Academia as an aesthetic has seen a rise in popularity — especially in America — throughout recent years, although the 1989 movie Dead Poets Society certainly contributed to this increase. And while on the surface, academia is a lovely aesthetic (who doesn’t want to sit by the window while it’s raining, reading poems by Oscar Wilde, wearing tweed jackets and thick-framed sunglasses?) It is also steeped in classism that contributed to the historical imperialism of British society, and currently contributes to the divide in modern British society, setting most of the population at a disadvantage and is the basis for most discrimination and inequality that people in this country face, more so than in any other country.
Since the 14th century, talented poets have been appointed as laureates by governments and various organizations and institutions. A poet laureate composes poems for important occasions and events to help commemorate the festivities and memorialize the events in verse. For example, during the Biden inauguration, the U.S.A.’s first youth poet laureate Amanda Gorman recited an original poem titled “The Hill We Climb”. A laureate holds a prestigious position reserved for a select few talented wordsmiths.
But how does one obtain such a title? It seems so mysterious and allusive, yet people clearly reach that goal of poetic infamy. So, what’s the process?
Here's what photography winner Anya of the JUVEN Myths and Legends Contest have to say about craft, process, and journey.
A continuation of last week's article.
Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, bullying, and mental illness
Minor spoilers for season one of Brimstone Valley Mall
Brimstone Valley Mall is a fiction podcast directed, written and produced by Kristen Dimercurio. The first season premiered in December 2019 and follows a group of demons (from Hell!) who work in a shopping mall, and who are also playing in a band called Mall Rat. It takes place in December 1999, and the series starts off when the lead singer, Hornblas, goes missing a few days before their big show. They’re supposed to be opening for “the Reckoning”, at a massive New Year’s Eve party in Hell, where all the demons will be celebrating “the end of the world” (otherwise known as Y2K).
Author’s note: Hello reader! Before you go ahead and immerse yourself in the article, I wanted to let you know that this is a short narrative essay meant to give writing advice through a cast of characters. It’s a new format I’m trying out, hope you enjoy it!
“Good afternoon, you’ve reached Writer’s Aid, how may we help you today?” the customer support employee asked.
“I would like to schedule a meeting with my main character, please,” I answered.
Entire bookstores and TV stations dedicate themselves to producing literature and entertainment demonstrating the power of Christ and recounting the ways lost sinners turn to Christianity. It’s an every-day story, where people find comfort and purpose in the Christian faith and convert. They’re heartwarming, uplifting, and hopeful. On the other side of the spectrum, however, is the story of a person who grows out of the faith instead of into it.
The Hate You Give is too violent for my ten-year-old cousin. How To Be An Antiracist will quite definitely not hold her attention.
I know that she is aware of what’s going on in America, with the BLM movement or even snatches of conversations about the soldiers in Afghanistan. So how do I get this exceptionally bright Indian-American material that helps her understand issues she shouldn’t have to?
The answer is, as it has been for a while, a good collection of middle grade that zeroes around the experiences of people of color.
In this eccentrically-titled poem, author Doc Luben presents 14 bullet points of varying lengths that– as expected– could be from love letters or suicide notes. He tells two vaguely parallel stories with the exact same words. While a lot of the lines are dramatic one-liners, there are 4 places where the narrator recalls long, specific parts of their past in order to explain the present that people tend to overlook.
If you’re any kind of reader like me, you read way more fiction than not. Literally 2.8 % of my books read this year were non-fiction (that’s two books!). For years non-fiction has felt unwelcoming—the genre of books you read when you need to learn about taxes and self-help, and assigned reading. In short, boring. That was, until I read The Anthropocene Reviewed (TAR) by John Green.