Tag: Creative Writing
First Words: My First Poetry Event
On Wednesday I had my first poetry event. I have been organising this event for the last three weeks and it has been a struggle. I quickly realised several problems with my organisational skills:
- Don’t organise an event for the first time alone! You will get extremely stressed and upset if you are prone to anxiety.
- Don’t attempt to carry over ten litres of alcohol! You will end up with bruises across your hips where the bottles have hit against your torso.
- Don’t expect everyone speaker to turn up! Two speakers did not attend the event and I was not prepared for this, resulting in stress.
On a whole I enjoyed the event and I was very impressed by Henry Raby’s performance poetry, as it lifted the mood of the event. I am very grateful to all the first years at York St John who performed and those who attended the event.
Finally my last piece of advice, do not drink all the left over wine!
Young Adult Fictional Opening: Scaling Down
The sickly dishes were being passed around, like the flu was spread from student to student in my chemistry class. The uproar from the Bar Mitzvah caused tinnitus clouds to disperse my thoughts. I watched as my mother woefully consumed knotted bread, like a locust that didn’t wish to feed but has the subconscious urge to do so. That was Day 6 of the Purge, I named it so due to the euphoria and purity emptiness gives me. I should probably explain what triggered Day 1, but even now I cannot quite recall where the thought came from.
I heard an array of explanations for my situation , but still none seemed to make much sense. It was not societal pressure branding me with unrealistic images. It was not so I could improve my long distant running skills. It was simply a thought that made perfect sense.
I’m Jake. 17. Jewish. Semi-orphaned. Anorexic. My mother and I are binaries that only exist because of the other. I am anorexic and she is obese. Without my anorexia she would not be obese and without her obesity I would not be anorexic. She says it is as if I am the sun and she the earth; she can always see me and I her. However we will never touch, never meet, never embrace one another. Our distance is fated and set out in stone, we cannot ever truly understand one another.
Since my father died she has been cooking. Borscht, Brisket, Farfel, Goulash, Knish, Lox, Schnitzel. A range of foods that only the Jewish seem to know. But since my father died I have been starving, perhaps as a form of rebellion against the deeply embedded shards of Judaism that I wish I could remove. To me the performance in the Synagogue is unbearable, like a terribly cliché melodrama where all the actors are oblivious to the fact it is indeed just a pretence.
A Very Brief Review of ‘Requiem for a Dream’
Hubert Selby Junior’s 1978 novel Requiem for a Dream is considered a cult novel by many, upon reading it for the second time I also came to realise its powerful impact. If you perhaps thought Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby or Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray depicted hedonism to a high degree then you have not experienced anything yet. Requiem for a Dream follows the lives of four New Yorkers who all experience intense addiction. The gritty and raw slang filled dialogue between Tyrone and Harry can initially be very difficult for a reader to decipher, however if you persevere you will completely succumb to the charms of Hubert Selby Junior’s writing. The addictions range from heroin to weight loss. Sara, Harry’s Jewish and television obsessed mother becomes slowly more preoccupied by the need to lose weight, which climaxes to a dramatic and unsettling account of her experience in a mental health institute. Similar to Piercy’s Woman on the Edge of Time societal corruption is at the forefront of this novel; with Tyrone being racially discriminated, Sara being force-fed and made to endure electrotherapy and Marion, Harry’s girlfriend being forced to prostitute herself in order to score a hit.
This novel has the tension of Palahnuik’s Fight Club and the gritty vocabulary of Ginsberg’s Howl. Although I highly recommend the film adaptation I still urge you to read a copy of this novel as it is devastatingly poetic and beautifully sublime.
First Words
This is a York St John University poetry event I am chairing. I decided to organise this event as a response for being awarded the SPARK Arts scholarship. I have seven poets performing alongside myself, so hopefully I can muster up an audience.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.