{"id":90,"date":"2020-03-24T04:47:04","date_gmt":"2020-03-24T04:47:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/chapter\/lesson-10-voice-in-poetry\/"},"modified":"2022-08-19T16:13:01","modified_gmt":"2022-08-19T16:13:01","slug":"lesson-10-voice-in-poetry","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/chapter\/lesson-10-voice-in-poetry\/","title":{"raw":"Lesson 10: Voice in Poetry","rendered":"Lesson 10: Voice in Poetry"},"content":{"raw":"<strong>Definition of Voice<\/strong>\n\nJust like fiction has a narrator, poetry has a speaker\u2013someone who is the voice of the poem. Often times, the speaker is the poet. Other times, the speaker can take on the voice of a persona\u2013the voice of someone else including animals and inanimate objects.\n\n<strong>Points of View<\/strong>\n\nJust like fiction, the poem is written in a specific point of view:\n<ul>\n \t<li>First-person (I, me, my, we, us, our)<\/li>\n \t<li>Second-person (you, your)<\/li>\n \t<li>Third-person (he, she, it, him, her, his, hers, its, they, them, theirs).<\/li>\n<\/ul>\nRemember choosing a point of view determines how close the reader is involved in the poem. Third-person point of view will create more distance. The reader will be an observer. Whereas, first-person point of view will draw the reader into the poem. Second-person point of view is occasionally used in poetry. The speaker is speaking directly to his\/her readers. Using second-person point of view, however, has to be done carefully as it is a more advanced skill and can be done poorly by an inexperienced writer.\n\n<strong>Elements of&nbsp;Voice<\/strong>\n\nSeveral elements create the speaker's voice: tone, diction, syntax, and audience.\n\nTone&nbsp;refers to the poet's attitude or position toward the subject. It may be positive, neutral, or negative. Some poets write political poems to make their ideas heard through literature. For example, John McCrae wrote \"In Flanders Field\" during World War I:\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\"><strong>In Flanders Fields\n<\/strong><strong>Author<\/strong>: John McCrae\n\u00a91915<\/p>\n\n<div>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">In Flanders fields the poppies blow\nBetween the crosses, row on row,\nThat mark our place; and in the sky\nThe larks, still bravely singing, fly\nScarce heard amid the guns below.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">We are the Dead. Short days ago\nWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,\nLoved and were loved, and now we lie\nIn Flanders fields.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">Take up our quarrel with the foe:\nTo you from failing hands we throw\nThe torch; be yours to hold it high.\nIf ye break faith with us who die\nWe shall not sleep, though poppies grow\nIn Flanders fields.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\nDiction involves the word choices made by the poet. For example, word choice may include slang or dialect. Syntax works with diction; it includes the order or pattern in which the poet places the words in lines.\n\nFinally, the audience, of course, are the intended readers the poet imagines when writing the poems and who they hope will read the poems.\n\n<strong>More Than One Voice<\/strong>\n\nA poem may have more than one voice. It's possible to have two or more speakers. For example, Robert Frost in his poem \"Home Burial\" uses dialogue between two characters\u2013a husband and a wife\u2013as well as a narrator speaker:\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\"><strong>Home Burial\n<\/strong><strong>Author<\/strong>: Robert Frost\n\u00a91914<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">HE saw her from the bottom of the stairs\nBefore she saw him. She was starting down,\nLooking back over her shoulder at some fear.\nShe took a doubtful step and then undid it\nTo raise herself and look again. He spoke\nAdvancing toward her: \u201cWhat is it you see\nFrom up there always\u2014for I want to know.\u201d\nShe turned and sank upon her skirts at that,\nAnd her face changed from terrified to dull.\nHe said to gain time: \u201cWhat is it you see,\u201d\nMounting until she cowered under him.\n\u201cI will find out now\u2014you must tell me, dear.\u201d\nShe, in her place, refused him any help\nWith the least stiffening of her neck and silence.\nShe let him look, sure that he wouldn\u2019t see,\nBlind creature; and a while he didn\u2019t see.\nBut at last he murmured, \u201cOh,\u201d and again, \u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cWhat is it\u2014what?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cJust that I see.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou don\u2019t,\u201d she challenged. \u201cTell me what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThe wonder is I didn\u2019t see at once.\nI never noticed it from here before.\nI must be wonted to it\u2014that\u2019s the reason.\nThe little graveyard where my people are!\nSo small the window frames the whole of it.\nNot so much larger than a bedroom, is it?\nThere are three stones of slate and one of marble,\nBroad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight\nOn the sidehill. We haven\u2019t to mind those.\nBut I understand: it is not the stones,\nBut the child\u2019s mound\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cDon\u2019t, don\u2019t, don\u2019t, don\u2019t,\u201d she cried.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm\nThat rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;\nAnd turned on him with such a daunting look,\nHe said twice over before he knew himself:\n\u201cCan\u2019t a man speak of his own child he\u2019s lost?