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Writing Yourself Concisely: Bios

25 Word First Person Bio Example: An English Literature & Creative Writing undergraduate, I am interested in Romantic Period and 2oth Century poetry. My poetry is inspired by Plath, Hardy and Wordsworth.

42 Word Third Person Bio Example: English Literature & Creative Writing undergraduate Elinor Bowers is interested in Romantic Period and 2oth Century poetry. Her poetry is inspired by Plath, Hardy and Wordsworth and focuses predominantly upon nature. Bowers frequently chairs local fundraising poetry events for Cancer Research UK.

 

 

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Abduction

Discarded scraps of receipts litter dark marbled floor.  Feet have to wade through these white obstacles and avoid the sticky spillage of Diet Coke. Jostling through the faceless crowd, only backs covered by thick anoraks can be seen. The subdued lighting of the shopping centre trying to calm you into submission. Endless windows for stores selling cheap unmarketable goods create the passageways that wind through this gigantic structure. So large one can see it from seat of a passing train, perhaps taking groups of eager shoppers to the indie shops of Bold Street. Where they can buy their vintage 1970’s biker jackets then slip into an environmentally-friendly vegan café for chai tea lattes and tofu micro-burgers. However in this centre the only foods one can smell are the greasy cheeseburgers of a poor copycat McDonald’s and burnt black coffee.

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Practice Poetry Collection Cover Letter

Dear…

I am writing to you as I have enjoyed much of your published contemporary poetry [insert poem titles and explanation.] I feel my style of writing and the topic of these poems would compliment the other material you represent. I have attached my recent poetry including a synopsis of this collection By Proxy to this email.

By Proxy is a collection of twenty seven poems focussing upon a father’s development of münchausen by proxy, triggered by the separation from his wife of nine years. Each poem can stand alone as a depiction of this rare mental illness. However they do compliment the next and a narrative is slowly revealed to the reader which expresses the complex nature of  münchausen by proxy.

This collection works as a psychological insight into abusive relationships and as a commentary on the loneliness of possessing a wicked secret. It explores the relationship between married couples in decline and of destructive father/son relationships. I think this collection could appeal to a wide range of readers.

My poetry has been especially influenced by the works of Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath, Thomas Hardy and Allen Ginsberg. I believe they tackle complex disturbing matters with a sense of poise and rawness, therefore this collection aims to be both stunningly harsh yet beautifully depicted.

I am currently in my first year of a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing at York St John University. My close work with the mental health sector before university has inspired this collection and given me insight into the mind of potentially dangerous inpatients, therefore this collection has been ongoing for several months.

I am currently working on a second collection of poetry entitled Poems for the Recently Deceased which portray first person accounts of alternative afterlives. I am able to send you several poems from this collection if you would like to view them.

Thank you very much for taking the time to read my work and I look forward to hearing from you.

Regards,

Elinor Bowers

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Tricky

           (Sat in a small train station waiting room, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders)

James: It’s like that time, you know, on sports day when you dropped the baton. I helped you pick it up and then you carried on running. You didn’t win but you didn’t come last either.

Sylvia: It’s nothing like that and you know it. This isn’t a simple matter of picking up a lost item and running on. It’s more than that.

                 (Sylvia shrugs his arm off her shoulders)

James: It kind of is. You made a mistake and I’m here to help you fix it.

Sylvia: And how exactly can I fix this?

James: Sylvia don’t make this more difficult than it already is! You need to fix this. You won’t just wake up and this will all be a dream. This is my life as well!

(Sylvia turns away from him)

Sylvia: Will you come with me?

James: If you want me there then yes. It’s my problem too now…

(Sylvia cuts him off angrily)

Sylvia: Don’t call it that!

(Sylvia turns to face him and James clutches her hand)

James: What do you want me to call it? A mistake? An accident? A fucking error?!

Sylvia (Tearfully): She isn’t a mistake. She is just unexpected.

