Micro Fiction Challenge: Poetaster
Posted by David Duhr in 
This month’s Micro Fiction Challenge (“poetaster“) has a great chance of being less scatalogical than last month’s (“break of poop“).
It also has a great chance of being less eschatalogical — an alarming number of you had death on the mind, offering grave stories about people and puppies sliding off of ships and into the dark and unforgiving sea. Lots of flotsam in our fiction. Or is it jetsam?
The Word
We are all acquainted with at least one inferior poet. That is, we all have our own personal poetaster.
Perhaps not coincidentally, nobody sends you more of his/her own poetry than your personal poetaster. And nobody handles criticism with less grace than your personal poetaster.
Poeta (Latin for “poet”) + -aster (English, meaning “inferior”) = poetaster. Inferior poet.
The Pronunciation
The third syllable rhymes with the -aster in “disaster”; the word is not pronounced poet-taster. But if, in your story, you want to play around with “poet” and “taste,” go right ahead.
In other words, don’t worry about pronunciation. These stories are for the page, not the podium.
And if poe-taster is more your style, and Edgar Allan Poe makes an appearance in your piece, we won’t be disappointed.
(But if Edgar Allen Poe shows up, you may be disqualified. Depends on our mood.)
The Rules
In 25 words or fewer, write a story containing the word “poetaster.” Be funny, be bold. Make us cry, make us cower in fear.
Type or paste your story into the comments below. Use a pseudonym if you’re shy. Click “Notify” to follow the competition. Multiple entries allowed.
The Prize
We’ve got a whole stack o’ books to give away, so the winner gets his/her choice of any two books from the list, which I will pass along.
I hope that you’re all rocking your 2016 writing resolutions. If you’re not, maybe a little micro fiction is just the thing you need to get going.
See? It’s fun *and* practical!
Awaking in the Lethe
Her orbs misty
Ra’s chariot draws nigh
Dawn, forsooth
She gather’s the night’s bounty
& brews a pot o’
Poetaster’s Choice
He ate some Eliot. “Too difficult.” Some Frost. “Too simple.”
Then he ate Millay. “Just right,” the poetaster said.
Virginia Eliza Clemm never wrote a verse in her short life, yet whom among us can claim that she was anything but the original poetaster?
(Hey, you asked for it…)
“You’re a poetaster,” she said to the poetaster.
“Thanks!” the poetaster said.
See, he doesn’t have much of a vocabulary.
Evenings, she sat in her usual spot and observed the hipster poetasters slurping sugar-ladened walnut lattes and fingering their nipple rings through vintage silk shirts.
Q. What’s the difference between a poetaster and a prosetaster?
A. A prosetaster doesn’t wear as much “writer garb.” And prosetaster isn’t a word.
Thanks for all the fun entries, gang. Special thanks to Mark and Anthony for getting risque, and to M. for “hipster poetasters.” But the award this week goes to B. Holloway, for writing some tasty poetastiness, and for coming up with a new product that I’m probably going to appropriate and sell as my own idea.
B., drop me a line at david[at]writebynight[dot]net and we’ll talk about prizes.