Poetry is hard

I’ve been working on a gorram sonnet.

I remember studying sonnets and thinking: well, what the doubleyou tee eff? How hard can THAT be? Fourteen lines of five iambs each, with a predictable rhyme scheme? It’s not ROCKET SURGERY, people.

Turns out it’s pretty difficult.

I mean, probably anyone can write a really crappy sonnet. But to make one that sounds even vaguely natural? Holy bloody moly. I’m averaging roughly one word per hour.

And, as an interesting aside, my little brother, with whom I’ve just re-contacted after several years of having lost touch, is a frigging GENIUS when it comes to writing sonnets. I was whining and moaning about sonnetry, and he was all, “I rock at that”.
And I was all, “Dude. Nobody rocks at this.”
And then he was all, “Subject matter?”
And I was all, “love, but an uneasy love, with lots of, like, crap.”
And he was all, “Style?”
And I was all, “Italian, 17th Century”
And he was all, “Here’s an AWESOME EFFING SONNET. EAT IT!”

And I ate it.

And it was good.