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cNot you! Oh, where\u2019s my hat? Oh, I don\u2019t need it!\nI must get out of here. I must get air.\nI don\u2019t know rightly whether any man can.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cAmy! Don\u2019t go to someone else this time.\nListen to me. I won\u2019t come down the stairs.\u201d\nHe sat and fixed his chin between his fists.\n\u201cThere\u2019s something I should like to ask you, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou don\u2019t know how to ask it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cHelp me, then.\u201d\nHer fingers moved the latch for all reply.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cMy words are nearly always an offence.\nI don\u2019t know how to speak of anything\nSo as to please you. But I might be taught\nI should suppose. I can\u2019t say I see how.\nA man must partly give up being a man\nWith women-folk. We could have some arrangement\nBy which I\u2019d bind myself to keep hands off\nAnything special you\u2019re a-mind to name.\nThough I don\u2019t like such things \u2019twixt those that love.\nTwo that don\u2019t love can\u2019t live together without them.\nBut two that do can\u2019t live together with them.\u201d\nShe moved the latch a little. \u201cDon\u2019t\u2014don\u2019t go.\nDon\u2019t carry it to someone else this time.\nTell me about it if it\u2019s something human.\nLet me into your grief. I\u2019m not so much\nUnlike other folks as your standing there\nApart would make me out. Give me my chance.\nI do think, though, you overdo it a little.\nWhat was it brought you up to think it the thing\nTo take your mother-loss of a first child\nSo inconsolably\u2014in the face of love.\nYou\u2019d think his memory might be satisfied\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThere you go sneering now!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI\u2019m not, I\u2019m not!\nYou make me angry. I\u2019ll come down to you.\nGod, what a woman! And it\u2019s come to this,\nA man can\u2019t speak of his own child that\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou can\u2019t because you don\u2019t know how.\nIf you had any feelings, you that dug\nWith your own hand\u2014how could you?\u2014his little grave;\nI saw you from that very window there,\nMaking the gravel leap and leap in air,\nLeap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly\nAnd roll back down the mound beside the hole.\nI thought, Who is that man? I didn\u2019t know you.\nAnd I crept down the stairs and up the stairs\nTo look again, and still your spade kept lifting.\nThen you came in. I heard your rumbling voice\nOut in the kitchen, and I don\u2019t know why,\nBut I went near to see with my own eyes.\nYou could sit there with the stains on your shoes\nOf the fresh earth from your own baby\u2019s grave\nAnd talk about your everyday concerns.\nYou had stood the spade up against the wall\nOutside there in the entry, for I saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.\nI\u2019m cursed. God, if I don\u2019t believe I\u2019m cursed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI can repeat the very words you were saying.\n\u2018Three foggy mornings and one rainy day\nWill rot the best birch fence a man can build.\u2019\nThink of it, talk like that at such a time!\nWhat had how long it takes a birch to rot\nTo do with what was in the darkened parlour.\nYou couldn\u2019t care! The nearest friends can go\nWith anyone to death, comes so far short\nThey might as well not try to go at all.\nNo, from the time when one is sick to death,\nOne is alone, and he dies more alone.\nFriends make pretence of following to the grave,\nBut before one is in it, their minds are turned\nAnd making the best of their way back to life\nAnd living people, and things they understand.\nBut the world\u2019s evil. I won\u2019t have grief so\nIf I can change it. Oh, I won\u2019t, I won\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThere, you have said it all and you feel better.\nYou won\u2019t go now. You\u2019re crying. Close the door.\nThe heart\u2019s gone out of it: why keep it up.\nAmy! There\u2019s someone coming down the road!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou\u2014oh, you think the talk is all. I must go\u2014\nSomewhere out of this house. How can I make you\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cIf\u2014you\u2014do!\u201d She was opening the door wider.\nWhere do you mean to go? First tell me that.\nI\u2019ll follow and bring you back by force. I will!\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;","rendered":"<p><strong>Definition of Voice<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Just like fiction has a narrator, poetry has a speaker\u2013someone who is the voice of the poem. Often times, the speaker is the poet. Other times, the speaker can take on the voice of a persona\u2013the voice of someone else including animals and inanimate objects.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Points of View<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Just like fiction, the poem is written in a specific point of view:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>First-person (I, me, my, we, us, our)<\/li>\n<li>Second-person (you, your)<\/li>\n<li>Third-person (he, she, it, him, her, his, hers, its, they, them, theirs).