devour it for you. Eventually—sometimes as the sky begins to brighten again—the rocking chairs slow, and the last few upright writers head to their beds and dream of new stories before time to rise and do it all again.


Too soon, our residency ended, but the flame of passion for writing still burns strong as each of us work from home to complete our semester assignments. We study the novels and books on our individualized reading lists. We write critical theory papers about what we’ve read, discerning what works and what doesn’t in those stories, and deciding what we’ve learned that we can apply to our own writing. We also write our own stories or essays or poems—creating packets that we’ll send to our mentor every three or four weeks. We stay in touch with our mentors and our cohorts, and always, we look forward to the next semester, when we’ll be together with our like-minded, creative family at Converse.

Using Poetry to Explore Character

Huh? Why would I want to do that?

I introduced this exercise into my novel writing course because poetry was a requirement for the curriculum. But I’ve kept using it because I found it a useful tool to explore character and theme. By concentrating on the poetic forms rather than content, you’re able to stand back and examine your story from different angles that you may otherwise overlook.

I have included some examples drawn from my own story to show you what I mean. Obviously, you don’t have to be a poet to have fun with this. In my experience the more rigid the form for the poetry, the more it frees up different connections. It’s surprising what you can come up with when looking for another syllable.

CINQUAIN:

2 syllables One word giving the title. (noun)
4 syllables Two words that describe the title. (adjectives)
6 syllables Three words that express action. ( Verbs)
8 syllables Four words that express feeling
2 syllables One word that gives the title a different name or, repeat the title possibly using a synonym.

Example-using my main character.

Jake
brave, resourceful
running, fighting, riding
finding place of belonging
Jake

Haiku: Japanese form of poetry, generally used with nature themes. Form requires 17 syllables in three lines with pattern:

5 syllables
7 syllables
5 syllables

Example: Thinking about my antagonist…

Shadow flashes past
vile, repugnant and alone
feasting on your soul

Limerick:
A limerick is a short, funny, often nonsensical poem with a specific rhyme and rhythm pattern.

8-10 syllables rhymes with lines 2 and 5
8-10 syllables rhymes with lines 1 and 5
5- 7 syllables rhymes with line 4
5- 7 syllables rhymes with line 3
8-10 syllables rhymes with lines 1 and 2

Example: I have always been dreadful at these.

There once was a boy who loved to ride trains,
Much train trivia lived in his brain,
Jake knew how much gold
The boxcar could hold
And he even liked riding in the rain.

Rubai:
The Persian word for quatrain, or four-line verse. The rubai is an ancient literary form the Persian poets have used to express their thoughts on diverse subjects. Because a rubai is so short and its rhyme scheme so restrictive, it often makes use of metaphor or imagery to express its meaning.

rhymes with lines 2 and 4
rhymes with lines 1 and 4
usually does not rhyme
rhymes with lines 1 and 2

Example: thinking about my main characters journey

Bringing together a family that has lost its way
Through time and space I must travel in a day
To hell and back before the stroke of twelve
To heal the cracks and finally have my say.

Acrostic
Write your characters name vertically. Then write the lines of your poem, starting with the letters you have written. Each line can be a word, a phrase, or a sentence. I have chosen to do my character’s name. You could also choose the one word which represents the theme or heart of your story.

Journey through time and space
Awakening a sense of purpose and belonging
Keeping fast to convictions
Enlightenment

Look up different forms, experiment and don’t take yourself too seriously.