100 Word Challenge · NaPoWriMo · Poetry · Writing

Facing the Beast ~ A #NaPoWriMo Post

When I was at University I took a module called Sudden Prose and it was both one of my favourite and most hated modules. It involved learning about the arts of Flash Fiction and of Prose Poetry.

One of these I loved and the other I hated.

Flash Fiction, as anyone who reads this blog with any regularity will know, is something I enjoy. The challenge of crafting a story in as few words as possible is exciting and keeps me thinking. I love taking part in the 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups and writing stories in just a couple of hundred words is an art I have come to regard as a favourite activity.

I still have virtually no idea what a Prose Poem is supposed to be.

Looking back through my Uni work, I apparently wrote a couple (obviously I had to write some during the module) but they feel awkward – like I didn’t really have a grasp of where I was going or how I was supposed to get there. I just didn’t get it.

However, I am using NaPoWriMo as a vehicle to discover more about poetry and to experiment with as many different forms and ideas as I can. Partly in honour of National Poetry Month and partly because it is something I like but know relatively little about over all.

With that in mind, and spurred on by Carrie’s obvious love for the genre (she did, after all, teach the Sudden Prose module I was so torn over), I have spent a while reading about Prose Poetry and my poem for the 2nd of April was the result.

Is it any good? I honestly have no idea because I’m still not entirely sure I have grasped the concept, but the only way to find out is to share and learn. Any feedback at all will be greatly appreciated, even if you too, have no idea what a Prose Poem is.

Facing The Beast

She didn’t know where to start. The words swirled around her like a rainbow vortex; a tower of syllables and sounds untouchable as they flew by. Inspiring, fleeting, intimidating. There was no clear beginning and no clear ending as she sat and stared into the tumult only she could see. To the observer she was a girl looking thoughtfully into the middle distance; in her mind she was a writer struggling to grasp the concept of prose poetry and hold it down. Desperate to pin it to a page but unsure on how to handle the language she normally moulded with ease. It was a new beast to her and no books she read taught her how to tame it. Trial and error, it would soon appear, was to be her way through. Stumbling fingers on well worn keys sought a new path as she battled her way to write this elusive form. Had she done it? Perhaps. It is hard to catch a creature you can’t really see.

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