1) Tell us about you, and your writing (themes, influences etc.)
Uh well, I’m 26 years old and I’ve been writing since I was a little girl, so it’s not really surprising that I’m still here, writing.
My writing has several influences, so I can’t really pinpoint one specific source. I change this answer a lot, actually. If I had to name actual poets, I guess I’m heavily influenced by Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich, WB Yeats, and Denise Levertov. I write about my interiors and exteriors, as well as my mixed religious heritage and family problems.
2) What are some of the ways in which you promote your work, and do you find these add, or eat into, your time writing?
So the majority of my chapbook/poetry promotion is definitely on Twitter. Despite its many, many, issues, I’ve yet to find a better way to connect with and meet so many new writers and build an audience for my work. I also share poems on Facebook and sometimes Instagram. I’m pretty much always on the Internet, which can feel overwhelming at times.
I write when I can. I work a mostly 9-5 job so I have some weekends, nights, and days off where I can focus on my writing.
3) What projects are you working on at present?
So I’ve really enjoyed writing essays/non-fiction lately and I have some ideas that are in the process of becoming paragraphs and sentences. I’m working on my poetry manuscript that was my thesis in grad school, but I’m reworking it and adding new poems. I did originally submit it as a chapbook to a few places, but perhaps it’s better off as a collection. I also have some one-off poems that may or may not be part of a new manuscript.
4) What does poetry mean to you?
Poetry is my lens to see through the world and the best tool for figuring out who I am. It’s my connection to people, and it’s, I think, an art that continues to amaze me.
Sample poem from Bad Anatomy:
Tonight is an impressionist painting.
with pain medication,
galaxy-flavored vodka on the tongue.
in my stomach.
This is Sunday school in darkness,
piss-poor promises budding
from the recklessness
of yesterday. Somewhere,
a place without constellations
begs my forgiveness.