Telling Tales Out Of (Grad) School, Pt. 1

The Difference Between Poets and Fiction Writers



My second year of grad school I lived in a farmhouse just outside Iowa City, known to workshoppers at the time as The Farmhouse. (A name accepted by most but not much appreciated by those living in the other farmhouse, a bit further out of town, with a beautiful and historic octagonal barn.)

Typically whoever was living in The Farmhouse was responsible for throwing a few parties every year, including a Halloween party. That's where the above photo comes from. That's me in our kitchen, dressed in my last-minute costume, a spraypainted carboard box (from the basement), some tinfoil, a tie (from the wedding of a friend, since divorced), and a sport coat formerly belonging to Chris Trumbo.

Plus, a rubber rat. He's up there highlighted in red, connected to my lapel by a piece of string. The cardboard box/TV had battery-powered Christmas lights in it, courtesy of poet housemate Meg Buzzi. I was basically going for the anchorman / talking-head look.

Over the course of the night, various people commented on and complimented my costume, and I began to notice a distinct trend in their reactions. Now, there were probably upward of 25 poets and 25 fiction writers at the party. Maybe as many as 40 of each. That's quite a sample.

Here's the rub: Without exception, the response of the fiction writers fell along the lines of "Nice costume, why is there a rat on your TV?" or "I don't get the rat." or "Is that like a rat race thing?" or even "I'd cut the rat." Poets, on the other hand, without exception, responded with "I dig the rat" or "The rat makes the costume" or "Great rat." Frankly, I worried as the night went on that someone would break the trend. No one did.

That, as far as I can tell, is the difference between Poets and Fiction Writers.


Oh yeah, and Poets are more fun to hang out with. And throw better parties. And are better at softball...