I was extremely lucky.
Steel Toe picked it up in the first round of contests I entered.
Tell me about the title. Had it always been Vertical Hold? Did it go through any
other changes?
At one point I was going
to call the book Crybaby, but Vertical Hold was actually the first
title I came up with. Growing up we had this old TV set that had been struck by
lightning a couple of times, and you really had to fiddle with the v-hold dial to
get the picture right. I always loved the sound of those words together and how
the act of image stabilization is a perfect metaphor for writing poems: You put
language in vertically running columns and try to assemble this flood of images
into something steady and meaningful. Plus, I make a lot of movie references in
the book. For me, it’s a perfect title even if no one younger than 30 knows
what the hell “vertical hold” means.
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?
I agree it’s a
misconception. There are a dozen or more ways to get a book published, and I
think you have to consider them all and weigh them against your expectations. As
much as we want to believe publishing is this romantic enterprise in which the
best work gets noticed and supported, it’s just not the case. Like anything,
publishing is a game, and every avenue of publication has its own set of rules
and practices and competing sets of outcomes.
I was very concerned
about contests before sending the book out because that’s how most poetry
titles are published. I love independent presses, and the open reading model
that many of them use feels less dirty than the contest model. Still, most small
presses can’t offer advance money or marketing support, whereas a contest can,
on reputation alone, help market the book on top of providing a few dollars in
prize money that can be spent on shit like book tours, etc. It’s all about
looking at the pros and cons and choosing which route best fits your goals.
What was the process like assembling the book? How
many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?
At least a dozen or more.
Besides editing on the screen, I spent three days looking at the page-by-page
layout on my living room floor trying to decide if poem A should come before
poem B or where to put the section breaks. I agonized over the smallest
details, trying to create these complex patterns that would work like a
concerto, knowing all the while that most readers wouldn’t notice the arrangements
(or give a shit if they did). Ordering is essentially an arbitrary thing, but
when you think of your book itself as a large poem assembled from its
individual parts, you can drive yourself crazy trying to create this intricate
design. Having gone through the process, I think I now know how to approach the
next one without wanting to kill myself. It’s like what they tell novelists
about learning to write a novel by first writing a failed novel. It’s the same
thing. You have to put together 37 bad versions of your book before you figure
out the right order…or at least the order you settle on.
How involved were you with the design of the
book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?
I was heavily involved.
Steel Toe was super great about letting me have a say about the design. They
were fine with me choosing the cover image so long as the photographer didn’t
charge a fortune for the rights. After I picked the cover image, the designer, Molly
McCaffrey, sent me design proofs of the covers, interior design, etc., which
she nailed. Steel Toe has treated me unbelievably well, and the best part of
working with them was how open they were to letting me have a voice on the
design and editorial changes.
What about the publication of the actual poems in
journals and magazines prior to the book being published? Was there ever a
concern for you to have the majority of the poems published before you were
sending out your manuscript?
There was a time when I
was really concerned about publishing as many poems in journals as I could, but
that was largely due to worrying about building a CV for future academic employment.
I think it’s important to publish early in your career in order to make a name
for yourself and start building an audience. Besides that, I don’t think poets
need to worry about publishing 80 or even 50% of the poems in journal form
prior to publication. There’s something to be said for creating an expectation
with your work in journals so you can exceed those expectations with the
quality of your book. There are a handful of poems I purposefully left out of
print prior to the book release so they’d stand out and offer something new to the
poems that had already been read. You want to create movements and rhythms and
moments of surprise within the book, and it’s tough to do that if all poems are
archived on the Internet.
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?
A ton. Another great
thing about working with Steel Toe was that my editor/publisher, Tom C. Hunley,
had me go through six or seven proofreading drafts, which gave us lots of time
to fine-tune and catch typos. I also wrote three new poems (about 10 pages)
that were not in the original manuscript, so there was a lot of writing and
editing happening before the final proof. I’m obsessive-compulsive about editing
anyway, so the drafting process felt right at home. And it’s great to have an
editor who’ll work so hard to make sure everything is as close to perfect as
possible before going to print.
