The Time Is Now

“The American experiment will end in 2030 she said / looking into the cards, / the charts, the stars, the mathematics of it,” writes Jorie Graham in “Time Frame,” a poem in her latest collection, To 2040, out today from Copper Canyon Press. The book’s title suggests both a dedication and an urgent address, casting the poems therein as reflections on the age of the Anthropocene and calls to action to protect the earth’s natural wonders. Write a poem that illustrates and reflects on your vision of the future, whether hopeful or woeful. Use the open-endedness of this prompt to fold in as many aspects of the future as possible, including your personal journey and what you foresee for the natural world.

In her essay “Why Do We Keep Telling Sister Stories?” published on Electric Literature, writer and filmmaker Tia Glista reflects on the surplus of stories in literature, visual art, and film that revolve around the dynamics of sisters, ranging from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women to the reality show series Keeping Up With the Kardashians. In the essay, Glista writes about growing up without sisters and how these stories guided her ideals of femininity. “I found surrogate sisters in pop culture; the Olsen twins’ bevy of straight-to-VHS buddy movies taught me how to plan slumber parties and inspired every fashion choice that I sported in kindergarten,” writes Glista. Write an essay that reflects on the kinds of stories you grew up with and how they connect to who you are today.

According to a 2022 YouGov online poll, half of Americans consume true crime content, and one in three say they consume it at least once a week. Popular podcasts such as Serial as well as television shows and streaming series such as Unsolved Mysteries and Dahmer are proof of the continuing trend. The suspenseful genre invites enthusiasts into the lives of serial killers, kidnappers, law enforcement, and in some cases, the victims of the crimes. The poll showed that many enjoy the genre for the sense of suspense and excitement, but also to understand criminals and their motivations. This week, write a story inspired by true crime dramas. Whose perspective will you write from?

“I love to take an object made all but invisible by its mundanity—an egg-shaped container of pantyhose, a lawn chair turned on its side—and break it open to expose the full dimensions of the human vulnerability it carries,” writes Danielle Blau in her Craft Capsule essay “Somewhere Somebody Is Doing Something Right Now,” in which she explores how she creates characters for her poems. Write a poem that attempts to expose the full dimensions of an object and how it offers a reflection of a person, whether yourself or another character. What is the significance of this object and how does it exemplify human vulnerability?

In a video featured in the Poets & Writers Theater, Hilton Als reads from his essay “Tristes Tropiques,” which appears in his book White Girls (McSweeney’s, 2014), recounting the story of how he was named after his mother’s best friend’s child who died at birth. “The minute I was born I was not just myself, but the memory of someone else,” reads Als. How did you get your name? Write an essay that tells the story behind your name. Examine the metaphorical and historical meanings of your name and allow your feelings to carry you through the essay’s unfolding.

In a recent New York Times article, reporter Gina Kolata writes about a series of medical discoveries and family secrets surrounding eighteenth-century German composer Ludwig van Beethoven. An international group of researchers published a paper last month after DNA analysis of what were known to be strands of Beethoven’s hair. Their report debunks many long-held myths about the composer including his cause of death, how he lost his hearing, and his living descendants. Inspired by this scientific and historical drama, write a story in which a scientific discovery reveals intimate secrets about a famous person. With the steady rise of genetic research being conducted, consider the intersection between science and personal history.

“What I adore is not horses, with their modern / domestic life span of 25 years. What I adore / is a bug that lives only one day,” writes Natalie Shapero in her poem “Not Horses,” published in the November 2013 issue of Poetry magazine. Shapero redirects the reader from horses to the short lifespan of a bug within the first few lines of the poem and in doing so creates a humorous tension between the title and the body of the poem that adds character to the unique speaker. This week write a poem that moves quickly from one subject to the next. Consider how your mind shifts from one thought to another and carry that tone forward into the poem.

In “Dedications and Acknowledgments: The Art of Giving Thanks,” published on the Poets & Writers website in 2019, author Sloane Tanen discusses ways to offer gratitude to the people who help writers make books. Although some acknowledgment pages take the form of demonstrating how well connected a writer is, the pages can also be a space for writers to look back on how writing a book is more than just a solitary act. As an exercise, try making a list of all the writers, teachers, friends, family members, and favorite foods that contribute to your betterment as a writer. Then, write an essay that gives thanks and digs into the details of how these specific people and things have helped you become the writer you are today.

In response to a series of pension reforms by French president Emmanuel Macron, municipal waste collectors began a strike earlier this month, leaving over 10,000 tons of trash to collect on the streets of Paris. Viral videos have documented the City of Light transformed into a strange landscape of black bags, abandoned toilets, strewn furniture, and cardboard boxes. This week, write a story in which a set of events triggers a city’s landscape to change dramatically. The setting can be based on real events or surrealistic, as with Donald Barthelme’s short story “The Balloon,” published in the New Yorker in 1966.

In Ada Limón’s poem “Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds,” which appears in her collection Bright Dead Things (Milkweed Editions, 2015), the speaker moves through the memories of exes and accidents, including how a friend is obsessed with plane crashes: “He memorizes the wrecked metal details, / the clear cool skies cut by black scars of smoke. / Once, while driving, he told me about all the crashes: / The one in blue Kentucky, in yellow Iowa. / How people go on, and how people don’t.” Write a poem about a specific detail or unexpected obsession of a loved one. How does this trait color the memories you have with that person?