One of the oldest writing commandments is “Show, don’t tell”, but obeying it gets difficult when our work takes us into our most difficult emotions or experiences. We want to honor those moments, but in doing so we often wander into being too prescriptive, or performative, or precious with them.
Together we will dig into practical tools and tricks we can use to pull ourselves and our readers into those places without telling the thing to death.
Preorder Tyler’s first full length poetry collection out on October 20th: GERANIUM.
In Geranium: A Floral History of the World, memory and mythology are synonyms, the heart is a wild animal with teeth, and grief is the inheritance of love.
Structured around the four final photographs Robert Landsburg took during the eruption of Mount St. Helens, this collection is a journey into accepting an irreducible human truth: our lives introduce us to a great beauty we cannot control and will not survive. It wrestles in the dark with the angelic question of whether love is our attempt at eternity or our acknowledgement of it, and it is unconcerned with how we look to the people around us when we confess to spending our nights talking to ghosts.
In turns both mystical and brutally real, Geranium is a meditation on Whitman's days that must happen to us and an altar to the parts of us that survive them.
One of the oldest writing commandments is “Show, don’t tell”, but obeying it gets difficult when our work takes us into our most difficult emotions or experiences. We want to honor those moments, but in doing so we often wander into being too prescriptive, or performative, or precious with them.
Together we will dig into practical tools and tricks we can use to pull ourselves and our readers into those places without telling the thing to death.
Preorder Tyler’s first full length poetry collection out on October 20th: GERANIUM.
In Geranium: A Floral History of the World, memory and mythology are synonyms, the heart is a wild animal with teeth, and grief is the inheritance of love.
Structured around the four final photographs Robert Landsburg took during the eruption of Mount St. Helens, this collection is a journey into accepting an irreducible human truth: our lives introduce us to a great beauty we cannot control and will not survive. It wrestles in the dark with the angelic question of whether love is our attempt at eternity or our acknowledgement of it, and it is unconcerned with how we look to the people around us when we confess to spending our nights talking to ghosts.
In turns both mystical and brutally real, Geranium is a meditation on Whitman's days that must happen to us and an altar to the parts of us that survive them.
