Read Like A Writer

There are two ways to learn how to write fiction: by reading it and by writing it. Yes, you can learn lots about writing stories in workshops, in writing classes and writing groups, at writers' conferences. You can learn technique and process by reading the dozens of books like this one on fiction writing and by reading articles in writers' magazines. But the best teachers of fiction are the great works of fiction themselves. You can learn more about the structure of a short story by reading Anton Chekhov's 'Heartache' than you can in a semester of Creative Writing 101. If you read like a writer, that is, which means you have to read everything twice, at least. When you read a story or novel the first time, just let it happen. Enjoy the journey. When you've finished, you know where the story took you, and now you can go back and reread, and this time notice how the writer reached that destination. Notice the choices he made at each chapter, each sentence, each word. (Every word is a choice.) You see now how the transitions work, how a character gets across a room. All this time you're learning. You loved the central character in the story, and now you can see how the writer presented the character and rendered her worthy of your love and attention. The first reading is creative—you collaborate with the writer in making the story. The second reading is critical.


John Dufresne, from his book, The Lie That Tells A Truth: A Guide to Writing Fiction

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Wednesday, July 6, 2022

Georgian Poetry 1920-22 by Lascelles Abercrombie et al.

Georgian Poetry 1920-22 by Lascelles Abercrombie et al.
 

Georgian Poetry 1920-22 

by 

Lascelles Abercrombie et al.

The Poetry Bookshop
35 Devonshire St. Theobalds Rd.
London W.C.1

MCMXXII



To Alice Meynell

 

 Table of Contents


Prefatory Note

Lascelles Abercrombie

 
Ryton Firs    

Martin Armstrong

 
The Buzzards
Honey Harvest
Miss Thompson Goes Shopping  
 

Edmund Blunden

 
The Poor Man's Pig
Almswomen
Perch-fishing
The Giant Puffball
The Child's Grave
April Byeway   
 

William H. Davies

 
The Captive Lion
A Bird's Anger
The Villain
Love's Caution
Wasted Hours
The Truth

Walter de la Mare


The Moth
Sotto Voce
Sephina
Titmouse
Suppose
The Corner Stone  
 

John Drinkwater


Persuasion    

John Freeman


I Will Ask
The Evening Sky
The Caves
Moon-Bathers
In Those Old Days
Caterpillars
Change    

Wilfrid Gibson


Fire
Barbara Fell
Philip and Phœbe Ware
By the Weir
Worlds  
 

Robert Graves


Lost Love
Morning Phœnix
A Lover Since Childhood
Sullen Moods
The Pier-Glass
The Troll's Nosegay
Fox's Dingle
The General Elliott
The Patchwork Bonnet

Richard Hughes


The Singing Furies
Moonstruck
Vagrancy
Poets, Painters, Puddings   
 

William Kerr


In Memoriam D. O. M.
Past and Present
The Audit
The Apple Tree
Her New-Year Posy
Counting Sheep
The Trees at Night
The Dead    

D. H. Lawrence


Snake    
 

Harold Monro


Thistledown
Real Property
Unknown Country   
 

Robert Nichols


Night Rhapsody
November  
 

J. D. C. Fellow


After London
On a Friend who died suddenly upon the Seashore
Tenebræ
When All is Said    

Frank Prewett


To my Mother in Canada
Voices of Women
The Somme Valley
Burial Stones
Snow-Buntings
The Kelso Road
Baldon Lane
Come Girl, and Embrace   
 

Peter Quennell


Procne
A Man to a Sunflower
Perception
Pursuit    
 

V. Sackville-West


A Saxon Song
Mariana in the North
Full Moon
Sailing Ships
Trio
Bitterness
Evening  
  

Edward Shanks


The Rock Pool
The Glade
Memory
Woman's Song
The Wind
A Lonely Place 
 

J. C. Squire


Elegy
Meditation in Lamplight
Late Snow   
 

Francis Brett Young


Seascape
Scirocco
The Quails
Song at Santa Cruz   
Bibliography

Prefatory Note


When the fourth volume of this series was published three years ago, many of the critics who had up till then, as Horace Walpole said of God, been the dearest creatures in the world to me, took another turn. Not only did they very properly disapprove my choice of poems: they went on to write as if the Editor of Georgian Poetry were a kind of public functionary, like the President of the Royal Academy; and they asked — again, on this assumption, very properly — who was E. M. that he should bestow and withhold crowns and withhold crowns and sceptres, and decide that this or that poet was or was not to count.

This, in the words of Pirate Smee, was a kind of a compliment, but it was also, to quote the same hero, galling; and I have wished for an opportunity of disowning the pretension which I found attributed to me of setting up as a pundit, or a pontiff, or a Petronius Arbiter; for I have neither the sure taste, nor the exhaustive reading, nor the ample leisure which would be necessary in any such role.

The origin of these books, which is set forth in the memoir of Rupert Brooke, was simple and humble. I found, ten years ago, that there were a number of writers doing work which appeared to me extremely good, but which was narrowly known; and I thought that anyone, however unprofessional and meagrely gifted, who presented a conspectus of it in a challenging and manageable form might be doing a good turn both to the poets and to the reading public. So, I think I may claim, it proved to be. The first volume seemed to supply a want. It was eagerly bought; the continuation of the affair was at once taken so much for granted as to be almost unavoidable; and there has been no break in the demand for the successive books. If they have won for themselves any position, there is no possible reason except the pleasure they have given.

Having entered upon a course of disclamation, I should like to make a mild protest against a further charge that Georgian Poetry has merely encouraged a small clique of mutually indistinguishable poetasters to abound in their own and each other's sense or nonsense. It is natural that the poets of a generation should have points in common; but to my fond eye those who have graced these collections look as diverse as sheep to their shepherd, or the members of a Chinese family to their uncle; and if there is an allegation which I would deny with both hands, it is this: that an insipid sameness is the chief characteristic of an anthology which offers — to name almost at random seven only out of forty (oh ominous academic number!) — the work of Messrs. Abercrombie, Davies, de la Mare, Graves, Lawrence, Nichols and Squire.

The ideal Georgian Poetry — a book which would err neither by omission nor by inclusion, and would contain the best, and only the best poems of the best, and only the best poets of the day — could only be achieved, if at all, by dint of a Royal Commission. The present volume is nothing of the kind.

I may add one word bearing on my aim in selection. Much admired modern work seems to me, in its lack of inspiration and its disregard of form, like gravy imitating lava. Its upholders may retort that much of the work which I prefer seems to them, in its lack of inspiration and its comparative finish, like tapioca imitating pearls. Either view — possibly both — may be right. I will only say that with an occasional exception for some piece of rebelliousness or even levity which may have taken my fancy, I have tried to choose no verse but such as in Wordsworth's phrase:

The high and tender

Muses shall accept

With gracious smile, 

deliberately pleased. 

There are seven new-comers — Messrs. Armstrong, Blunden, Hughes, Kerr, Prewett and Quennell, and Miss Sackville-West. Thanks and acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Jonathan Cape, Chatto and Windus, R. Cobden-Sanderson, Constable, W. Collins, Heinemann, Hodder and Stoughton, John Lane, Macmillan, Martin Secker, Selwyn and Blount, Sidgwick and Jackson, and the Golden Cockerel Press; and to the Editors of The Chapbook, The London Mercury and The Westminster Gazette.

E. M.

July, 1922

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