#67 - Jeff Simpson

How often had you sent out Vertical Hold before it was chosen for publication in 2011 by Steel Toe Books?

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

#66 - Alex Dimitrov

How often had you sent out Begging for It [view the trailer for the book here] before it was chosen for publication by Four Way Books as a Stahlecker Selection in 2013?

I had been seriously sending it out for a year and during that year I was constantly changing it so different versions were sent to different publishers. I tried to forget who I had sent to once I had. I didn’t want to focus on my expectations for the book, I wanted to focus on having exactly the book and the poems I wanted.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Begging for It? Did it go through any other changes?

The title was American Youth for the first three years I was working on it—I began writing the book in 2007 and I finished it in 2012, though it was taken in 2011. I wrote a chapbook called American Boys during that time period but I had changed the title of the book to Begging for It well before the chapbook. And none of the poems in the chapbook are in the book—they are very different projects.

America is one of the big things I think through in Begging for It, which is full of lovers, America being one of them. So for a while, it just felt like I needed to include America in the title. But ultimately I decided against it. America, You Darling was also a possible title. That’s a poem in the book. I don’t know, I’m not Andy Warhol so that title didn’t quite work for me. I like what I went with.

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?

I actually have always wanted an editor to take my first book as opposed to having it win a contest. Obviously it’s an honor however one’s book is taken. But I’m happy that it was taken by Martha Rhodes.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

I was changing the book until the last possible moment. I can’t tell you how many versions it went through—probably over twenty. I took out many poems, it was originally a longer book, but I had a rule that I needed to absolutely love every single poem in the book. No filler. No poems that were a “bridge” from one poem to another or from one section to another. Every line, every poem had to stand on its own and together with the others. And that took a long time and was difficult for someone like me who is not patient at all. But I knew I had to be patient because my poems are the most important things to me. And so I waited until I had exactly the book I wanted. You only get to debut once.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.? Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

I wanted a photograph from David Wojnarowicz’s “Rimbaud in New York” series. I knew that. When I first moved to New York, in the summer of 2007, I would look at those photographs and think about Rimbaud and being an artist and New York and Wojnarowicz. That series was very instructional to me. Those photographs were an education. So for the book cover, it was a matter of getting permission from his estate, and they ended up giving us permission.

Everything about this book, from the design to what’s in it, is very personal to me. It’s all been thought through really carefully. So yes, I was involved in the design process. I can’t imagine not being involved. I’m someone who’s concerned with both depth and surface. Visual presentation and aesthetics are incredibly important to me. But I mean, they are to most artists, right?

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?

Almost all of the poems in the book have been published in magazines, journals, anthologies. I never set out to do that, it just happened. I don’t think it matters either way. The only thing that mattered to me was that I was happy with the poems. There are a few poems in the book that haven’t been published anywhere, and they are some of my favorites, and I think some of the best. So what does that tell you.

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?

I never stopped editing. Before it was taken, after it was taken, a day before my final proofs were due. I have a hard time letting go of work.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

I was sitting at my desk at the Academy of American Poets and just looking at the envelope. I sat there and looked at it for a few minutes and allowed myself to have those last possible thoughts about the book before it existed in the world, before it was real, in front of me. And then I opened the envelope. And I loved it. I’ve worked so hard and for so long on this book. If I don’t love it, what’s the point.

   

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?”

Begging for It is about youth, love, and sex in America. It’s also about the past, religion, death, obsession, New York. It’s about people. It’s about me.

What have you been doing to promote Begging for It, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’m doing a lot of readings this spring at NYU, New School, Harvard, Yale, Poetry Society of America, a lot of places. And I’m also going to San Francisco. I want to go to LA and I want to go to Portland because I’ve never been there and the poetry community there seems great. I’ll go anywhere. This is not a New York book. So many different kinds of people from different parts of the country have written to me, and I want to give them these poems, physically, in person.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

I don’t really wish for things like that. Wishing is mostly a waste of time. I’m lucky, my teacher in graduate school was Marie Howe, who as well as teaching me how to make my poems better, taught me how to be a person in the world. She’s one of my best friends. And I really value all the advice and help Brenda Shaughnessy has given me. I love those women. They care and they’re such role models. And so many other friends have helped me as well.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I don’t think the book being published has had any influence on my writing. I am working on a few projects—one is a series of poems, some of which are portraits that I wrote about people I have never met from the internet—people who answered a questionnaire I wrote, consisting of 26 questions, which I posted on my Tumblr, and which asked them about love and death and what they really want in life. Here is a link to it if people want to read it.