<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>Remember choosing a point of view determines how close the reader is involved in the poem. Third-person point of view will create more distance. The reader will be an observer. Whereas, first-person point of view will draw the reader into the poem. Second-person point of view is occasionally used in poetry. The speaker is speaking directly to his\/her readers. Using second-person point of view, however, has to be done carefully as it is a more advanced skill and can be done poorly by an inexperienced writer.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Elements of&nbsp;Voice<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Several elements create the speaker&#8217;s voice: tone, diction, syntax, and audience.<\/p>\n<p>Tone&nbsp;refers to the poet&#8217;s attitude or position toward the subject. It may be positive, neutral, or negative. Some poets write political poems to make their ideas heard through literature. For example, John McCrae wrote &#8220;In Flanders Field&#8221; during World War I:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\"><strong>In Flanders Fields<br \/>\n<\/strong><strong>Author<\/strong>: John McCrae<br \/>\n\u00a91915<\/p>\n<div>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">In Flanders fields the poppies blow<br \/>\nBetween the crosses, row on row,<br \/>\nThat mark our place; and in the sky<br \/>\nThe larks, still bravely singing, fly<br \/>\nScarce heard amid the guns below.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">We are the Dead. Short days ago<br \/>\nWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br \/>\nLoved and were loved, and now we lie<br \/>\nIn Flanders fields.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">Take up our quarrel with the foe:<br \/>\nTo you from failing hands we throw<br \/>\nThe torch; be yours to hold it high.<br \/>\nIf ye break faith with us who die<br \/>\nWe shall not sleep, though poppies grow<br \/>\nIn Flanders fields.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p>Diction involves the word choices made by the poet. For example, word choice may include slang or dialect. Syntax works with diction; it includes the order or pattern in which the poet places the words in lines.<\/p>\n<p>Finally, the audience, of course, are the intended readers the poet imagines when writing the poems and who they hope will read the poems.<\/p>\n<p><strong>More Than One Voice<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>A poem may have more than one voice. It&#8217;s possible to have two or more speakers. For example, Robert Frost in his poem &#8220;Home Burial&#8221; uses dialogue between two characters\u2013a husband and a wife\u2013as well as a narrator speaker:<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\"><strong>Home Burial<br \/>\n<\/strong><strong>Author<\/strong>: Robert Frost<br \/>\n\u00a91914<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">HE saw her from the bottom of the stairs<br \/>\nBefore she saw him. She was starting down,<br \/>\nLooking back over her shoulder at some fear.<br \/>\nShe took a doubtful step and then undid it<br \/>\nTo raise herself and look again. He spoke<br \/>\nAdvancing toward her: \u201cWhat is it you see<br \/>\nFrom up there always\u2014for I want to know.\u201d<br \/>\nShe turned and sank upon her skirts at that,<br \/>\nAnd her face changed from terrified to dull.<br \/>\nHe said to gain time: \u201cWhat is it you see,\u201d<br \/>\nMounting until she cowered under him.<br \/>\n\u201cI will find out now\u2014you must tell me, dear.\u201d<br \/>\nShe, in her place, refused him any help<br \/>\nWith the least stiffening of her neck and silence.<br \/>\nShe let him look, sure that he wouldn\u2019t see,<br \/>\nBlind creature; and a while he didn\u2019t see.<br \/>\nBut at last he murmured, \u201cOh,\u201d and again, \u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cWhat is it\u2014what?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cJust that I see.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou don\u2019t,\u201d she challenged. \u201cTell me what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThe wonder is I didn\u2019t see at once.<br \/>\nI never noticed it from here before.<br \/>\nI must be wonted to it\u2014that\u2019s the reason.<br \/>\nThe little graveyard where my people are!<br \/>\nSo small the window frames the whole of it.<br \/>\nNot so much larger than a bedroom, is it?<br \/>\nThere are three stones of slate and one of marble,<br \/>\nBroad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight<br \/>\nOn the sidehill. We haven\u2019t to mind those.<br \/>\nBut I understand: it is not the stones,<br \/>\nBut the child\u2019s mound\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cDon\u2019t, don\u2019t, don\u2019t, don\u2019t,\u201d she cried.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm<br \/>\nThat rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;<br \/>\nAnd turned on him with such a daunting look,<br \/>\nHe said twice over before he knew himself:<br \/>\n\u201cCan\u2019t a man speak of his own child he\u2019s lost?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cNot you! Oh, where\u2019s my hat? Oh, I don\u2019t need it!<br \/>\nI must get out of here. I must get air.<br \/>\nI don\u2019t know rightly whether any man can.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cAmy! Don\u2019t go to someone else this time.<br \/>\nListen to me. I won\u2019t come down the stairs.\u201d<br \/>\nHe sat and fixed his chin between his fists.