There was a young boy called Ed
Who wrote a story about his ted.
His mother did remark,
“It is getting dark,
And you and ted must go to bed!”
(Ted or teddy, is frequently used as a shortened form of teddy bear, particularly by young children).
The sun shone this evening as I strolled from my office in Whitehall to Embankment tube.
The roads seemed empty apart from the presence of police vehicles, who’s sirens joined with the noise of the helicopter to disturb the tranquillity of the evening.
No one appeared to be manning the “Evening Standard” stall outside Embankment station, which seemed odd given the events of the day.
“Watch out for card clash”, the automated announcement said as we commuters filed along, in a more or less orderly fashion.
I passed part of my journey home, from Victoria to Gipsy Hill, in conversation with a lady. We spoke about my guide dog, Trigger.
Just another daily commute then, when I reached the pub, the horror of the day replayed again on television.
—
My place of work is in Whitehall, some little distance from Parliament where the terrorist atrocity occurred this afternoon. I am unharmed and (fortunately) none of my colleagues or friends where affected by today’s incident. However the shock remains with me.
A thrumming in the wire.
Rising desire
By commuters to enter
The tube’s centre.
Wrapped in the tunnel’s dark embrace
We race
Towards our destination.
A brief anticipation,
Then we disgorge at our station.
On checking my email this morning, I was delighted to learn that my collection of poetry, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” (http://moyhill.com/lost/) has received a great review.
To read the review please visit (https://laurenwalsburg.com/2017/03/21/review-lost-in-the-labyrinth-of-my-mind-by-k-morris/).
There was a young man called Matt
Who said “poetry is old hat”.
His brother Jim
Disagreed with him.
It ended in a spat!
Would
That I could
Find Chrysanthemums in bud.
For those in bloom
Are gone to soon.
I remember the sweet scent
Of the chrysanthemums that bloomed
In my grandfather’s garden.
Entombed,
They are long since spent.
I expressed a view, contrary to your own.
Now I am alone
Thinking on the old adage that one ought
Not to talk,
About religion, politics and sport.
“The daffodils are out in Saint James’s Park”
My colleague did remark.
Today
The wind blusters
Through Wordsworth’s spritely clusters,
And I wonder how long will the chancers stay.
When I taught college writing, I told students to write like they talk.
I didn’t mean write like you really talk.
If we taped and transcribed our conversations, we’d quit reading after the first page. In everyday conversation we use filler language to give our brains precious seconds to catch up with our words, we backtrack to fill in details we previously forgot.
From time to time we expel word farts.
For example:
“Like, Carol and I were driving, you know what I mean? When this badass cop, I mean really badass, six foot tall in navy blue, nazi jackboots, you could tell he wanted to bust anyone to put another notch in his badge. Where was I? Oh, yeh, he pulls us over, we were driving seventy, like, I mean…we were in Dripping Springs which is about twenty miles south of Oak Hill, if you’ve never been out that way? No shitting? Man, I thought everyone knew about Oak Hill even if they never drove through. But anyway, the only other drivers are rednecks and blue haired ladies, I kid you not…”
I use the phrase “Write like you talk” as a metaphor for stripping the pretension from your writing, writing to communicate rather than impress. In non-fiction that means make sure to make your point clear. In fiction that means no distractions; keep the reader in the story.
“Write like you talk” doesn’t mean leave no room for art, tropes, themes and metaphor. In fact, writing without artistry can turn away readers as quickly as murky prose. It means that you shouldn’t front-load your prose to impress readers with your artistry, but to enhance the story. If it distracts the reader, if it draws attention to you and away from the story, then you might as well write poetry.
However, even should you turn to poetry, the best poets would advise you that art should never distract the reader from the poem. The only time you want the reader to dwell on the trope is when she reaches the last line, the image lingers in the corners of her consciousness and she thinks, “Wow.”
The artistry in your story should be like that. It should linger at the back of the reader’s consciousness. They might not even recognize it until another reader points it out. Readers want to ride in the passenger seat at full speed until you dump them at the destination. Ride over. Their response should be. “Ride over? No way. Let me back in the car.”
Crafting a good story requires walking a fine balance between clarity and artistry. Hopefully the adage, “write like you talk,” will remind you that every story should carry a quality of ordinary conversation.
Compare the writing of Pynchon and Joyce to Hemingway and William Carlos Williams. Which impresses and which do you follow without wrestling with meaning?
You don’t want your readers (especially when you write non-fiction) to think, “He was a brilliant writer. I didn’t understand a word he said.”
Twitter: @stephenspt
Cigerets, Guns & Beer: Kindle, paperback
Seeing Jesus: Kindle, paperback
Raising Hell: Kindle, paperback
The Worst Noel: Kindle, paperback
“The Hellelujah Trail,” free on Smashwords
“A Christmas Carol: The Sequel,” Smorgasbord—Variety is The Spice of Life
“Quantum Noir” Wind Eggs
“Free Wheeling Free Association and the Theme Park Rangers of Death,” Hell’s Grannies: Kickass Tales of the Crone
“Hell’s Kitties,” Hell’s Kitties: and Other Beastly Beasts
The Poetry That Drives and Divides Faith International Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Society (1:43)
”Science and the Language Wars,” International Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Society(2:4)
There was a young leader called Lee
Who shouted “all you people follow me!”.
He ran straight ahead,
Then stopped dead,
On account of hitting a tree!
K Morris - Poet 