Monday, 13 August 2012

Turning them Loose.

This week on the Dead Good Blog, we’ll be looking at that age old audience splitter, Poetic Forms.  It is a subject I’ve seen light fires on message boards, bringing the radicals out with the Caps Lock and the traditionalists quoting their stanzas. I’ll be interested to see what comes up this week.

I’m prone to shifting myself. As a writer, I have at times scuttled across the corridors to the rogue side and unleashed some free pieces on the world. Other times, usually the more reserved and considered moments, I have sought sanctitude in the constriction that comes with form- the tried and tested, universally respected method. I’ll remind you here, amidst  all this that the word at the top was shifting, it was definitely F in there.

So, what bus are we all on with this? Can we be on both or do they lead to inevitably separate destinations. I suppose, as both a writer and a person we tend to have our moments. I know that I myself will always try and have at least an idea where I am going with a piece, try and crimp the contents to fit the required space.

I find a fixed form can help, sometimes offer inspiration and if you are going to take this method, there is often a library of reading material to pick at whilst you await the Eureka moment. That said, if I could give anyone a bit of advice it is to have the confidence in yourself to just break one loose now and again. Give it a good old grinding down and see how it looks. It might just be the best decision you ever make. It could just be dog but you’ll never know if you don’t try.

Keep on writing,



Ashley R Lister said...

Sound advice.

Of course, you know that I adore form because it's so versatile. But I'll probably end up blogging about that on Saturday.


Adele said...

I find the regularity of a Shakespearean sonnet pretty sound. Helped me overcome the addiction to the rhyming couplets that perpetually circulate in my head. the result of a mispent childhood reciting The Bird and the Moggy and then repeating the error with my own children with Roald Dahl. The sonnet still rhymes but not every line!