Ars Poetica, From the Mind of an Aspiring Novelist
Poetry is hard.
Imagine, having to construct a world with six words
instead of sixty thousand. Having the imagination
run wild but having no space to express it in detail. Wanting
to explain yourself but being told to get to the point.
Just how can something so restrictive be enjoyable?
Tying random words together in a rhythm, or stuffing them
with hidden meanings as they waddle into single file lines.
Or displaying one aspect but hearing others that seem “way off”.
Wherein some forms you can be a god, in this form, you are at the mercy
of the words you speak. It’s not you who give them life,
rather it’s the audience they…approach.
Huh, you know, that’s kind of beautiful when you think about it.
Doesn’t make it any easier though.