Comments on Quality

Scrittura Poetics

What makes for quality prose and poetry?

Since taking over Scrittura, I have attempted to make its niche on Medium a place where quality stories are published. Not that there isn’t plenty of quality out there, but we strive to also bring out the best images you can write. We’re not a publication that simply hits “Publish”. We look over, carefully, all your stories and try to help out by pointing you in directions to write the strongest pieces you can.

One of our editors recently made the observation that, with regards to the comments they had left on a piece for further work, it was perceived as pointing out mistakes. What they were trying to do was help the writer put together their best piece, and this goes beyond “mistakes”. I know that with a term that is as fluid as “quality”, there’s bound to be a whole swath of interpretation. Indeed, there are quite a few of us writing, after all. And we’re not all engaged in the same project; or, the project is the same, to write, but the ways we all go about engaging with our various subjects, passions, can be radically different.

You won’t ever hear me say that there’s only one way to write a piece, prose or poetry.

Hel. I’ve probably changed my stylistic devices five, six, maybe more times over the past year. True, I forget what I’ve written soon after it’s published (my memory just isn’t what it used to be). But I believe, more accurately, we believe (at Scrittura), that there are just a few basic properties of quality writing that we can carry across various writing styles.

Ever since Zay and I took over this publication last July, with the later additions of the incredibly talented Eli Snow, Viraji Ogodapola and Jessica Lee McMillan, and, now, Melissa Coffey (I flatter myself feeling that I have been working with some of the brightest constellations in the Medium sky), we’ve been discussing what makes a quality piece of writing, especially poetry, since that is what Scrittura publishes in the main, what we love the most. I’ve been tossing and turning around the idea of how to present such a poetics, and though it’s a year or so late, we’re getting around to formulating a formal idea of what it means to write solid poetry, the kind that makes us hold our collective breath, that makes us feel deeply along with you, that makes the world of poetry fall to its knees…

What follows isn’t a lecture, but a collection of experiences. Believe me, when you are editing a publication (never mind two or three, like a madman might…), you read an awful lot of words. As writers, especially poets, we know that a huge portion of our market is other writers. It’s only part of the “natural” process that we share, learn from each other, describe things as best as we can, and support each other in our writing journeys. This is only a part of that. We want all of us to grow as writers; we’re thrilled to have you on that road with us, so we’re reaching out to show you what we’ve collaborated on.

Feel free to review this as often as you wish. We’re not trying to instruct, again, but we think that having a guide like this will strengthen us all. It’s very helpful to write a thing out when you want to be very clear on what it is you think.

(N.B. Everyone, but everyone, who is just starting out and wants to learn how to write well, will benefit from reading Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg; that’s been my song and dance since the beginning, and that isn’t about to change!)

1. Grammar and word choice

We all know that when you misplace a comma, an apostrophe, use “there” instead of “their”, you can drastically change the meaning of your sentence. This isn’t to say that there aren’t occasions where diverging from these rules isn’t a recipe for emphatic, emotionally-driven punches. There are. But unless you know the point you’re trying to make by taking liberties (consider those who write always in the lower case; it isn’t grammatically correct to write “i”, but we understand that this has been done on purpose), a piece comes off as sloppy and sometimes well nigh unreadable.

If you’re not sure/aware of why you’d put it that way, then the reader won’t have a clue, either. (As a former art teacher told me, Picasso could draw like Da Vinci by age 12, and only after he’d mastered that did he begin taking liberties with the painted form [note: hearsay]).

2. Images — Concrete vs. Abstract

We all know, and love, the abstract. But if you’re going to tell me merely that something was “beautiful”, that doesn’t really help me visualize what it is, what feeling, what important experience you’re trying to get across.

If, instead you write:

the skunk was crushed into the roadway a patch of painted highway a canvas that wasn’t meant to be read…

(That’s just off the top of my head, merely illustrative), then I have a much clearer idea of a) what you saw, so b) why it’s interesting to you/captivated you/made you write about it, and, therefore, c) it becomes interesting to me.

A lot of abstracts, especially “love”, “truth”, “faith”, “justice”…these are concepts that come with a million (or more) connotations, and they attach to us all differently. As wonderful and inspiring as they may be. Take pity on your reader: elucidate with metaphor/simile, and make it concrete! “It was just beautiful/ because I could see sky” isn’t any less abstract. Sure, the sky is a noun, but is it dark, light, cloudy, partly cloudy, noonday bright, hour of the wolf…? These are the details that bring us closer to your experience. Your readers will be grateful!

3. The Image — Critical for Scrittura

The image isn’t actually confined to one, or even a handful, of metaphors and simply dropping solid, concrete objects into the work. Quality poetry contains a subject that is itself an image. This is what you were after when you sat down to write the thing.

It also means that the way you present your words matters, too, in the way the words inhabit the space you intend to give to them. Some poetic forms have stricter rules about how the form looks (sonnet, for instance), but in general, especially with free verse, you’re hardly limited by word count or syllabic metrics.

4. Re-Read Your Work

The last property common to quality pieces is that the authors have reread them. None of us are perfect the first time we dash something off. Almost every poem concerns something big enough to warrant the extra thought put into a second, third, or fourth draft.

Again, you determine what you’re after. For instance, I used to prefer a rawer quality in my work; that just rocks my bed. But I reread everything so, even if I don’t catch every single error, there might be things to add, thoughts you’re lead to after the fact. Or, you might find there’s a phrase that feels clumsy or ineffective. A reread gives you the first crack at making some of these determinations. It’s a respectful, helpful process. It is indeed difficult, if you’re entirely passive regarding the content of what you wrote but you want to publish something just so you could publish something, to make that something pop…This is (usually) a recipe for weak work.

Finally, if you’re ever in doubt, ask a writer whose work you respect to look your work over. If you’re after something in particular, this makes it easy to figure out who to direct your piece to. Writing is not a one-size-fits-all phenomenon. That’s why we spend so much bloody time with it! And that time feels that much better when we’ve put our best poetic foot forward. Keep on sending us those diamonds!

J.D. Harms 2021