I am using their answers to write poems, to make something out of the lives of people I don’t know, but also out of feelings, their feelings, that I often relate to quite a bit, and other feelings I don’t relate to at all. And I’ve also been seriously working on new poems, the internet project aside. Right now I feel like the internet poems/portraits will be a part of my second book, a section perhaps. I’m not entirely sure but I’ve been writing a lot. I also throw away a lot. The world doesn’t need bad poems. Or poems just for the sake of poems.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

If I didn’t believe that I would have a very difficult, impossible time, justifying my life. 

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Alex Dimitrov is the author of Begging for It, published by Four Way Books. He is also the founder of Wilde Boys, a queer poetry salon in New York City. Dimitrov’s poems have been published in The Yale Review, Kenyon Review, Slate, Poetry Daily, Tin House, Boston Review, and the American Poetry Review, which awarded him the Stanley Kunitz Prize in 2011. He is also the author of American Boys, an e-chapbook published by Floating Wolf Quarterly in 2012. Dimitrov is the Content Editor at the Academy of American Poets, teaches creative writing at Rutgers University, and frequently writes for Poets & Writers.
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#65 - Noah Falck

How often had you sent out Snowmen Losing Weight before it was chosen for publication in 2012 by BatCat Press?

Snowmen was sent out about 3 times a year for about 5 years, in various incarnations, before BatCat picked it up.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Snowmen Losing Weight? Did it go through any other changes?

The original title was The Snowmen Are Losing Weight. Then it was briefly called The Gods of Standing Room Only, and later Traffic Islands of Our Youth, but none of those gave off enough light. Eventually, I came back to Snowmen, but decided to simplify it to Snowmen Losing Weight.

Your book recently went into a second printing, correct? What do you think are the advantages and disadvantages to a more handcrafted book versus a collection with a more defined press run?

Yes, it went into a second printing in December 2012, seven months after the initial printing.

The advantages of handcrafted books are they feel more like friends than third cousins. Not that there is anything wrong with cousins. Well, not really. When you hold a handmade book it makes you feel good about yourself and the world. Like driving in an eco-friendly vehicle or better yet, a bicycle. It gives you a completely different reading experience.

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?

Contests are catapults. Winning one will put your name and work in certain circles, and I respect that. I was not at all concerned about winning a contest, but I still sent Snowmen on the contest tour in hopes of getting noticed. And it was a finalist in enough places to make me smile. But I don’t think you need to win a contest to generate inspired work. 
 

The only advice I have is to send your work to presses you admire, places that are publishing work that excites you. I don’t think it matters if it is through a contest or an open reading period.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

I had nothing to do with the design. It was all BatCat Press. I didn’t actually see the book until the release party in Midland, Pennsylvania. When I first saw the book my heart skipped a few beats, similar to the way it did when I first saw my wife. It was sexy, and beautiful, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands all over it. That didn’t come out exactly right, but you know what I mean.

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?

I like sending work out and I like hearing from editors and presses no matter what news they bring. I wasn’t concerned at all with publishing any percentage of the poems. I did want to have some of the poems picked up, but there was no special number in mind. 

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?

The BatCat crew and I went back and forth over a period of 3 to 4 months discussing poems, order, punctuation, and all that fun stuff. None of the poems were heavily edited or rewritten. Working with the editors at BatCat was truly enjoyable. And it felt particularly special working with BatCat because it is a student run press. The student editors (Alison, Jane, & Robin) did a fantastic job. They were very considerate in regards to the layout and thoroughly thought out how people would interact with the book. And Deanna Mulye, who oversees the projects at BatCat Press, must be some sort of saint teaching her students the art and craft of bookmaking.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

  

There was a lot of sweaty palms and more applications of deodorant to my underarm region. Also, there was a nuclear power plant and margaritas. 

How has your life been different since your book came out?

A lot has happened in my “life.” I took a job in Buffalo, New York, working as Education Director for Just Buffalo Literary Center. Before I was teaching 4^th graders in Dayton, Ohio. 

So I’ve moved to a new city, which I am slowly falling in love with, and working a gig that puts me in a more direct conversation with literature and the arts. I also am writing more than I ever have. I am on more of a schedule that permits me to focus my creativity energy.

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?”

Ha, people on airplanes. I would tell them that the book is about you and me, and this shared air, and the baby crying its body to sleep in the arms of a young mother ahead of us. 

It’s about all those moments you want to remember forever. The moments you wish you had on film so you could watch them again in slo mo. It’s also about the moments you don’t want to remember, but are somehow thumb-tacked somewhere inside you and you can’t shake them off.

What have you been doing to promote Snowmen Losing Weight, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’ve been doing little interviews, and reaching out to reviewers and other writers to let them know that the book exists. I made a book trailer, which was fun. I’ve also been trying to participate in as many readings as possible, though I haven’t had the time to really travel or “tour,” but I’d like to. I like road trips of all kinds. Particularly, road trips that are focused around reading poems.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

Be patient and believe in the process. Keep at it. Don’t let it get you down. Never surrender. And ride your bicycle near the river, the ocean, the greatest of lakes.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

The publication of the book has only made me want to write another book. So that’s what I am doing. I am working on a new manuscript right now. Mostly prose poems.

