This week, I turn in my fourth packet of the semester and my first, ever, rough draft of my creative thesis. I am absolutely thrilled for this. I’ve been working on this manuscript for weeks now and, while I know it won’t be a finished manuscript by the time I submit my fourth packet (and nor is it supposed to be), I am still so excited to watch this manuscript come together. It’s currently sitting at about 70 pages. That might change a little this week as I’ve already removed a few poems that just didn’t seem to fit the primary themes connecting all the pieces. And especially since I have other poems that more accurately and more naturally fit the themes, and my rough draft is already 30ish pages longer than the minimum for the assignment, it made sense to take out the poems I’m unsure of.

Last night, I participated in another Sunday writing salon with a group of women writers whom I have come to love and respect as sisters. They are truly phenomenal people, as well as stunningly powerful and honest writers, and I feel as though much of my growth as a poet has come from this community I’ve been welcomed into. I wrote a poem last night off of a prompt we were given by the host of the salon. After I read this poem to the group, the host of the salon said, “This writer has such a powerful voice. And from what I can remember, this writer is not a large person, she’s petite, so this powerful voice hits even harder. This voice reminds me of Whitman, just booming out from the page.”

YA’LL.

I about passed out. I honestly didn’t and still don’t know what to do with that kind of compliment. I think all writers, be they authors, playwrights, poets, essayists, comics, etc. aspire to be like other writers, the greatest of those that have gone before us. I think those aspirations are what drive us to continue to learn, to continue to create, to continue to pursue and hone our craft so that we can improve. I think those aspirations are healthy and helpful and motivating.

But to actually be compared to such a writer is altogether completely different. And I have no illusions here. My writing style and quality are not being compared to Whitman and I probably wouldn’t believe anyone who told me I write like Whitman; the power of my poetic voice is what was being compared to Whitman, and that is still an enormous compliment, one I accept with the utmost honor. I haven’t read much Whitman (although I’m changing that as soon as I can), but I remember I loved what I did read. And Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, loved Whitman; he was her earliest inspiration to write poetry.

As I go into this final week of my fourth packet, as I continue to work on the rough draft of my manuscript, as I continue to work on my October goal of writing 10,000 words of poetry (I’m still on track, by the way. I’m at about 8,400), I’m going to keep in mind that my art matters. Especially now, with the election looming and the pandemic on the rise, our voices matter. Powerful, quiet, loud, soft, and everything in between, our writing is necessary.

Your writing is necessary.