KELLY GRACE THOMAS is the winner of the 2017 Neil PostmanAward for Metaphor from Rattle,
2018 finalist for the Rita Dove Poetry Award and multiple pushcart prize
nominee. Her first full-length collection, Boat Burned, was released by
YesYes Books in January 2020. Kelly’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming
in: Best New Poets 2019, Los Angeles Review, Redivider, Nashville Review,
Muzzle, DIAGRAM, and more. Kelly currently works to bring poetry to
underserved youth as the Director of Education and Pedagogy for Get Lit-Words Ignite.
Kelly is a three-time poetry slam championship coach and the co-author of Words
Ignite: Explore, Write and Perform, Classic and Spoken Word Poetry (Literary
Riot), currently taught in the Los Angeles Unified School District. Kelly has
received fellowships from Tin House Winter Workshop, Martha's Vineyard
Institute of Creative Writing and the Kenyon Review Young Writers. Kelly
and her sister, Kat Thomas, won Best Feature Length Screenplay at the Portland
Comedy Film Festival for their romantic comedy, Magic Little Pills.
Kelly lives in the Bay Area with her husband, Omid, and is currently working on
her debut novel, a YA thriller, titled Only 10.001. www.kellygracethomas.com
1 - How did
your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to
your previous? How does it feel different?
When you “burn your boats,” there is no going back. Moving forward is
the only choice. Boat Burned, my debut
collection from YesYes Books, examines the metaphor of femininity as boat, and
addresses the intergenerational lies women are fed and feed themselves. But
even more than that, this collection is about blazing the beliefs that limit
you. It’s about burning down what doesn’t serve you and becoming something
better, brighter.
At the
poetry nonprofit I work for, Get Lit-Words Ignite, we have a large mural, that reads,
“every poem is a love poem.” Each page of Boat Burned contains oceans of
sadness, and in swimming these seas, acknowledging that sadness, it became a
book of unconventional love poems, a healing, for me as a woman and the women
around me: my mother, my grandmothers, my friends.
I grew up in
a household that on the outside was extremely happy, my divorced parents that
were best friends, we traveled lots and there was always an adventure, but
there was also a lot of sadness and events (bankruptcy, indfieldity,
addictions) that were not talked about or easily expressed. I could feel the
sadness of the women around me, even though we never spoke about the pain. I
could feel it all.
I believe in
simply speaking something, naming it, looking it in the eye, so the healing can
begin. This book, these poems changed my life in the way that it taught me how
to love, myself and others. I don’t know if I was capable of true and
unconditional love before I wrote these poems.
In terms of
writing, my new work feels a little more direct in terms of language. I love
writing that is innovative, that turns language inside out. However there are
certain situations that I’m writing about now that need to be simply stated,
just writing them down is hard enough.
2 - How did
you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or nonfiction?
The funny
thing is I went to college to study fiction. I used to be a short story writer,
I’ve written one novel and am currently halfway through another one. I
work in many genres, I’ve written children's books, essays, and recently won
Best Feature Film for the Portland Comedy Film festival for mine and my
sisters’ (Kat Thomas) screenplay, Magic Little Pills.
I didn’t
come to poetry first, however it has always been the genre that has held me
closest and captivated me most. I began writing poetry as a high school
teacher. I received a grant to teach Get Lit’s spoken word curriculum in
my classroom. The curriculum, the poetry, the reading, response and
performance, completely transformed my students. I saw kids who didn’t care
about much before, arrive at school early, engaged, constantly editing,
transformed by poetry. They bloomed into a better version of themselves.
During this
time I was battling darkness in my own life. Dealing with some personal trauma,
I was on the verge of imploding. Instead of self destructing, I told myself if
I just sat down and wrote, I could have what they had. I used poetry as a
lighthouse and moved towards creation. I spent a year writing a poem a day,
just to process, just to practice.
After that I
met the wonderful poet Tresha Faye Haefner and she offered a scholarship for
her classes at the Poetry Salon. The classes were small, supportive
close, and offered actionable feedback and steps to further my work. I
learn how to submit, how to edit. Tresha’s class changed my life, introduced me
to a whole new world. I am forever grateful for her guidance and
feedback. Now Tresha and I co-teach the Poetry Salon together, along with some
other amazing poets.