I am also shopping around a chapbook collection about celebrity dreams, aptly called Celebrity Dream Poems. And I just finished a collaborative chapbook with the poet Matt McBride, tentatively called Vocal Air.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

I think poetry can act as a sort of communication vessel for the soul. A vessel that highlights both the quandaries of the everyday, and shares the dreams of the intellect. Can such a vessel change the world? Absolutely!

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Noah Falck is the author of Snowmen Losing Weight (BatCat Press, 2012), as well as several chapbooks. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boston Review, iO: A Journal of New American Poetry, Jellyfish, Sink Review, Paper Darts, Fact-Simile, interrupture, and elsewhere. He works as Education Director at Just Buffalo Literary Center in Buffalo, New York. Visit him online at noahfalck.org

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#64 - Seth Brady Tucker

How often had you sent out Mormon Boy before it was chosen for publication as a winner of the Elixir Press 11^th Annual Poetry Awards?

This collection went through a couple of incarnations (and titles) before it made it into the current form, so I have to guess that it was out there for about three years total.  The first year, I sent it out to about ten contests, and didn’t get any responses from the publishers.  I gave the manuscript a global revision, restructured, basically started from the ground up, sent it to fifteen or so contests, and was a finalist in seven of them.  Man, I was over the moon!  I gave it another tightening revision, made sure it was perfect, and sent it to twenty more contests, and… crickets.  I remember being a bit down about it, to say the least, and on the very day that I was laid off from a dreadful job in sales by a computer auto-call, I got a call from Dana Curtis from Elixir with the great news. It was a terrific day. Who needs a job, right?

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Mormon Boy? Did it go through any other changes?

Honestly, the title changed a couple of times during the submission process—.  It started out as “Mormon Boy, then went back and forth between that and “We Deserve the Gods We Ask For.” Actually, that was the title of the manuscript when it won the Elixir Prize, and before we went press I settled once again on Mormon Boy.  For some reason, WDTGWAF seemed too, what, academic?  And, I thought that Mormon Boy told a better story of the book and the tenuous narrative thread meant to exist between the poems.  By that time, I was also close to finishing my second collection (which is currently a finalist in a couple contests), and the title of WDTGWAF was growing on me for that new manuscript.

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’m not sure I have any real advice in this regard.  For me, the choice for submitting to contests was a professional one.  Most of my academic peers recommended winning a contest with a manuscript as a way to shore up a CV.  I will say this: I’m seeing less and less open reading periods from major and minor presses, and many more contests from those same presses, so it may be the progress of the business model that makes that decision for some poets.  Ultimately, it’s just about getting your book published, because it is one of the hardest things a poet will ever do!  Keep working, keep writing, and someday the world will notice.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

I spoke a little to this point earlier, but this is the most important aspect of getting a book published, in my opinion—if you are a real writer, someone who studies craft, someone who feels that writing is essential, my guess is that the poems are already there.  So, when it comes down to it, how do you assemble them into something that feels like a book?  The answer, for me, was through trial and error.  I had wonderful and generous readers like Jane Springer (read her books), Matt Bondurant (read his books), and Toni Lefton (someone needs to publish her book!), who all saw the fifteen or twenty renderings of this book.  I shuffled, I rearranged, I spread it on the floor, I hacked it up, reassembled it from spare body parts, hit it with electricity, everything.  And maybe that’s a good metaphor for the process?  Maybe it should feel like creating Frankenstein’s monster-the love, the hate, the isolation, the wild abandon, all stapled together and smudged and blood smeared and reeking of amniotic fluid? My only hope was that it wouldn’t have to hide under floorboards, be chased by villagers with pitchforks and torches, all to die, alone and forgotten, in some frigid expanse. Holy shit.  That analogy got away from me.  Readers of poetry:  don’t let my book end its days drifting away on arctic waters!

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

Thankfully, I didn’t have much required of me in this regard—-I did revise the whole manuscript again, which Dana Curtis was happy to allow me to do, but once everything was in order, Dana and I simply sent it on to Joel Bass, who did all the heavy lifting for the design.  Personally, I think the book is beautiful, and the quality of the paper and cover is exactly what I hoped for—I couldn’t be happier.

Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

Again, credit Dana with her confidence in her authors—she asked me if I had any ideas, and as soon as I sent her a pdf of the artwork from a number of my favorite artists, she latched onto Glenn Brown’s “Shallow Deaths.”  I had stumbled upon Browns work while living and teaching in London in 2000, and I had a print of the painting in my office.  I never imagined that Glenn would agree to let me use it (especially considering there was no way we could pay for the artwork), but I knew I had to try.  The hardest part was finding him—it took me about six months to track down his agent from the dozens of places all over the world that his work was being hung, and then deal with the language barrier.  Mr. Brown is from the UK, but his representatives are most often not!  Ultimately, he couldn’t have been nicer, once I did track him down—-he was happy to support a small press and a new author with his work.  He even had a representative send a lovely, inscribed book of his work that currently sits on my coffee table.

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?

I think it helps to have a good representative portion of a book already published in good journals. Many contests allow for an acknowledgements page, which I suspect gets flipped to in the early stages of selection—editors like to have their tastes confirmed, is my guess, so some proof you are a serious writer helps move you along, perhaps?  Either way, it wont hurt a manuscripts chances—I think maybe 50-60% of the poems from Mormon Boy were already published, and I was happy to have a chance to thank all those editors who gave my work a chance as I was making my way in the poetry world. 

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

I remember thinking, I hope what is inside the book is as good as the outside of the book!  I couldn’t believe it was finally there in the flesh-all the hard work and love and despair and fear and doubt bundled up and packaged for a real audience.  I suspect most first books feel this way to their authors—will readers see what I was trying to do?  Will they like it?  Where is my Pulitzer? Or, alternatively, will these books molder in some back room at Elixir Press, until one day, they are all accidently thrown out on the curb for recycling? My wife is always the voice of reason, however, and she carefully laid out my author copies on our kitchen table, popped a bottle of Nicolas Feuillatte champagne, and we sat there sipping wine and staring at the books, marveling, proud, relieved. Then, when I woke up the next day, I started thinking about the many ways I would revise it, if given a chance.  The process truly never ends, if you love the work.

    

How has your life been different since your book came out?

I don’t feel like much has changed, to be honest. I did start wearing a velvet robe around the house, and I took up smoking a pipe, and I now call my students “minions” and my peers at the University of Colorado seem ok with the fact that I address them as My Dear Fellow/My Dear Lady. I tend to stare off into space thoughtfully when asked direct questions. I fill my lovely and profound soliloquies to minions and subordinates with long pauses. And then there’s the collection of boaters, trilbies, and pork pie hats, and the bowties. I discuss my oeuvre, and refer to myself in the third person.  That was cute, Seth. 

Anyway. I do get asked to do readings now, which I used to have to pursue on my own, and I have been fortunate to be asked to get involved with some inmate literacy projects and veterans affairs workshops, and I suppose it has given my teaching some legitimacy. Personally, though, it has given my writing a bit of confidence and momentum that may have been lacking—since Mormon Boy was published I have finished a second collection of poetry, finished a short story collection, and abandoned one disastrous time-suck of a novel for a creative memoir that feels promising. Validation can be a great motivator.

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?”

The answer to this question all depends on whether I want to be an asshole or not.  If I want to be an asshole, I would tell them it’s a teleological treatise on the solipsism of the anti-book, spoken through the dissonant voice of cultural ennui.  In other words, I’d make up something to make them regret ever asking the question, and settle back into my seat with the knowledge that they would very likely not care to speak to me again. My great mentor and friend Mark Winegardner once told me that if he didn’t feel like talking about his book, he would simply tell them it was a love story, and that would be the end of it. And maybe that is a bit closer to the truth, if I’m giving an honest answer—the narrative voice within Mormon Boy is meant to resonate with Mormon dogma and Mormon guilt, but it isn’t supposed to be about Mormonism in any real way.  This is a book about a narrator who learns to forgive himself by finding love (sometimes in all the wrong places).  Like all great books, it endeavors to be a love story in some way, even if it fails.  In this sense, it is a series of poems devoted to the tragic and the comic aspects of self-love, a journey through war and loss and loneliness, ending with a cease-fire that I hope feels like forgiveness. Rather than tell interested parties that it is a love story, like Mark does, maybe I will just provide the short answer that it is a book about learning to forgive oneself. Either way, I doubt they will be interested in the longer discussion regarding whether a poetry book can be “about” anything.

What have you been doing to promote Mormon Boy, and what have those experiences been like for you?

