1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book was a triumph-over-trauma composition—a kind of throat-clearing for me as a poet and author. It was both a way to process survivor visibility and an extension of the research I was pursuing for my undergraduate thesis at Cal. The book became a vehicle to release what needed to be said so I could do the work I do now. In fact, I’ve come to accept that everything I create as a poet today could not have existed without Unearth [The Flowers].
After finishing my MFA, I went through a phase of embarrassment because the book had been published before my graduate studies; I felt unrefined and even cringed at my own work. That moment has thankfully passed. I am now deeply proud of the book. As for the craft, I remain humbled and grateful to have tangible evidence of my evolution as a writer.
My two books, in fact, feel as though they were written by two different authors. My second collection GRIME is dramatically different, shaped by the exponential growth I experienced during NYU’s MFA program. That book reflects far greater intentionality and critical engagement with form, sound, and poetic lineage—asking, on the page, which poets I am in conversation with. I imagine my next book will serve as a kind of bridge, carrying echoes from both works into new terrain.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Poetry came to me first. The rest is history, as they say...
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
Projects come quickly, and the writing itself often arrives in bursts. But completing a poem—or an entire project—takes much longer. Nicole Sealey, one of my MFA craft professors, once distinguished between fire poets and crystal poets. I have come to accept that I am a crystal poet: I need time, pressure, and patience before I am willing to abandon a poem and call it “done.” I am rarely, if not never, satisfied with my initial draft of a poem. Instead, I research more, revise, and return to the work again and again. Often, I’ll draft thirty poems in a single month, but it can take a year or more before one of them feels finished. My poems, in other words, simmer in a slow cooker rather than sear in a sizzling hot pan.
4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
Any new poem I write will emerge from one or more of these core themes of love, survival, resilience, grief, despair, desperation, terror, violence… Of course, there will be surprises—every poem begins with an idea whose final shape I can’t predict—but having these thematic anchors helps me recognize which poems belong to a project and which can be set aside.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love and deeply enjoy doing readings because I love embodying the poem and the reenactment of emotion. Honestly, readings give me validation more than a heightened flow of creativity.
6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
In my writing, I wrestle with questions of representation and responsibility: How do I avoid the trap of romanticizing pain? Can I subvert sensationalism rather than fall into it? When meditating on events that have actually taken place, I ask whether my approach brings justice to the subject matter. Am I honoring the essence of the people whose voices become speakers in my poems? Am I attentive to the gravity of the moment being reimagined on the page?
7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
That’s a great question, but I can’t say what I think the role of the writer should be. I’m tired of hearing writers tell other writers what their role is in culture and society at large. If you write, then honor the role you’re in—celebrate it—and stay in your lane. I am a writer, yes, with philosophical tendencies, but I am not a spokesperson for writers.
What I know for myself is this: I expose the underbelly of society while grappling with the human condition and notions of societal values. My focus remains: can I do that exceptionally well? The practice continues…
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I find working with an editor to be essential to the production process. I value the support of another set of eyes critically engaging with my work, offering feedback, and helping guide the book toward its fully realized form. I’m deeply grateful for the synergy I’ve experienced with the editors of my books. Thank you, Jessie Carver and Garrett Caples!
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Robin Coste Lewis, one of my MFA workshop professors at NYU, once told us: “Be good to your art, and your art will be good to you.” When I meditate on this statement, I’m reminded to honor what arrives through me and to cherish it, rather than dismiss it with criticism or despairing envy. Perhaps one of the reasons people encounter writer’s block is that they don’t value the writing that comes.
Robin emphasized that we write to reach what truly needs to be written. I hold that advice close. No matter how negative or imperfect a draft may feel, I write it out and let the poem breathe. For me, revision cannot come from a place of negativity; it is an act of reimagining, of allowing the poem itself to guide me toward its fullest actualization.
10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
My writing routine moves in seasons. Thanks to the poet EK Keith, I make it a point to participate in a poem-a-day challenge during one or more of the 30-day months in a year (April, June, September, November). The remaining months are devoted to revising the poems I’ve written.
Throughout the day and week, I’m constantly collecting ideas—whether phrases, key words, or dramatic scenarios. These can range from something playful, like “grippy socks” or “if the world was a poem,” to something harrowing, like a dramatic monologue imagining the fatal subway burning of a woman by a drunk man who claims he remembers nothing. I collect these ideas so that when the 30-poem challenge arrives, I have prompt-like springboards ready to jump from.
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I don’t believe my writing ever stalls. There may be a moment of hesitation—Okay, can I write a poem? I know how to write a poem. I’ve done this before…—but I never experience a true block. I keep my process fresh. I have a strong aversion to stagnation.
So, my approach to writing evolves constantly. I am methodical in how I engage with subject matter. My relationship to form also provides inspiration: whether I’m working with a golden shovel, a cento, or a dramatic monologue, I am critically engaging with other poets, and that conversation keeps me focused. I don’t seek inspiration externally, because I am either generating new material from a collected set of ideas or revising existing work. The seasonal cycle of writing and revision keeps both the pace steady and creativity flowing.
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Vanilla with a dash of cinnamon
13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
My books are inspired not only by other books but also by human nature, visual art, and music. Grime, for example, is a musical genre whose harsh, jagged sounds parallel the stark realities in GRIME, the book. I grew up immersed in punk and rock—especially grunge and alternative—so my writing often reflects that distortion: loud guitars, a solo here and there, and the tonal register of that lyrical atmosphere. Movie soundtracks also inform my work and can even accompany it; for instance, the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack by the Kronos Quartet aligns closely with the beats of GRIME.
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I won’t be able to name them all, but I must acknowledge the work of Ai, Terrance Hayes, Robin Coste Lewis, and Bob Kaufman, as well as Sharon Olds’s Satan Says and Patricia Smith’s Blood Dazzler. Their influence resonates deeply in my own work and I continuously learn from them.
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Get an originally drafted screenplay successfully sold with producer rights.
16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I have always been an artist. I think I would have been a visual artist of some kind or find some nest in music.
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
O my soul yearned for it.
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The last great film I read and watched was The Conjuring (2013).
19 - What are you currently working on?
My next book of poetry and a horror screenplay!
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