One of the most important constants I have found in my time as a Polyphony HS editor has been that if the author does not know what they want to write, the final product will turn out poorly. This may seem obvious, but many a piece has come through the submission manager without meeting this criterion. Knowing what you want to write includes knowing what you want to convey to the reader, what your own strengths and weaknesses are, and what type of piece you wish to create. I will quickly focus on the last of these factors.

In my opinion, nearly all pieces of fiction fit along a one dimensional scale. At one end of the scale is “character/setting.” This means a focus on developing complex and realistic characters that can be related to or giving the reader a great feel for a specific geographic region. The highest purpose of this type of piece is simply to use the power of language as a chisel to create a skillful sculpture of words. What the reader may take from that sculpture is secondary. Don Delillo’s “Underworld” is a great example of this type of piece (for those readers of last week’s blog, by the way, “Underworld” is a very strong title). Delillo certainly develops themes, etc., but he is really focused on the language itself and the world he forms.

At the other end of the scale is “philosophy/ideas.” This means a focus on the overarching themes. The piece is trying to be convincing and didactic. The individual pieces are really not as important as the overall concept (which is somewhat ironic, given the following example). Most political writings fall into this category. Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” (Amazing title) is a perfect example. The writing is not “pretty” and the characters have one dimension. But you will not read any ten pages of the work without knowing what Rand is trying to say.

There are two caveats to the above points. First, almost all works lie somewhere in the middle of the scale. You should not try to force your piece to one side. Just know where it fits along the scale. Second, it is not necessary to know exactly what your goal is before you begin to write anything. Sometimes just a vague idea will do to get started. By the final draft, however, if you still don’t know the point of what you yourself wrote, it might be time to go back to the drawing board. I speak from experience, both as a reader of work that should have been better directed and as a common traveler myself from the conclusion of a piece back to the drawing board.

A wise English teacher once gave me some good advice about creative writing. He told me that the most important parts of a work are the title, the first line, and the last line. That is what the (casual) reader is going to remember. (If he is right, I am already 2/3 of the way through the most important part of this blog entry.) In this post, I want to focus on the first aspect of that triumvirate: the title.

During my time as an editor at Polyphony, I have encountered many a good work that was encumbered by an unworthy title. In the case of a shorter piece, or one whose meaning is otherwise ambiguous, a lackluster title can even be the difference between a successful overall piece and one that falls short. But what makes a good title? I believe that the power of a title really comes down to two things: its pertinence and its creativity.

A good title should reveal something important about the piece. It is not appropriate to add an abstractly good title to a piece simply because you always wanted to name your story “the son and the moon.” If the exciting/witty title has no discernible connection to the piece, it should not be used no matter how clever. Similarly, it is not advisable to reference a minute aspect of the piece in the title. Just because you think it makes the work should more interesting. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is a perfect example of a failure to adhere to this rule. “The Goblet of Fire” does sound more intriguing than the correct title of the book (in my opinion, based on how Rowling named all the other books), “The Tri-Wizard Tournament.” Naming the book “The Goblet of Fire” is like naming the first book in the series, “Harry Potter and the Sorting Hat.” The title should apply to the piece in some way, preferably illuminating or highlighting the main idea. (Who is to say how many more books Rowling would have sold had she named them all properly?!)

A good title will not just reference a key portion of the work; it will expand upon it in a surprising or insightful manner. “Treasure Island” is pertinent but does not add much to a reader’s understanding or enjoyment of the piece. We know from reading the book that it has to do with a journey to Treasure Island. The title does not provide a deeper insight or a clever phrasing of what is contained within. Titles that break the second rule can work, but they cannot be great. Shakespeare was a big fan of rule one; not so much of rule two.  “Hamlet” is about, well, Hamlet.  “King Lear” is about King Lear.

From the above, it might appear as though the search for a great title is a hopeless quest. If Rowling and Shakespeare cannot pick a good name, you have to ask yourself, “are there any titles that ARE good?” I am here to tell you that although it is certainly a heady task, great titles have been achieved before. “Infinite Jest”, by David Foster Wallace, is a great title. It works on multiple levels. Most superficially, it refers to one of the main plot points of the novel, the search for the video titled “Infinite Jest.” One level above this, it connects the book itself with the contents of the tape. Furthermore, in an even higher realm outside of the work, it references the incredibly long length of the book and the less-than-conclusive ending at the end of those 1200 pages. “Gravity’s Rainbow,” by Thomas Pynchon, is another great title. It references the importance of missiles in the book itself as well as providing a unique and intelligent metaphorical phrase.

Although I am graduating and will therefore be unable to experience the Polyphony submissions of the coming years, I will continue to read the publication. I am confident that the level of teen writing will only increase from the excellence I have already encountered. I am sorry that I will not be able to witness first hand this improvement in skill and, hopefully, after this post, titling.

Seth Perlman, outgoing Editor-in-Chief