I consider myself lucky that I can call myself a traditionally published poet, but it has not come without its challenges.

My debut poetry book, Even the Air, Too Heavy, was published in 2022 and since then, I have been working on other poetry manuscripts. My second, a collection of sonnets chronicling the year after I separated from my ex-husband, has been ready for publication for years, but has not found a home yet. This is what happens with traditional publishing in any genre: the manuscript is pitted against the works of other writers and it does or doesn’t get chosen. Only with poetry, the process is more complicated. Fiction manuscripts are almost always represented by an agent; in fact, most publishers don’t accept un-agented manuscripts, and it’s the agent’s job to find a publisher for the manuscript.

Poetry doesn’t require agents and, in fact, I don’t think there are agents who work in the genre of poetry. Moreover, fiction includes subgenres (fantasy, sci-fi, horror, mystery, etc), whereas poetry usually doesn’t. Furthermore, there are far more publishers of fiction than there are of poetry, which makes the process of being published as a poet that much more complicated. Hence why I have spent the better part of two years submitting my collection of sonnets for publication consideration without successfully finding it a home.

And I know for a fact that the writing itself isn’t the issue. Multiple sonnets have been published individually in different literary journals and anthologies, and the manuscript itself was almost a finalist in a contest and would have been a finalist except, as the editor said in the rejection letter, it wasn’t a long enough manuscript. That was last year and after that, I went through and added a whole new section of sonnets to hopefully avoid a similar rejection in the future. And honestly, the manuscript needed the added sonnets, but the book has still not been accepted for publication.

This is the process.

I’m not complaining because, like I said, I consider myself privileged to call myself a traditionally published poet, and I know that at 37, almost 38 years old, I am still considered a young poet. And maybe this collection of sonnets isn’t meant to be my second? Maybe it’s meant to be my third? Or fifth? Maybe the issue is the timing?

That’s why I keep working on other poetry manuscripts. It’s why my focus is always bent towards the poetic. It’s why I’m sending out individual poems from my next manuscript so that I can continue to light the candles needed to make my way through this forest. My collection of sonnets will find its home one day, but I am not going to stall my progress on my other poetry projects waiting for it.

I mentioned in previous posts that I want to be prolific, I want to be known as a poet who is always writing and publishing poetry. The longer I’m out of school, the stronger that urge becomes. It’s hard to describe, but it feels like a remaking, a revision of sorts. As though I needed this college program not necessarily to point me towards a new career, but to ground me in myself and my writing in such a way that poetry can’t help but flow.

I don’t know if I will write another 100 new poems this year. Since January, I’ve written 12, which isn’t much, but considering I was in my last semester and working on a 50-60 page original research thesis that included my own data collection, I think it’s still pretty fucking awesome. And right now I think I’m in a place of needing to refill my creative mind, my poetic mind, before I really dive into this new place of creative output. There are, as of and including today, 232 days left in the year. One poem every other day would definitely get me to a little over 100, and that would be great, but the point of making the goal is just to get me back in the writing mode.

I already have four poetry manuscripts that I’m working on (my sonnets manuscript, my female archetypes manuscript, my love poems chapbook, and my elements manuscript); if I don’t make it to 100 new poems this year, it won’t be the end of the world.

Besides, there’s something else happening through all of this that will continue no matter how many new poems I write: I’m stretching my poetic voice. I’m learning my own poetic way of being on the page. I know it sounds obvious, but when I get too busy or too distracted or too tired to focus on my unique poetic voice, I start to lose it. This is why having a consistent writing practice is so important; this is why making the time for writing is the difference between writers who are/will be successful and those who aren’t/won’t be. There are a lot of people who call themselves writers, but they don’t actually write. Not consistently.

And to be clear, “success” has nothing to do with publishing. My best friend is one of the most unique writers I know. Her projects are so interesting and genre-defying, and her way with words are absolutely stunning. We were talking the other day about her work and she said that she has no idea what’s going to come from her writing, whether or not she’ll be published one day or if people will even read her work, but the work itself is still edifying and healing and important to her. As it should be. She is already a successful writer because she devotes time to her work. It could be an everyday practice, or even a once every month practice; writers are successful just be doing the work of writing.

Even when it feels impossible.

That’s the difference between people who want to be writers and people who actually are writers. The writing has to happen consistently, even if it’s only in small clusters. 10 words a day is enough.

I will continue to write and send out my work for publication consideration because this is what I was put on this earth to do. This is my calling. No matter how challenging it continues to be.

Love and light.