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?
Honestly, it
depends on the project. In terms of Boat Burned, I was working on the
manuscript for about three years, however it wasn’t until the poem, “The Boat
of my Body” was written that I found the spine of my manuscript. After that I
started to understand what it needed to do, it started to stand on its own. The
metaphor of woman as boat became a container I couldn’t stop filling.
When my
manuscript was accepted to YesYes Books, one of those Facebook photo reminders
popped up on my screen showing me it had been almost three years to that day,
that I submitted the collection for the first time. Since then only 30 percent
of the same poems remain and it’s had seven different titles.
I revise
constantly as I write. So a rough draft never really feels like a true rough
draft. In the time span of 20 minutes I might redraft the poem two to three
different times, tightening and tweaking each line, image or word. I don’t take
notes rather just write and try to get deeper with each draft.
What’s
looking like my second collection is forever changing shape, I spent about six
months writing a poem here or there. Then I took one week at my family’s house
in Tahoe and created my own writing residency. During that time I wrote 15-20
poems towards the collection. But who knows which will make the cut. Or what
the collection will look like, my vision is in constant revision.
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?
They begin
so many places, and some are pretty odd. The poem I mentioned earlier, “The
Boat of My Body,” came to me as I was undressing at a Women’s Korean Day Spa in
Los Angeles. While taking off my clothes I thought, what if all us women took
off our clothes and we were something besides human underneath?
I said to
myself, “I would be a boat.” The idea came so fast, so certain. That there in
the day spa, I sat down in my pink robe and wrote “The Boat of my Body.” After
that the manuscript knew who she was going to be. I just needed to figure out
what she needed to say.
Many times
poems just begin with an overwhelm of language or emotion. Sometimes I soak up
so much like a sponge when reading, I see it’s a technique I learned that I
want to try and I have to wring myself out. Other times it could be that I am
just feeling too much and need to let it out. Need to understand myself better,
the world better.
In terms of
themes and collections, I used to be an author of shorter pieces (related or
not) that took form into a larger shape once they sat next to each other. But
now I feel like I am directly writing poems towards my next collection, not all
of them but most. Collections seem so tightly knit in theme these days. So many
poetry collections are project-books. However, I usually write pretty closely
to one theme, but my approach to how the poems talk to one another and develop
an arc has shifted. I think I look for the change or evolution in collections
more than I used to. When I sit down to read I want the speaker to finish the
book in a different place than where they started.
5 - Are
public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort
of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I absolutely
adore public ratings. Attending them and being a featured poet. Writing is such
a lonely process, there’s definitely a sense of community in terms of workshop
and revision, but the actual crafting of something, sitting with it, looking in
its eyes, is lonely. At least for me. Just you and the poem, and sometimes the
poem doesn't want to really talk yet.
It’s so nice
to build the connection and share that process at public readings. I love going
to readings because poems always stick more when I hear them aloud, straight
from the author's mouth. Also backstory, craft and conception is key for me. I
adore the behind the scene tales of creativity and contemplation, and try to
include them when I read. What a privilege to get a peek into any poet’s
process. I love conversation about craft and artistic process, as much as poems
themselves.Usually when I read a poem I love over and over, there is a limit to
what I can learn from the page. But once I hear an author talk about that
piece, its process, it adopts a whole new dimension.
I don’t know
if I consider public readings when I’m writing, but I certainly do after the
poems are finished (if there’s such a thing as being finished). After I curate
them together in a dialogue to think of the communities I might share them
with, the conversations they might spark.
I take
preparing for readings pretty seriously. I sit down with my book and create a
set list, write notes about the things I want to say about the poem(s) and why
it’s important to say them. They don’t always get shared, but I try to include
whoever is listening as much as possible. Let them in. I also want the reading
to be an act of evolution of a thought, dilemma, or dialogue. The person
listening should be taken on a journey, that asks questions, that changes them
in some (small or big) way.
