Lactescent Life Lessons?

My name is Logan. You might wonder why my lessons are so lactescent. What does lactescent mean anyway? What is this blog even about? Deciding on a name for this blog was probably the hardest thing I've done all year. I wanted some clever alliteration with my name (which I ended up not using), so I was looking through the dictionary for words that started with "L" and found this top-notch word. So what does it mean? Well, in case you didn't already know (and I don't mean to imply that you don't, because that would be rude!), it means:

lac·tes·cent (lk-tsnt)

adj.

1. Becoming milky.

2. Milky.

3. Secreting or yielding a milky juice, as certain plants and insects.

So, why would I choose this word to describe my life lessons? Well, in short, where they are the eggman and John Lennon is the walrus, I am the wisdom-bearing teat of infinite knowledge that gives all life meaning. No, I'm kidding. I just thought it was a funny word.

Sorry, Ms. Gunter. We aren't all smart enough to be doctors.

Here's this week's life lesson:

"Poetry is cool and all, but writing poetry really sort of sucks."

I know how deep that is. Feel free to put it in a book of quotes or cite it in your next essay or something, but make sure to give me credit for it. This life lesson came to me as I was reading through other people's blog ideas and noticed they wanted to write weekly poetry. I think that's a bad idea and here's why:

(Excellent image-editing, am I right? Bet you can't tell which part I did.)

1. Poetry has tons of cliches, and no matter what you write, you're almost guaranteed to fit into one of them. If it's a love poem, a breakup poem, a nature poem, an angsty poem, or a humorous poem (it's probably not as funny as you think it is), you're fitting into a cliche every time.

2. 99.9% of poetry written is really, really bad (that's a fact - I read it somewhere, trust me). There's quite a high (almost 100%) chance that the first poems you write will fit into this category of "really, really bad" and there's not much you can do about it. Are you willing to risk the embarrassment?

3. Your grandmother, parents, and best friend will all tell you that your really, really bad poetry is absolutely perfect! You'll stroll happily along, believing that you are a great poet-in-the-making, blissfully unaware that your poetry is in actuality pretty lame.

(I don't mean to imply that I am good at poetry. In fact, the opposite is the case. I find writing it to be torturous and I would never want to dedicate time to improve at something I hate doing. I'm merely offering the advice of an outsider who is tired of reading bad poetry that people think is good.)

Still want to write poetry? That's great. I admire your willingness to try to master a difficult craft, but be aware of the things listed above. Realize that your poetry is cliche. Realize that your poetry sucks. Realize that your grandmother only thinks your terrible poetry is good because she's your grandmother. Realize these things and move forward with them in mind, working to weed out the cliches and general suckage. Get opinions, feedback, and advice from people who have been writing for years (the Internet?) because things they learned should be valuable to you. Should you succeed, I admire your perseverance. Here's a poem I wrote just for you:

As I was up last night deciding what to write,

I noticed that some in rhymes would delight

They chose to compose poetry for their blog

I admire their bravery, for it's akin to slavery,

To suffer the difficulty, the misery

of writing these wretched things weekly

What a strenuous task, to be sure

Trying always to remove cliches, to keep the poetry pure

A frightening fate indeed, I hope never to endure

Word.