What do you remember about the day when you saw
your published book for the first time?
I remember how surreal it
felt to open a box with 20 copies of my book inside. It took a good month or
two before the idea of having a book felt real.
How has your life been different since your book
came out?
I have a slightly bigger
audience, and I get to say, “I have a book” at parties and social events. Everything
else is pretty much the same.
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?”
This is a tough one because
the book is about so many things. I grew up in rural southwest Oklahoma
surrounded by farming and ranching, and Vertical
Hold is broadly about growing up in a particular time and place with a
particular kind of family. I had one foot planted in this western, blue-collar
world of combines and cattle shoots and the other submerged in books, music, video
games, and HBO. I find the tension between high and low forms of culture—physical
labor and questions of ontology—and the ways in which these things intersect
our personal histories, endlessly fascinating. But my wife said it best in her
introduction for the book launch party: “Vertical
Hold sings not only of what we might have lost in this postmodern, media
world of our own creation, but what we’ve found, offering a space to move
forward, taking Bruce Willis by one hand and Barry Switzer by the other.”
What have you been doing to promote Vertical Hold, and what have those
experiences been like for you?
I try to read as much as
I can to expose new audiences to Vertical
Hold and the poems I’m writing now. Besides readings, I have a website and
use Twitter and Facebook like every other writer I know. I love giving readings,
but I wish we still lived in the heydays when presses took care of the
marketing side of things. Even though social media is a profound tool for communicating
with readers and friends, most days I wish it were never invented. I’m a little
sick of the endless marketeering writers feel they have to be engaged with to
get noticed and sell books. I know it’s just how things are, but I’m careful
about not letting book promotion steal too much time from the actual ass-in-chair
writing I’m supposed to be doing. The poet Todd Boss co-ran a book promotion
blog called Squad365 for awhile that I think is now defunct. He argued that
book promotion should be a year-long event in which you’re always reading,
posting, and showcasing audio and video recordings of yourself. 365 days is
excessive and a little too Ringling Bros. for my taste, but I’d also say it’s
damn effective.
What advice do you wish someone had given you
before your first book came out?
Start the promotion 4-6 months
before the book comes out. I wish I had lined up more reviews of the book prior
to its release, but I didn’t. No one sensible wants to be a ham about having a
new book out, but you also don’t want to treat it like a secret and wait until it’s
on shelves to start promoting.
What influence has the book’s publication had on
your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?
You always want the
second book to be different than the first. Most of the poems in Vertical Hold are longer,
narrative-driven pieces, which I guess is sort of my shtick. And while it feels
comfortable having the “Jeff Simpson formula” down pat, I want to push my work
into new territory. Even though I’m still writing longer poems, some of them
narratives, I’m trying to work my way out of the habits I’ve created…within
reason.
I have two manuscripts
I’m currently working on: One’s a typical poetry manuscript, and the other is a
giant, book-length poem that’s unruly and strange. It’s one of those projects
I’m not sure I’ll finish, but anymore I don’t get too excited about writing
unless the degree of difficulty or risk of collapse is pretty fucking high.
Do you believe that poetry can create change in
the world?
I believe poetry can
create change in an individual—change that may move someone to do good in the
world. But can poetry single-handedly change the world? Probably not. I’ve
always seen poetry as more a means than a means to an end—a way to communicate
about the things we don’t talk about socially. I don’t expect anyone to be
fundamentally changed by my work. I just hope readers get what I’m saying and
enjoy the ride.
Jeff Simpson grew up in southwest Oklahoma.
He is the author of Vertical Hold (Steel
Toe Books, 2011), which was a finalist for The National Poetry Series. His
poems have recently appeared in Forklift, Ohio, No News Today, Prairie Schooner, Cimarron Review, and
others. He lives in Brooklyn, NY, where he works for Poets & Writers Magazine and edits The Fiddleback, an online arts & literature
magazine. Visit him at jeffsimpson.org