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?
This is a
great question, I used to have a lot more concerns about my work than I do now.
I don’t know how much of it was theoretical, I think it was just confidence,
imposter syndrome, not feeling like I belonged. Which I still suffer from
constantly.
A lot of
that is related to how I came to poetry. I came without knowing anyone, without
an MFA, as a high school teacher who just read and wrote cause they loved it.
Some of the insecurities were simply because I was new to the poetry space, and
some of that has changed with the work I’ve done within myself.
I write what
I need to say, I write because it is important. The hardest thing about poetry
is not letting too many voices into my head. There were so many for so long:
what people think you should write, how you should write, where you should send
it. I don’t have those concerns anymore. The only concern would be if I think a
poem or something I might write might hurt another person or group, I try to be
extremely mindful of that, which is a whole other conversation.
In the past
I was concerned that I was writing too much about the same thing. At a writing
conference, another poet told me that Claudia Rankine once said she only thinks
about one thing for two to three years. I might be misquoting her, and my
apologies if I am, but that gave me permission for my obsessions. It
reminded me that obsession is another word for hunger, that there’s a need for
growth or evolution there. This is why I come to the page: because I’m hungry
to understand.
I know that
not everyone will like my writing or be engaged in the subject matter, and
that’s perfectly fine with me.
One of the
biggest questions that I ask in my work is why what happens happens and how
reactions shape the future and hatch new happenings.
I’m also
extremely interested in the question of why we don’t love ourselves more. How
do we begin to love ourselves? Can we be OK with not exactly loving ourselves
but trying? I also want to know why certain people hold power. And why do
we give our power away? What does it mean to possess power in a group or
in the self? And lastly a lot of my work questions how we address the body. How
can we reach towards tenderness and understanding, ask how can we stop seeing
the body as another, something separate then the self? How does this change
begin?
7 – What do
you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even
have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Wow that is
quite the question. There are books written about this, that still don’t cover
it all, but I’ll try to be succinct.
I
think the role of the writer is to be a mirror. They hold up a reflection to
whatever we need to look at: the self, politics, the state of love in the
world, the budding of a daffodil, their own body.
As writers
we help others see things that deserve to be seen. As writers we help people
talk about the things that need to be said.. Whether it’s one person talking or
a whole country.
The job of
an artist is to create a call to action, to use art to change a person, in a
small or big way. Maybe one of my poems makes someone call their mom, maybe it
helps them not cringe when they look in the mirror. Or maybe they thank their
thighs for all the places they have taken them.
My role as a
writer is to help others consider, and reconsider.
8 - Do you
find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or
both)?
I find
working with an outside editor imperative. It is something that I absolutely
100% need. However it’s important they don’t come in too early. I used to
really second-guess myself and having too many voices in my head confused the
poem.
Now I wait
until the fourth or fifth draft before I show it to anyone. I’ve worked with
some really incredible friends mentors and the editors: Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach, Tresha
Faye Haefner, Kim Addonizio, Shira Erlichman and many more. I’ve taken workshops
with some of my poetry heroes, (Patricia Smith, Jericho Brown, Ruth Awad)
but what I’ve learned through all of this is that I need to stay true to
myself. So while an editor is so wonderful l in helping see the global approach
to the poem and where the poem might need to be tightened or expanded.
However, I
have finally come to the point where I trust myself more, when getting feedback
I can say (silently to myself) yes absolutely I’ll work on that, or no, I
don’t agree with you but I appreciate your insight.
Being open
to feedback in any area of life is how you grow. Being able to recognize what
feedback that is valuable and actionable for you to grow into the person and
poet you want to be is so necessary.
9 - What is
the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
I approach
everything (my work especially) with the idea that there’s always more to
learn. I saw Nikky Finney speak at AWP
last year. She shared a mindset of “never arriving, always becoming.” Meaning
never get to the place where you say I know it all, I’ve made it, it’s
time to stop learning. Instead watch how you, the world, our language,evolve,
into new cells, to new questions, to new aches. One you have yet to engage
with. I hope that my work is always attempting to become something new.
