A Writer Emerges

In middle school my love for reading quickly turned into a love for writing. I was emotionally twisted and found a loyal friend in my notebook. I began writing pages and pages of poetry. I even entered my poems in local contests and actually won. I believed that I had found what it was I was meant to do in life.

My writing style was heavily ornate and utterly dark. Poetry and teen angst make for morbid imagery. Add a fascination with vampires and preoccupation with death and you get some beautifully tragic verses. In many ways writing saved me by allowing me to purge myself of that darkness, but a high school English teacher almost muzzled my inner voice.

We had an assignment to write a poem using iambic pentameter. I loved these kinds of assignments because I felt like I could really embrace my artistic ability in school work. I turned in my poem and was confident that she would be impressed with my talent. Instead she negatively criticized my poem over two lines she said were incorrect because I used a mixed metaphor.

I was appalled. How could something I wrote be incorrect? Wasn’t there such a thing as poetic/artistic license?

My response to this? I wrote another poem…completely filled with nothing but mixed metaphors. From that point – like my attitude with many things – I raged against being restricted. That’s really what it’s all about. Poetic license is the literary way to say bite me, I don’t need your rules.

You’ll see this attitude come out in a lot of my writing.

One thought on “A Writer Emerges”

  1. Bruised ego …is a terrible thing to deal with. I remember, I had a
    “death’ blow like that in English comp in 1971 at HCC. Obviously, it had an effect on me; I still haven’t forgotten it. And now, 41 years later, I still get crushed … but just not as often; and, it’s not the death thrust it once was. I just learn from it and go on. But, yah no, that bruise is still there and it still “smarts” when I touch it. Good read’n you!! Have a big life!! G. 🙂

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