It has been a lot of fun doing readings around Colorado, and it has taken me a bit to get used to the fact that people actually want me to sign a copy of my book. I had to develop a signature! My handwriting looks like a five year old (with palsy) scribbling with a crayon, so I had to figure out a signature that looked like something authentic. Otherwise, I think I have had the traditional experience of doing poetry readings that most (I hope) poets have—I’ve shown up to read for large audiences one week, then I’ve read for an audience of three (counting my wife) the next.  Thankfully, poetry readers are gracious and kind. I am also learning to be a proponent of my own work (a requirement for poets given the lack of marketing money for the genre), especially online (thanks again). I’ve built a website and an author facebook page and a twitter account I won’t bother linking because I still don’t understand why the hell I would ever need to tweet something.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

I was lucky to have great writers in my corner who also happened to be wonderful, generous, and kind-David Kirby, Mark Winegardner, Julianna Baggott, Jane Springer, Toni Lefton, Matt Bondurant, Roger Reeves, innumerable more, who all gave me great advice on what to expect, how to prepare the book, etc.  The only thing I wish I would have been better about had to do with marketing myself—I thought that it would be premature to start a marketing campaign before the book came out, but I now know that is when the bulk of it needs to be done. I didn’t know, for instance, that you can send galleys to journals and magazines for pre-publication reviews, which would have saved me a number of headaches.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I believe I am a better, more confident writer. I believe in my writing like I never have before. Again, validation is a great motivator. I hope that’s a good thing?  Either way, I have been more prolific than ever before, even while I devote huge amounts of time to teaching and service projects, so I’m therefore as happy with being a writer as I’ve ever been. My new collection is a finalist for the Philip Levine Prize, and my fiction was a finalist for the Jeff Sharlet award from the Iowa Review, so I am hopeful that there will be continued success. But as always, I am waiting for the other shoe to drop—depraved Fortuna has had a good time finding ways to teach me humility whenever I start thinking too much of myself!

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

It can and does. It changed my world, anyway, in a shallow foxhole in an observation post on the border of Iraq.  A tattered copy of William Carlos Williams Selected Poems open next to my M-60, and the next morning I started writing stories and poems and haven’t stopped. I love telling my students that poetry is the most important thing in the world, even when it isn’t. Where our poetry fails, however, is when it alienates and obfuscates. I can’t stand poetry that cares nothing for its audience.  Thomas Lux once said that, “poetry should entertain.”  I don’t know if this is always the case, but I do believe that the poet should give a shit about the reader, and should endeavor to enrich the world rather than outsmart it.  I often tell my writing students that it is easy to write poems and stories about you that are yours.  The difficult task is to write poems about us that are ours.  There is a ton of poetry out there that confirms for the occasional reader their prejudice that poetry is, as Jane Springer has said, a “festival of [and for] the dead.” I believe that those writers who write with an eye on what is at stake for themselves, as well as what should be at stake for the reader, are changing the world every day, a lonely character at a time.

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Seth Brady Tucker is a poet and fiction writer originally from Lander, Wyoming, and served as an Army 82^nd Airborne Paratrooper in the Persian Gulf. His first book, Mormon Boy, won the 2011 Elixir Press Editor’s Poetry Prize, and was released in 2012.  His writing has been nominated for a number of Pushcart Prizes, as well as the Jeff Sharlet Award, and is forthcoming or has appeared in the Antioch Review, Verse Daily, Connecticut Review, Chautauqua, River Styx, Indiana Review, Rosebud, Iowa Review, Witness, Rhino, Crab Orchard Review, and many other fine journals and anthologies. Seth has degrees in Creative Writing and Literature from San Francisco State University, Northern Arizona University, and Florida State University (PhD).  Currently, he splits his time teaching veterans at the Light House Writer’s Workshop in Denver, and at the University of Colorado at Boulder.

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#63 - Patty Paine

How often had you sent out The Sounding Machine before it was chosen as the winner of the 2011 Accents Publishing International Poetry Book Contest?

I sent it to quite a few contests. It was finalist a dozen or so times, and it was even picked up for publication in 2009. It was supposed to go into production within a year, but at the end of the second year with no publication date in sight, I decided to withdraw my manuscript. It was a trying experience, and I came very close to giving up on the book at that point. However, in this instance, being incredibly stubborn was a good thing because I decided to revise it one more time and send it out for one more round of contests. It won the Accents Publishing International Poetry Book Contest, and it was clear from the minute I started working with Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, and the Accents team, that The Sounding Machine was exactly where it was meant to be. I couldn’t ask for a more passionate, enthusiastic, and generous editor, than Katerina—she is truly a force of nature—and I wouldn’t change a thing about the publication path The Sounding Machine took.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been The Sounding Machine? Did it go through any other changes?

The original title was Oracle Bones, but I discovered that Peter Hessler wrote a non-fiction book called Oracle Bones: A Journey Through Time in China. I recommend it; it’s a wonderful book. It wasn’t hard to give up the title, I never felt it was quite right even before I discovered Hessler’s book.

