That’s sort of the story of my life. As the redheaded, blue-eyes, left-hander, not fitting or standing apart has always felt natural. I am the rarest genetic combination on the planet. Always called out, pointed out, commented on. In many ways, this has allowed me to explore many things. I knew going in, I didn’t fit, so why not try something new? I started with poems, as most teenage girls do. We all listened to Led Zeppelin, smoked pot, and wrote navel-gazing poetry. Clichéd, I know, but accurate. I wanted to be like the others, to fit in. Until I didn’t.

After reading Emerson in high school, I expanded into essays and began to develop a personal philosophy that developed into a feminist worldview. From there, I dabbled in humor before building up to noveling. I didn’t let go of any of the previous forms; I incorporated them into the larger me: The Writer.

Sometimes I think Emerson would be proud.

Free verse poetry is wonderful, but form, form teaches us, well, me anyway, that words are so powerful; that breath is powerful; rhythm is powerful. When well done, poetry is the power of thought in action (thank you, S. I. Hayakawa). And I can carry that poetic power into anything I commit to the page. Words in essays should be chosen with as much care as the words in a poem. The syllable count, the stressed spaces. The music. They all tell the reader something, preferably about themselves.

So, welcome to The Telling. That’s what this is about. Every week, we’ll look at how the work is made: the forms, the choices, the places where craft becomes something closer to music.

Mel Jones is the author of Pots, Pans and Poetry (Unexpected Paths, 2026) and Secondhand Hugs (Unexpected Paths, 2025). Find her work at The Sylvan Echo or on her Amazon Author Page.