I checked my records, and
I sent out the manuscript thirty-five times. That’s weird actually because I
thought it would be at least a hundred. It felt like I was getting rejection
notices every week.
Tell me about the title.
Had it always been Instructions for
Killing the Jackal? Did it go through any other changes?
For a while, it was
called Throwing Matches Around, which
is from the Patty Griffin song “Icicles”: “There's always someone throwing
matches around / Waving the shiny new knife.” I’m still attached to that title,
but I wasn’t sure of the copyright laws. Plus, I wanted something that was my
own. The violence in the Griffin lyric suits the type of violence in my
poems—more resigned than shocking. But Instructions
for Killing the Jackal feels right now. It gestures toward the mythological
content that weaves its way into my work even when I don’t mean for it to. I
can’t imagine the collection being called anything else.
It seems like there’s a
possible misconception among some poets who are trying to get their first book
published: that they must win a contest. Were you concerned about winning a
contest at any point? What advice would you give to poets sending their book
out now regarding contests versus open reading periods?
My advice is send to as
many open submissions as possible. I absolutely don’t resent presses from charging
reading or contest entry fees. I always thought of them as donations to
organizations that I admire. At the same time, you shouldn’t have to choose
between buying groceries and sending your book out.
What was the process like
assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were
sending it out?
Oh, loads. For many
years, I used sections, but they always felt arbitrary. Why does the wolf poem
go in the “folklore” section and not the “animal” section? Where do the
political ones belong? When I took out the sections, I felt a rush of relief. The book worked much better without the dividers.
How involved were you
with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?
The editors at Black
Lawrence Press are the loveliest. They let me have input on all the choices.
The book designer at Dzanc, Steven Seighman, does exceptional work, so I would
have felt comfortable letting him make the decisions. I picked the artwork,
though. It’s a collage by Alexis Anne Mackenzie.
How much work did you do
as far as editing the poems from the day you knew the book would be published
to its final proofing stage?
More than I anticipated.
I really thought the book was finished, but when it was accepted, I hadn’t
reviewed the material in over a year. There were a few poems that were so
glaringly wrong that I’m not sure how I missed them. So they were cut or
replaced.
What do you remember
about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?
The books arrived just in
the nick of time for my release party. In fact, I was losing hope that UPS
would deliver them when my dad thought to check the shipping log. My super had
signed for them in the morning. When I couldn’t find my super, I opened his
storage closet, which I’m sure is against the building rules, but I needed
those books! And there they were. I carted the box upstairs where my family was
waiting, and my mom snapped pictures as I ripped open the package. I look dazed
in the photos, and that seems about right.
How has your life been
different since your book came out?
I figure when I die, my
obituary will now say “author of Instructions
for Killing the Jackal,” and that’s nice.
If you struck up a
conversation next to someone seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you
eventually told them that you were an author who had a book of poetry
published, how would you answer their next question: “What’s the book about?”
I actually don’t mind
this question as much as some of my friends do. It’s a way for someone to show
interest in you or your work. It’s a polite albeit impossible question. I
usually just list a few things. Alligators and small towns. Tractors and
shipwrecks. Ghosts and gods.
What have you been doing
to promote Instructions for Killing the
Jackal, and what have those experiences been like for you?
My promotional skills are
woefully lacking, but I’ve done a lot of readings. I’ve had many warm
welcomings, the warmest being from Malaprop’s in Asheville, North Carolina. If
you are nearby (lucky you), I suggest visiting for a coffee or a book,
preferably both. Preferably, buy all the coffees and all the books. I have also
reached out to editors about reviews, which feels like asking strangers to help
you change a tire. In spite of my awkwardness, Jackal has received some really thoughtful responses.
What influence has the
book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects
in the works?
I’m working on a new
collection tentatively titled All the
Bayou Stories End with “Drowned.” While it is not drastically different in
tone from my first collection, I do try to avoid writing poems that are
obviously Jackal poems. Sometimes I
don’t want to give them up, but it’s time to move forward.
Do you believe that
poetry can create change in the world?
It seems like we are
living in particularly mendacious times. Poetry needn’t be beautiful, but it
should be truthful. And people telling the truth about the world—whether their
pursuits are artistic or otherwise—are the ones who can create change. The
Afghan Women’s Writing Project reinforces this idea. The non-profit allows us
to hear the voices of women silenced by their birthplace. Women risk their
lives to write about their lives. Why would they do that if words weren’t
important? Why would we listen?
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