I found a sounding machine in an antique shop, and though I didn’t know what it was at the time, I bought it. I just liked the look and the heft of the thing. It has a marquise shaped base with a handle, much like a flat iron. It’s made of brass, and it has a numbered dial on the base. I discovered that a sounding machine is a pre-sonar nautical device that drops a line to measure water depth. I liked the idea of plumbing the depths, sending a weighted pianoforte wire into the unknown to bring back something substantial, something knowable. It seemed an apt metaphor for a book of poems, and perhaps this book in particular since it delves into some dark places.

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 think this is something every poet has to decide for her or himself. I entered many contests, and I also submitted to open reading periods. I didn’t see much difference between the contest model and the open reading model. My main concern was that I submitted to presses I respected.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

Assembling the book was actually quite easy. The poems as a whole tell an overarching story, so the poems are arranged more or less chronologically. There is information in some poems that the reader needs to fully understand other poems, and that also influenced the ordering of the poems. The main structure of the book didn’t change very much. As I revised, I added poems, and took out weaker poems, but overall, there weren’t major changes.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

I was very fortunate that Katerina let me chose the cover image. I spent a long time searching for the right image, and when I saw The Annunciation, Pigeon Triptich by Tjaarke Maas I instantly fell in love with it and knew it was the cover. Maas was an artist from the Netherlands who was born in 1974. In pursuit of finding a personal god through art, she retreated into a cave in the forest surrounding the Hermit Monastery of San Francis. In 2004, her body was discovered near the cave, her death the result of a fall.

It’s difficult to articulate why this image grabbed me. There is something chaotic about it, but from chaos recognition of the pigeons emerge. From chaos, beauty emerges. The tilt of a head, curve of a back, a sense of motion, the individual and the collective reveals itself to the viewer. There is energy in the bold lines, and one senses an urgency to capture the pigeons, their essence, not just their likeness.

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?

I wasn’t concerned that most of the poems have appeared in journals, mostly I think because this was my first full-length collection, and though I wanted to publish a full-length collection of poems, I was working poem by poem. I don’t know if that makes sense, but now I have a second manuscript complete, and a third almost finished, and I thought of them both more as books right from the start. I’ve sent out a handful of poems from the second manuscript, and none from the third, yet. I’ll send out poems from each, but not nearly as many as I did from The Sounding Machine.

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?

I didn’t have to do a great deal of final editing. There was a great deal of editing along the way, but fortunately when it was selected for publication by Accents it didn’t need any major work.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

It was unreal in the best possible way. I was quite moved, and emotional about seeing it. As I mentioned earlier, I had almost abandoned the book. I decided to send it out to one more round of contests—just one—if it didn’t get published, I was going to start sending out my second manuscript and tuck The Sounding Machine in a drawer.

How has your life been different since your book came out?

My writing life has changed. There’s a sense of relief of having published a book, but I also feel like I needed to get those poems out so I could move onto other obsessions. The poems in The Sounding Machine were the poems that demanded to be written. I needed to write them in order to be able to move past them both personally, and as a writer.

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 live in Qatar so I spend a lot of time on planes. I try not to strike up conversations because it’s very difficult to sustain, and awkward to get out of, on a 14 hour flight, and truth be told, I’m trying to get out of answering this question.

I suppose it’s about everything, and not about everything. It’s about something, and it’s definitely not about nothing, except sometimes when it is about nothing. It’s about my life, but it is absolutely not about my life. It’s about the truth if the truth were made wholly and partially out of lies.

What have you been doing to promote The Sounding Machine, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’ve been using social media probably to an annoying degree to promote The Sounding Machine. In my defense, since I live so far from the US, it’s harder for me to do readings so I have to do what I can. When I’m in the US, I participate in readings, and I’ve read on this side of the world too. I pester people to review the book, I set up a website, I send postcards, in short, anything I can.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

I had wonderful teachers and peers in the MFA program at Virginia Commonwealth University, so I don’t wish for any advice. The best advice I got in general all along the way was to revise ruthlessly, write fearlessly, and persist, persist, persist.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I think there’s a sense of relief that the first book is out there, but a writer still has to stare down the blank page whether he or she has published one book or twenty. I have two manuscripts under construction. One is ready to submit, the other is close to completion. I’m currently working with two colleagues Michael Hersrud and Jesse Ulmer on the final edits of The Donkey Lady and Other Tales from the Arabian Gulf. It’s a book of folk tales illustrated by VCU Qatar students. They did incredible work, and I’m excited that it’s coming out from Berkshire Academic Press in early 2013. I’m reading for the 6^th anniversary issue of diode poetry journal, and I recently launched Diode Editions which is currently running a chapbook contest.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

Yes, through the individual lives and minds that were changed by poetry.

