1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first chapbook was an illuminating process. Plus, I made some new friends! I’m very grateful for the support I received from Robert Colman (my editor), and Jim Johnstone at Anstruther Press, my poetry collective, Harbour Centre 5, as well as from my colleagues, customers and suppliers in the industrial world. It was also an opportunity to connect with some of the poets whose work I’d admired for many years. I felt like a real writer once I had something tangible to hold in my hands– I’d realized my dream.
My most recent work, if: prey, then: huntress is a full-length collection. Compared to rig veda (my chapbook), there is some overlap in terms of content, but IPTH is an eclectic collection (work and play poetry!). During one of our conversations, Rob said ‘a chapbook is like a room in a house’. The light went on for me (and yes, someone was home!).
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I came through the work of Dennis Lee, as a child. The irreverence is what did it for me. Poetry seemed supercharged in terms of its humour, its whimsicality (and certainly its musicality) and the naughtiness of its child characters.
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?
In my case it’s how many fits and starts? It’s a very slow process. I frequently use the word ‘woolgathering’ to describe it. ‘Hairy tumbleweeds’ might be a more apt metaphor— pricklier and more random, and over rougher terrain. I do a lot of research while writing, but mainly for technical reasons (which invariably ends up down internet rabbit holes). First drafts usually need to ‘have legs’, as I like to say—in the form of a spark of sound or an explosive image or even unusual subject matter, used as a prompt. Then there’s a moderate amount of editing (longhand) on the printed first draft.
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?
For me, a poem begins with a sensory snippet, or an image (could even be a mundane scene or a utilitarian object), or a far-out sound combination that begets an unusual image (see #3). That’s the flashpoint. I’m definitely in the former camp.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I’d say they’re part of my creative process. I do enjoy doing readings and connecting with the audience. The in-between banter and the backstory adds some connective tissue and colour that is unique to an in-person reading, much like a live music event.
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?
I’m seeking meaning within and beyond the world of work. How can we carve out some time and energy for ourselves to be present but not enmeshed, especially in this age of technological acceleration? What do we show of ourselves beyond our roles or our scripts in commercial or institutional environments and interactions? How do we as individuals maintain our humanity and agency in dehumanizing environments or situations? Why are there still places and networks in which women’s participation and access to opportunity is limited? How do we maintain our connection with the tactile world? How do we keep craftsmanship and repair knowledge alive in the age of enshittification? Most of my questions are questions of agency.
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?
The writer holds up a mirror, shows us our humanity, and helps us hang on. They demand courage and honesty and are willing to put themselves on the line for all of us. I think we need writers more than ever these days, especially when books are being banned and we’re living in a sea of propaganda and AI slop. I’m reminded of the Greek cynic philosopher Diogenes, who was purported to have wandered around in public spaces in broad daylight with a lit lantern, claiming he was ‘searching for an honest man’.
8 – Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Essential. I’ve been so fortunate in this regard. I’ve had the privilege of working with both Rob, and Peter Norman (who edited if: prey, then: huntress). Nightwood also treated IPTH gently but with great attention to detail. Their perspectives were very helpful in ordering the manuscript and also in determining which poems to keep and which to leave out.
9 – What is the best piece of advice you’ve heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
“Well-behaved women rarely make history.” More of a pithy quote, which I took as advice!
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?
I do three pages of free-writing most mornings before work (and on the weekend), but I don’t have a set routine. A typical day begins with very strong coffee and plant care. When I have time after freewriting, I do like to read the LCP’s Poetry Pause poem or watch a videopoem.
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
There’s always reading other poets’ work, as well as knitting/crochet or baking. Making things usually sets off another writing streak. Taking a walk helps. I’m a fan of using prompts in group settings as well.
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
My husband’s cooking, specifically his spaghetti bolognese sauce. It’s out of this world. I’m very spoiled.
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?
So many influences. Food, music (specifically 70s rock), and visual art, the urban environment, geology, astronomy, and mechanical engineering concepts/terms.
14 – What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I try to read as much industrial work poetry as I can, so Kate Braid, Tom Wayman, Lindsay Bird, Garth Martens, and Joe Denham, to name a few. I’m interested in discovering more Spanish language poetry by women writers. I also enjoy the literary journals— it’s always interesting to leaf through and to discover a new writer, or a new piece by someone whose work you enjoy.
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I’d like to visit Spain and walk everywhere, especially on the Galician coast. Art, architecture, great cuisine and natural beauty!
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’d try being a cardiac surgeon, although that does not really qualify as something you dabble in— and you can’t really wing it. My guess is I’d probably still be in sales or a small business owner importing Nice European Things (either edible or wearable).
17 – What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
It was the one thing I could do well, and I loved words and books from an early age. I could take them with me wherever I went. Reading and writing became a lifeline as a child and as an adult.
18 – What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Book: Lauren Peat’s chapbook Future Tense (Baseline 2024). It’s stunning. ‘Aubade at Olympic Station’ begins with the line ‘I wake to split the blue milk of morning with the cat who haunts my building’. Musically-rich (Peat is a composer as well– and draws some inspiration from the work of Glenn Gould), this work is a kaleidoscopic meditation which reflects on many facets of vulnerability: intimacy and distance in relationships, homelessness–‘the man curled into a comma by the TD Bank’, even a newborn baby after a difficult birth.
Film: a beautiful, five-minute videopoem about the aftermath of the end of a relationship ‘El fin de la existencia de las cosas/The end of the existence of things’ by Dalia Huerta Cano. Just watch it.
19 – What are you currently working on?
More hairy tumbleweeds for the next book. The work world offers plenty of material!
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