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Reflection on Scriptwriting

Scriptwriting is a form of narrative I have very rarely explored, mainly due to my families overbearing passion for dramatic performances. However upon studying a scene from The Graduate I realised I already knew the basic constructs for successful scriptwriting. During college I studied The Graduate in detail for several weeks, during this time I realised the power struggles between Mrs Robinson and Benjamin. Their dialogue is much like a game of tennis, each line more forceful and skilled than the next. As they learn about one another they discover each others weaknesses, therefore they become more capable of delivering hits that the opponent cannot deflect. Therefore when we write scripts it is highly important that the characters have a sense of conflict within their lines, whether that is a internal self-conflict or a conflict with other characters.

 

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Red-Blooded

The rich treasures in his mahogany wardrobe,

Filled with denim blues and plaid.

Slipping and zipping into worn and torn jeans,

That hang loosely from my frame.

 

Dressed up in Daddy’s clothes,

Fading into the pale blue wash and milky grey t-shirts.

Until the ignition scares me into retreat.

 

Taped and toned I could trick them all,

They wouldn’t see past my illusion.

Unless our skin clashed and convulsed together,

And the truth would be on their tongue.

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Prole

Wispy hair blown by ashy wind,

Striding past closure after closure,

Escaping from this cul-de-sac;

The shale mountains and rusting machinery.

Distancing yourself from the oxides,

And the silicon dioxide of the slag heap.

The working man’s club with their bitter ale,

The long empty tenements dilapidating daily,

Now nothing, but a smoggy afterthought.

 

 

 

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Hidden

Sunlight cannot penetrate through the heavy curtains,

Permanently protecting the world from you.

 

You with your eyes that banish the smiles,

You with your voice that mutes the angels,

You with your fingers that claw at hope,

You with your alkaline kisses that I cannot resist.

 

You with the rope that tightens around your ghostly throat,

Forcing the sunrise from your grasp.

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Crumpled

Smashed spectacles lying upon stained carpet,

Crinkled dress lying under the single bed,

You and I wrapped  into another.

 

The background music of murmuring voices,

Our soundtrack to each touch;

And each nervous spontaneous embrace.

 

Ivy fingers creep across stoner flesh,

Head foggy with images of you,

And the scent of tobacco.

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The Beginning of Beauty in Decay

Two years ago I became fascinated by urban exploration in my local area. Initially I was nervous about the desire to creep around damp and rusting buildings, fearful that someone may be within the dilapidated abodes. However once summoning courage and armed with my old low resolution camera I ventured into the Birkdale Deaf School several minutes from my family home. Over the next three days I travelled to over six locations around the Southport and Liverpool area. Each location I arrived at I would film several minutes of footage just as a memento of the experience. It was not until I began a college course in Media Studies that I decided to edit this footage into a short video.

Beauty in Decay

Unfortunately rather than my peers being equally fascinated by urbexing the usual responses I received were warnings about trespassing and deranged psychopaths lurking in the shadows. Luckily I am yet to experience the negative attributions urban exploration has been assigned, instead I find it a liberating and beautiful hobby.

My first experience of urbexing happened during my childhood, however I was not aware of the its name at the time. My father used to take my sister and I on walks around the neighbourhood. Each time we would take these walks we would walk past several large abandoned houses. Years past and we would witness the slow erosion of metal fences, the walls becoming more hidden by a thick carpet of ivy and the cars rusting on the gravel driveway. One day when I was eight years old walking with my father we stopped outside one of the large detached mansion and starred at the derelict property. We ended up climbing over the low brick wall, however instead of feeling a rush of adrenaline I felt a serene stillness creep over me. The loneliness of the house seemed to comfort me and as we walked towards a side door my father turned the handle and the kitchen was revealed to us. Standing in the dusty kitchen with tins of soup still in the cupboards and plates laid on the table. The house was as if the family had been evacuated, forced to leave everything they own; leaving a museum of their existence for me to witness. My father confidently strolled throughout the rooms of the ground floor while I trailed behind him observing family photographs, torn newspapers and stained carpets. I picked up the car keys that were placed in a glass bowl on a side table and I placed them within my pocket. I wanted to remember this experience therefore the keys became a souvenir of this visit. However an urban exploration rule I have often read about on forums is that one should never take any possessions from buildings. Therefore when I researched urbexing I began I realised I should not take anything, however I still had the desire to have mementos of each exploration. Therefore I decided I would take my trusty Nikon camera to the buildings so I could document the occasion. And so my urbexing photography began!