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Patty Paine is the author of The Sounding Machine (Accents Publishing), Feral (Imaginary Friend Press), Elegy & Collapse (Finishing Line Press), and co-editor of Gathering the Tide: An Anthology of Contemporary Arabian Gulf Poetry (Garnet Publishing & Ithaca Press) and The Donkey Lady and Other Tales from the Arabian Gulf (Berkshire Academic Press). Her poems, reviews, and interviews have appeared in Blackbird, Verse Daily, The Atlanta Review, Gulf Stream, The Journal and other publications. She is the founding editor of diode poetry journal and Diode Editions. She is an Assistant Professor of English at Virginia Commonwealth University in Qatar where she teaches writing and literature, and serves as Assistant Director of Liberal Arts & Sciences.

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#62 - Megan Harlan

How often had you sent out Mapmaking before it was chosen for the 2009 John Ciardi Poetry Prize from BkMk Press?

I’d sent it out about a dozen times, over about eight months. To be honest, I’d been bracing myself for it to take years. I picked contests given by university presses and literary presses based on the editorial staff and the publication track record. But I took a sporting view of any judges whose names were announced during the submission period -- I really fought any instinct to think, “There is no way so-and-so would ever pick my manuscript!” I just took that issue out of the equation, and focused on the presses themselves.

Tell me about the title. Had it always been Mapmaking? Did it go through any other changes?

When Ben Furnish, the Managing Editor at BkMk Press, called to tell me I’d won -- “You’ve taken the prize,” was his memorable way of putting it -- as soon as we hung up, the first thing I did was run to my laptop to see which title I’d used for that contest. The other, earlier title was Farsickness, the title of a poem in my book. It’s an idea that I love, that of course German has a word for, fernweh. But my problem with Farsickness was that I was never thrilled with a book title connoting illness (even of a subtle sort). Mapmaking better captures what I think the book actually explores -- landscapes depicted through language, memory, and imagination.

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 experience is very particular to my goal, which was -- in fact -- to win a contest. It’s been many years since I attended NYU’s graduate program in creative writing, and even though I have a good track record publishing my poems in journals, I felt my collection would really benefit from winning a contest by an established literary press. It seemed to me that the term “award-winning” in front of “first poetry book” may inspire reviewers to take a closer look, and librarians to consider buying it for their collections. Those sorts of elements came to mind when I was writing those contest entrance fee checks. But each book has its own path, and I’ve admired many books that have taken very different routes.

What was the process like assembling the book? How many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?

The process was excruciating at the time -- which of course means it’s now my favorite part of the whole book publication experience. My son was an infant during that period, and while he napped, I would take the printed poems and shuffle them, sometimes moving them around the floor like a big jigsaw puzzle. I tried all kinds of methods. The only thing I knew for sure was how I wanted to manuscript to end (with the poem, “Living Cloisters”). But the opening poem -- that gave me head-aches. I also had an instinct to divide the book into four sections, partially to evoke the cardinal points on a map, but really more because then each section would have about a dozen poems, which feels to me like a natural size for a grouping. As far as developing “themes” to each section, the more logical that got, the worse I felt the manuscript flowed.

What finally worked was almost ridiculously obvious: I packed many of the strongest poems into the first section and saw where that left me. Those poems started “talking” to each other -- and I was able to pull some out to anchor other sections. Then I wrote a number of new poems.

Something almost chemical happened along the way, and the order, the sections, started to make sense to me -- at least, in that “poetry” meaning of sense. I think about poems as visual, visceral pieces of language -- somehow the sounds of the words create heights, textures, colors, almost akin to relief maps. I know a poem is finished when I can picture its particular body of texture/color/object-ness. The breakthrough for me was when this sense of “order” and physicality finally attached itself to the book. Now how I picture the order is, in rough terms, like this: The first section is city and kaleidoscope. The second contains slippery or treacherous landscapes, graveyards, wastelands. The third has water, and lots of sky, a sense of expansiveness. And the final section takes place inside different sanctums -- a diary, a bed, a chapel.

This realization evolved very gradually, and now seems like it should have been obvious to begin with. Months of my son’s nap-times transpired. He grew, and the book grew. It finally came together into this whole.

How involved were you with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.?

Not very. BkMk Press commissioned students from the Kansas City Art Institute to work on the cover design, for example, and they did a marvelous job. As a font person (and what poet isn’t?), I was thrilled that the book designers chose for the type-set one of my favorite fonts for poetry, Garamond. Ben Furnish did ask if there was any design element that would, essentially, make me cry if I saw it. My one request: “No cursive, anywhere, please.” That was honored, I’m happy to say.

Did you suggest or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?

I did send along some of my favorite old map images. Not being a book cover designer, I couldn’t imagine a book called Mapmaking with anything other than a map on it. The cover image instead is original artwork by Michael Smith (then a KCAI student): it’s an abstract, very finely rendered pen-and-ink drawing of an object like an intricate nest, or perhaps a landscape blurred from a distance. Path-like tracks cross the cover, and the title text was sketched and colored by hand. The cover evokes a hand-drawn field map -- it has that intimate sense of place. I think it looks especially striking in person.