<br \/>\n\u201cThere\u2019s something I should like to ask you, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou don\u2019t know how to ask it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cHelp me, then.\u201d<br \/>\nHer fingers moved the latch for all reply.<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cMy words are nearly always an offence.<br \/>\nI don\u2019t know how to speak of anything<br \/>\nSo as to please you. But I might be taught<br \/>\nI should suppose. I can\u2019t say I see how.<br \/>\nA man must partly give up being a man<br \/>\nWith women-folk. We could have some arrangement<br \/>\nBy which I\u2019d bind myself to keep hands off<br \/>\nAnything special you\u2019re a-mind to name.<br \/>\nThough I don\u2019t like such things \u2019twixt those that love.<br \/>\nTwo that don\u2019t love can\u2019t live together without them.<br \/>\nBut two that do can\u2019t live together with them.\u201d<br \/>\nShe moved the latch a little. \u201cDon\u2019t\u2014don\u2019t go.<br \/>\nDon\u2019t carry it to someone else this time.<br \/>\nTell me about it if it\u2019s something human.<br \/>\nLet me into your grief. I\u2019m not so much<br \/>\nUnlike other folks as your standing there<br \/>\nApart would make me out. Give me my chance.<br \/>\nI do think, though, you overdo it a little.<br \/>\nWhat was it brought you up to think it the thing<br \/>\nTo take your mother-loss of a first child<br \/>\nSo inconsolably\u2014in the face of love.<br \/>\nYou\u2019d think his memory might be satisfied\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThere you go sneering now!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI\u2019m not, I\u2019m not!<br \/>\nYou make me angry. I\u2019ll come down to you.<br \/>\nGod, what a woman! And it\u2019s come to this,<br \/>\nA man can\u2019t speak of his own child that\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou can\u2019t because you don\u2019t know how.<br \/>\nIf you had any feelings, you that dug<br \/>\nWith your own hand\u2014how could you?\u2014his little grave;<br \/>\nI saw you from that very window there,<br \/>\nMaking the gravel leap and leap in air,<br \/>\nLeap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly<br \/>\nAnd roll back down the mound beside the hole.<br \/>\nI thought, Who is that man? I didn\u2019t know you.<br \/>\nAnd I crept down the stairs and up the stairs<br \/>\nTo look again, and still your spade kept lifting.<br \/>\nThen you came in. I heard your rumbling voice<br \/>\nOut in the kitchen, and I don\u2019t know why,<br \/>\nBut I went near to see with my own eyes.<br \/>\nYou could sit there with the stains on your shoes<br \/>\nOf the fresh earth from your own baby\u2019s grave<br \/>\nAnd talk about your everyday concerns.<br \/>\nYou had stood the spade up against the wall<br \/>\nOutside there in the entry, for I saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.<br \/>\nI\u2019m cursed. God, if I don\u2019t believe I\u2019m cursed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cI can repeat the very words you were saying.<br \/>\n\u2018Three foggy mornings and one rainy day<br \/>\nWill rot the best birch fence a man can build.\u2019<br \/>\nThink of it, talk like that at such a time!<br \/>\nWhat had how long it takes a birch to rot<br \/>\nTo do with what was in the darkened parlour.<br \/>\nYou couldn\u2019t care! The nearest friends can go<br \/>\nWith anyone to death, comes so far short<br \/>\nThey might as well not try to go at all.<br \/>\nNo, from the time when one is sick to death,<br \/>\nOne is alone, and he dies more alone.<br \/>\nFriends make pretence of following to the grave,<br \/>\nBut before one is in it, their minds are turned<br \/>\nAnd making the best of their way back to life<br \/>\nAnd living people, and things they understand.<br \/>\nBut the world\u2019s evil. I won\u2019t have grief so<br \/>\nIf I can change it. Oh, I won\u2019t, I won\u2019t!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cThere, you have said it all and you feel better.<br \/>\nYou won\u2019t go now. You\u2019re crying. Close the door.<br \/>\nThe heart\u2019s gone out of it: why keep it up.<br \/>\nAmy! There\u2019s someone coming down the road!\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cYou\u2014oh, you think the talk is all. I must go\u2014<br \/>\nSomewhere out of this house. How can I make you\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"padding-left: 90px\">\u201cIf\u2014you\u2014do!\u201d She was opening the door wider.<br \/>\nWhere do you mean to go? First tell me that.<br \/>\nI\u2019ll follow and bring you back by force. I will!\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":32,"menu_order":3,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-90","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":85,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/90","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/32"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/90\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":91,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/90\/revisions\/91"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/85"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/90\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=90"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=90"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=90"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.ccconline.org\/accintrotocreativewriting\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=90"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}