Back in my days on LiveJournal, the little group I was connected to would occasionally play a game where one member would throw out a list of five or more words and the rest of us would write a poem containing the words on the list. It was a game we didn't play often, but I enjoyed when we did.
I've mentioned British speculative fiction author Jeff Noon's Twitter game #speedlit before:
RULES
20 words or less
no punctuation
lower case
one line break
As a larger meme, it hasn't caught on, and even Mr. Noon doesn't play anymore. Mostly it's just me and the brilliant poet and artist ReVerse Butcher.
Words are my LEGO blocks, my lumber and nails. Programming is such a joy because it's a place where I literally build things out of words and phrases.
So despite playing it in solitaire mode, Mr. Noon's game is one I come back to at regular intervals.
Due to the limits, the initial work is quick and simple, not requiring dedicated time or energy, and lends itself to the way I get tiny flashes of story scenes or strange phrases stuck in my head throughout the day. The mental bits get jotted into a window on my screen where they sit with too many words and commas, and not enough edge or story, as I poke, poke, poke for the next several hours until I'm either satisfied or exasperated.
The rules themselves make no such requirement, but from Noon's early examples and my own internalization, I try to avoid treating the projects as poetry. It would be easy to argue the constraints and most of the forms produced are absolutely a kind of poesy, similar to a haiku, and I have no counter. My own goal, though, is to construct a tight prose narrative, a single degree of story arc containing hints of what came before and where they're going after while containing a sharp stabby sense of what's happening right now.
My own enjoyment comes from processing the original ideas through the mental still set up by dark, boozy pirates the in the Broca's area of my brain, condensing the mash originally put onto the screen into something which meets the constraints, but still contains enough flavor to be valuable. Reducing phrases to their skeletal frames, finding words with a higher degree of specificity or generality or impact, changing order to increase clarity or reduce word count, making myself do without extraneous adjectives and adverbs.
A perfect bit will create a specific image or feeling in the reader and make them intensely curious to know the whole of the story. Maybe:
dream flensing knife
only three seraph pelts
the blind ifrit calls from a back stall
time to go hunting
Or:
he never spoke
of the spider hearts
beating
keeping the watch hands sweeping
or the cost of every midnight chime
An imperfect, but good bit, does function like a haiku: capturing the image or feeling of a moment, but existing mostly outside a larger specific narrative, and making the reader content with what they have, rather than curious about what they don't.
Say:
shapes of morning
cut roughly from the sheet of night
collaged carefully together
a map
etched from real to dream
A failing piece will simply be boring as either poem or narrative, and will be dull and fuzzy rather than sharp and clear. I actually do like this:
already haunted
by future ghosts
she spat at lachesis
keep up or cut me loose
but even I don't remember what it's about or get a clear image of what's happening in its moment.
Some of them contain seeds of fuller stories I'd like to write which Is why I keep them after first throwing them to the scouring winds of Twitter.
I'll tuck the rest under the READ MORE link to keep from annoying the disinterested.
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