The manuscript
submissions process was, for me, as I’m sure it is for many, an anxiety-filled
labor of love. I obsessed over it: compulsively checking email, refreshing my
browser in hopes of even the tiniest update on press websites. I found that the
only way I could cope with waiting was to fashion my submissions neuroses into
an online spreadsheet. Consequently, I can answer your question with precise
numbers.
I submitted Praise Nothing sixty-two times between
September, 2010, and February, 2012. I withdrew the manuscript from ten presses
after I received “the call” from Enid Shomer, the Poetry Series Editor at the
University of Arkansas Press. I won’t divulge how much money I spent on
supplies, postage, and reading fees, though that’s part of my spreadsheet. I’m
also not going to count all the times I stripped the manuscript for parts and
submitted those parts as chapbooks. I will say that no matter how I crunch the
numbers, I feel fortunate to have been able to work with all the talented and
kind people at the University of Arkansas Press.
Tell me about the title.
Had it always been Praise Nothing?
Did it go through any other changes?
The manuscript had a few
other titles—“Collateral,” “Against Forgiveness,” “Field Guide to the Second
Coming,” among others—but those were really just placeholders and a way for me
to explore different organizational strategies. I only ever sent it out with
the title Praise Nothing.
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 main concern was
placing the manuscript with a press I admired, a press that had published poets
I admired. The University of Arkansas Press’s Miller Williams Prize was among
the dream contests at the top of that list. Most presses offer contests and so
I entered them, but I also submitted to open reading periods.
My only bit of advice is
to not fall prey to the temptation of settling for a press that you think might
publish your manuscript just because you feel the urgent need to get the book
out. That said, I was privileged to be in a position where I could send my
manuscript to what I thought were the best places, the best fits, and not
settle. My wife provided me support and had a steady income, I had some job
security as a graduate fellow at the University of Tennessee, and I had
manuscript submission money set aside from some earlier prize winnings. I had
it pretty good. And still do. Even now, and especially after publishing my
first book, I struggle to make sense of the crapshoot that is manuscript
submissions. There are so many deserving poets out there.
What was the process like
assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were
sending it out?
I finally arrived at the
closest approximation to the book’s current form when I had the chance to leave
Tennessee and return to Lawrence, Kansas, for a period of concentrated work on
the manuscript during the summer of 2010. Before moving to Knoxville, I lived
and worked in Kansas for a few years and I yearned to get back to the Sunflower
State.
For two weeks: just me,
the stack of poems, a tiny loaner cottage, and the Kansas summer heat. Getting
to the final order took a process of spreading all the poems out on the living
room’s dusty hardwood floor, assembling a draft, and then reading and
rereading. Wash, rinse, repeat. And repeat and repeat.
In many ways, the
assemblage process was similar to my poem revision process: making pass after
pass over the draft, tinkering with the count and measure, culling superfluous
lines, improvising and moving the puzzle pieces around until I finally
recognize the picture. I was also fortunate to have a few poets read the
manuscript and offer their affirmations that I was heading in the right
direction.
A few months after “the
call,” I had several thoughtful conversations about the manuscript with Enid
Shomer. She is such a careful reader and she encouraged me to be certain I
could justify everything about the book: the title, the section breaks and
order, every poem, every line, every figure. I ended up taking out three poems
and slightly revising a few.
How involved were you
with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?
As for design, I didn’t
have any significant involvement with the interior. I trusted the talents and
experience of the design staff at the University of Arkansas Press. They did an
amazing job.
Did you suggest or have
any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?
I was given the
opportunity to suggest an image for the cover, which ultimately came down to
two options. The first was an image from what is now known as the Heidelberger Totentanz, the first book
in which the dance of death was portrayed, published in 1488. The second was a
piece by Andrew B. Myers I’d seen in the journal Sixth Finch that summer I was in Kansas. After talking with Larry
Malley, Director of the University of Arkansas Press, I did a gut check of what
I really wanted and confirmed that the Myers piece was right. But picking the
cover art is only one step and so I am deeply grateful to Liz Lester for her
care and talents in designing the perfect cover.
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?
Like everyone else, I
want my work to be read. Poetry ought to be written for the public sphere. I
can’t say I felt like I had to publish the individual poems before publishing
the whole manuscript. That wasn’t part of my strategy, but it did work out that
way.
What do you remember
about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?
I remember my wife said I
looked like I’d just had a baby: tired, overwhelmed, deliriously happy. I just
remember a feeling of profound gratitude.
How has your life been
different since your book came out?
There was a deep
satisfaction that settled on my heart once I held the book in my hands, but I
can’t say my life is any different. I think the publication line on my CV is
helpful in terms of the job market, but my main concern is working on the new
poems. Arthur Smith gave me some advice shortly after the release of Praise Nothing: “Enjoy the moment, then
get back to work.”
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 actually happened to
me last year. I was flying to a funeral in California and was seated next to a
woman from Arizona who was traveling to examine some beachfront property she’d
recently purchased. She told me she’d just been informed by her doctors that
her breast cancer had gone into remission and that she’d decided to build an
artist’s retreat near Long Beach where she could pursue her printmaking. We had
an intense conversation about how grief and faith translate into art. When the
conversation turned to my work, I described my book as being about faith and
doubt, about the Problem of Evil, and about interrogating the differences
between what is and what should be. She later mailed me a
print and I sent her a book.
What have you been doing
to promote Praise Nothing, and what
have those experiences been like for you?
I created a new website
and try to reach as many people as possible via social media. I’ve sent out
many review copies and copies to contests. I’ve got some regional bookstore and
university readings lined up and I’m working on scheduling more. Hoping to get
back to Kansas for some readings. Also hoping to head back to the West Coast
where I grew up and to do some readings in the San Francisco Bay Area, L.A.,
and the Pacific Northwest. There’s also a signing at AWP in Boston.
What advice do you wish
someone had given you before your first book came out?
This is a tough question
because I received so much great advice from friends and mentors who’d been
through the publishing crucible before me. I don’t think I was sufficiently
prepared for the emotional ups and downs of transitioning from those first book
poems into the new work. I guess I wish someone had told me something like,
“Once your book’s out, you may feel compelled to pursue an altogether new
direction in your new work. This is good. Don’t worry about the old poems. They
can take care of themselves.”
What influence has the
book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects
in the works?
I still get up at 4:30
most mornings and write. I am trying, though, to push myself, to break away
from the formal constraints I place on my drafts, to free myself up to wander
and be more Negatively Capable. My poem “Exchange,” published in a recent issueof Anti-, is a good example of what I’m trying to do now. I don’t think I’ll
ever be able to shake off suburbia or my Christian background, nor would I want
to. But I’m more aggressively pursuing, both creatively and critically, the
connection between lyric poetry and theodicy.
Do you believe that
poetry can create change in the world?
I don’t know about
“change,” but maybe “resistance.” In her book Suffering, liberation theologian Dorothee Soelle offers a theodicy
that does not attempt to explain the acceptance of some suffering for the sake
of some good. Instead, she argues that Christ’s passion provides a model for
how suffering and doubt can be experienced in solidarity with others. Suffering
and doubt are not redemptive, but are forces that must be resisted. I believe
the lyric poem is a tool of such resistance.
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