So much of the work I’ve been doing to revise my poetry manuscript has been intense. A huge reason, I think, is that the hours and hours (all of May, June, July and August, plus part of September) have been full of writing lessons and life lessons. And I’ve done my best to take them in. I know with every fiber of my being that the wisdom in this book (Gertie!) comes not only from the years living the experiences touched on its poems but also from the years spent shaping and refining the entire project.
I’ve always been the kind of person who slips easily into dark moods, and the doubt inherent in being a 53-year-old STILL SEEKING her debut poetry collection is a natural portal for that darkness. Instead, however, this revision cycle has made me — and my book — bolder, brighter, and more defiant than ever.
I am incredibly proud of the deep, consistent effort and delighted by the results.
Doubt hasn’t been entirely absent, of course. The ferocity that defined the summer of revision has been book-ended by periods of frustration. In May, on the heels of yet another rejection and just ahead of digging back into the manuscript, I entertained the idea that there just wasn’t a space for me in the poetry publishing universe. And in September, which is the period covered in this blog post, my energy for revision started to flag, and I grew frustrated with a section that just wasn’t coming together as I’d hoped.
I began to wonder if I was failing my vision for the book. Maybe it was time to admit defeat?
Enter the wisdom of writing community… Y’all have been there and done that, and you swooped in to remind me that the process ebbs and flows. Also, so many of you believe in this book in moments when I lose faith. Your guidance and encouragement frequently saves me, including the message I heard loud and clear in September: Girl, it’s OK to take a break.
Best pal Jill Crammond put it in the clearest terms: “I think you should take a nap,” she said. And so that’s how I ended the month. Not stalled out with revisions, but resting. Taking a short pause. Letting some shit go.
We can work so hard we stop seeing straight. In those moments, we question our skill, talent, and possibility. But instead of going down that rabbit hole as I might have in the past, I turned my back on it. It’s not where I want to focus, and honestly, I found it kind of boring to think about. Despair is known and familiar, and I want to head toward fresh territory instead.
I’m looking my book in the eyes and telling both of us we’re still on our way.
My prescribed (and constantly evolving) timeline has been the hardest bit of it to release. It’s difficult to see deadline after deadline pass and not be ready, especially when I thought I’d be done ages ago. The whole thing has taken longer than I’d hoped, and even during this little nap, I’ve been romantically involved with a few reading periods and contests that are out of reach. *Sigh*…
Mostly, however, it feels good to untether from timelines imposed by other people’s calendars. The path forward feels more about dreaming — and believing — than about following a schedule.
Full disclosure, though, my manifestation muscle isn’t as fully developed as the muscles I use in my comfortable world of to-do lists and logistics LOL, but I am adding it to my practice in (at least) two specific ways:
- Exploring cover art / This is another brilliant move recommended by Jill, who suggested I seek art that resonates with how I see my book. I know the cover art process varies by press, so this move isn’t necessarily about the literal book (though it could be). Finding and saving Gertie-adjacent art that excites me is about connecting with the spirit of the book as a matter of practice. I save paintings, illustrations and photos to a folder on Instagram and get a boost of energy every time I add something new or scroll through what I’ve collected.
- Holding the vision close / Since there’s a wildness in the book (including in its title), I decided that every time I encounter an animal print, I’ll use it as a prompt to say, “Gertie is published, and it’s an amazing experience.” This move was inspired by Kelly Grace Thomas, who recently told me about how she manifested something by speaking it into being every time she saw/heard her favorite number.
I thought doing these things might feel corny, but they don’t. It feels really good. It’s a pleasureful way of moving forward and stands in contrast to some of the punishing thoughts that had been surfacing in the absence of the dream.
As luck would have it, during this time, I had the chance to be reminded of Dr. Taylor Swift, who is one of the smartest girl bosses out there, particularly as it applies to seeing her vision through.
Jill and I attended a NYSWI Book Festival panel featuring the creators of Invisible Strings: 113 Poets Respond to the Songs of Taylor Swift. Editor Kristie Frederick Daugherty, poet Leah Umansky and poet Samiya Bashir read from the book and took questions from the audience about the anthology and Swift’s work in general.
I love, love, love the book and really enjoyed the discussion. And I’m so grateful for the timely example/model of intentionality and purpose that Swift offers.
And here’s one final piece of wisdom I’ve gained from the revision process: We don’t give up when we hit a snag because struggle adds depth and texture to what we’re doing. It’s where magic is born.
Here’s how artist Louise Fletcher put it in a recent installment of her email newsletter:
The ugly stage is where the real work begins. That’s the place where you stop coasting and start wrestling. Suddenly, the painting is no longer a flat surface with marks on it—it’s a conversation partner. You argue, you negotiate, you push and pull until something unexpected emerges. And out of that tussle comes depth, richness, and a painting you couldn’t have planned at the start. …Struggle gives paintings their density. It’s the thing you can’t fake.
And here’s the real secret: the struggle isn’t just making the painting better—it’s making you better. Every fight with a painting is a fight with yourself: with your impatience, your perfectionism, your fear of failure. And every time you stick with it instead of quitting, you grow a little tougher, a little freer, a little more honest as an artist.
Amen to manuscript as conversation partner. Amen to putting impatience, perfectionism, and the fear of failure in their place. And this, this, this: Here’s to making the thing you can’t fake. ❤️
I’ll end here with notes from September’s creative activities. Remember, if this kind of thing doesn’t interest you, feel free to skip it. I was pleased to see this list accumulate, even as I stepped back a little bit from the manuscript revisions.
SEPTEMBER 2025 WRITING
- Continued revisions of my Gertie manuscript
- Free writes X24
SEPTEMBER 2025 ART-MAKING
- Paused for another month to focus on my poetry manuscript
SEPTEMBER 2025 BLOGGING
- Completed a post re-capping August creative life
- Added new poems to existing blog post lists
- Created and published an Instagram carousel to promote the October poems in my Poems for Every Month post
SEPTEMBER 2025 INSPIRATION & ADMIN
(I could have placed these under their respective art or writing categories, but I’m trying to be honest about if I’m consuming inspiration more than I’m doing the work.)
- Daily Morning Pages
- Ass in Chair Collective (an online creative co-working space) X5
- Madwomen Fall 2025 workshop X4
- Zoomed with my private “Second Best Witches” writing group X1
- Artist date to the Invisible Strings/Taylor Swift panel during New York State Writers Institute Book Festival @ SUNY Albany with Jill Crammond
- Attended a book launch/reading by Caitlin Conlon (for Burning the Ghost Light)
- Attended “From Flat to Fierce: How to Fix a ‘Failed’ Poem,” a revision workshop from Kelly Grace Thomas
- Poetry coaching calls X2 (includes an orientation; just getting started!)
- Maintained a “writing process journal”
SEPTEMBER 2025 READING
- And You May Find Yourself (memoir, essays) by Sari Botton
- Constellation Route (poems) by Matthew Olzmann (re-reading)
- God of Nothingness (poems) by Mark Wunderlich
- Mothersalt by Mia Ayumi Malhotra
SEPTEMBER 2025 SUBMISSIONS, PUBLICATIONS & EXHIBITIONS
- Reviewed proof for work forthcoming in Gyroscope Review
- Received news from lit mags: acceptance X1; rejection X4 (including one with the encouragement to resubmit)
- Submitted poem packets to literary mags X8
- Maintained an updated list of submission windows/deadlines for lit mags and poetry presses
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