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?

I wasn’t concerned about this particular issue, because I’d been publishing the poems in journals on a regular basis. I don’t write a lot of poems in any given year, but those I do I really work over, hammering them out until they feel done. Then I send them out to journals, and tend not to take any “no” to feel ultimate. (Meaning, I’ve had my share of bridesmaid poems that have finally enjoyed their big day in print, sometimes years later.) My publication pace has been pretty steady.

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?

There wasn’t a lot of editing work done on the manuscript. At one point, I had a good talk with Michelle Boisseau (the Associate Editor at BkMk Press) about the book as a whole, and I remember her saying that the manuscript was polished, that there wasn’t a lot to do to it. She tweaked the order of some poems in the second section, for example, and I still feel fortunate for her insight about that. But to me, it didn’t feel like much editing.

What do you remember about the day when you saw your published book for the first time?

Two things: I pulled out a copy after cutting open the box, started stroking the matte cover and the thick-stock paper, and I just remember thinking, My book is real! As I was admiring it, my then-toddler son started pulling copies out of the box and throwing them all around the living room. It was literally poetry in motion.

How has your life been different since your book came out?

In the fundamental way -- that I no longer have to worry about if/when/how my first book of poems is coming out. That, I’ll just say, is a relief. A related, and no doubt more profound difference, is that having the first book out releases you towards all the other books you now get to write. The road ahead seems more real, somehow. Not easier, but more tangible.

And of course, there’s the paparazzi...

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?”

The book’s title really helps to answer that question. When I’ve been asked this (more times than I would have ever guessed), Mapmaking gives some helpful context to my very short answer, which is that it depicts my responses to place through travel, memory, and emotion. Often I’ll mention my fascination with maps -- the only thing I collect. Along the way, I’ve met many people who share my interest in maps, and I love to hear about their favorite maps. True story: I once sold a copy of my book to a cab-driver after having this sort of conversation.

What have you been doing to promote Mapmaking, and what have those experiences been like for you?

I’ve done readings and other events at some wonderful venues in California and New York. I also did a book-signing at AWP in Washington, D.C., and was asked to read a poem for the PBS Newshour website. My first reading for Mapmaking was also my first poetry reading in something like fifteen years -- and it was filmed for Youtube posterity, as many poetry events are these days. That felt like going from 0 to 60, public performance-wise -- terrifying, but thrilling too. I’ve loved every reading I’ve been fortunate enough to give. It’s always a great joy in the end.

What advice do you wish someone had given you before your first book came out?

Since I have no dire mishap to warn against, I’ll instead give my best advice to any poet looking to publish their first book: Figure out what is important to you, and you alone, about having your book published -- the explicit parameters of what you actually value. Then be true to that vision.

I’ll also add this. Though I said in the first question that I did not factor in  the identity of the contest judges, now that the book is out, I have learned: The judge is so important! Not the least because your name and theirs are tied together forever on the cover of your book. That Sidney Wade was the judge of the contest -- announced after I’d won it -- has been the source of such lasting gratitude for me. I know other contest winners who’ve said similar things about their ongoing amazement at having a poet whom you deeply admire -- and who doesn’t even know you -- select your manuscript. So, perhaps a word to the wise there.

What influence has the book’s publication had on your subsequent writing? Are there any new projects in the works?

I am working on a second collection of poems, much as I worked on Mapmaking -- at random intervals of sprint-like bursts broken up by long hiatuses. I tend to write in clusters of four to six poems, then I take a break from poetry for however many months, write another cluster, take another hiatus -- years go by this way. My long-form fiction-writing, on the other hand, is an almost daily affair, and requires waging this carefully planned campaign of productivity. So my two book projects are useful in that they could not be more different. I use one to take a real break from the other.

Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?

Yes. Like any art form, poetry can make sense of the world, do our paraphrase-defying experience of it some justice -- if only for the length of a page. That, for me, is change on the order of a miracle.

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Megan Harlan lived in seventeen homes across four continents by the time she graduated from high school, and now lives in Berkeley, CA. She is the author of Mapmaking, winner of the John Ciardi Prize for Poetry (selected by Sidney Wade) and published by BkMk Press/University of Missouri-Kansas City in 2010. Her poems have been featured on Poetry Daily, PBS Newshour’s Poetry Series, and Verse Daily, and in journals that include American Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, AGNI Online, and Arts & Letters. Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in such publications as Alaska Quarterly Review, The New York Times, and Cimarron Review. For more, visit her website, www.meganharlan.com.

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