10 - How
easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to screenwriting)? What
do you see as the appeal?
I would say
that I write different genres and different seasons. I wouldn’t say that I
bounce from poetry to screenwriting to fiction on a weekly basis. I usually go
to other genres when I need a break from poetry and how self involved my work
can be. I use poetry as a tool to figure out my thoughts in the world. And
sometimes it’s nice to be in someone else’s head, to build a new world, far
away from the one you’re living in.
Since poetry
is my bread and butter it is my day job and my night job I spend the most
amount of time, energy and effort on that. It is my goal this year to spend
more time with the other genres. I am halfway through writing a YA thriller
that I absolutely adore, but the time demands around fiction are a lot
different than writing poetry. My sister and I are also starting on a new
screenplay, it’s an idea we’ve been kicking around for 10 years and I cannot
wait to get started on that.
11 - 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 have been
trying for the past 20 years to have a concrete writing routine. I always say
I’m gonna get up at 6 AM and write for three hours before work. Sometimes it
works but most often it doesn’t. I’m usually exhausted.
I find that
for me being in writing workshops and doing things like Ross White’s Grind
(where you write a poem a day with a group of people) have been extremely
helpful in terms of establishing a writing routine.
I’m
currently taking a poetry class with Kim Addonizio. I also have opportunities
to write when I teach workshops for Get Lit - Words Ignite or the Poetry Salon, which is amazing.
This is
something I struggle with writing time. Sometimes I will make a self-made
writing retreat or go to a summer program if I receive a fellowship. Many times
I write 25% of what I will write that year during this time. The other 75% is
written in between work meetings, in the bubble bath with a glass of wine, at
stoplights, at the gym. Tiny ideas that knock at my brain until I am able to
sit down and spend 2 to 3 hours to get the poem where it needs to be.
12 - When
your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a
better word) inspiration?
I read and
read and read some more. I have found lately if poems are not coming to me it’s
usually because I’m not feeding myself with other people’s work. I don’t
try to force writing when it doesn’t work, I just start reading d more.
I would say
that the more that I write and read the easier it comes. It’s just like yoga in
the first class, it’s hard to touch your toes, but as you practice more and
more you’re extremely flexible and can twist into a pretzel on demand. You can
get into the poses fairly easily. Poetry is a lot like that when I’m reading
and writing every day I can get to where I need to be quickly.
13 - What
fragrance reminds you of home?
For me it’s
the smell of salt water and sand. The smell of wind whipping over the Pacific,
or the oil from my dad’s sailboat engine. I also love the smell of dirt and wet
leaves as a hike through the mountains of the bay area. I connect so much with
the outdoors. Most of the smells that remind me of home are smells of nature
where I’m spending time with people I love.
14 - 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?
Nature
is a huge influence. Nature is one of the best listeners I’ve ever met. It
rivals the page. When I’m quiet in nature, poems come to me. I think they’re
always there. They follow me around like tiny, patient children. But I’m
usually too overscheduled or there are too many other things that demand my
attention to notice them. In nature I am able to see them, hear them. It's when
I step into nature, spend time in quiet, that the poems appear and we can sit
down and talk.
15 - What
other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life
outside of your work?
Oh wow there
are so many that have been a really huge influence in my life. I’m very
attracted to writers whose language surprises me. Poets who use words or syntax
or parts of parts of speech in a new way that gives urgency and energy to language.
One of my
favorite books of all time is Blood Dazzler by Patricia Smith. She has forever inspired me to push toward invention and innovation.
Also on this list is sam sax, Kaveh Akbar, Danez Smith, Shira Erlichman and so many others.
16 - What
would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
In terms of
life, I’d like to travel the world, become a parent, write a novel that has
some commercial success.
In terms of
writing ,I would like to write a manuscript about a subject outside of myself.
Of course, autobiography will always be an influence, but I want to look
outward, at an animal or a place and give it it’s own voice. Lean into its
story. Sometimes I just get so sick of myself. I would love to take some time
to focus on writing where I am not the center, where the “I” might not even be
acknowledged.
17 - 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?
Wow! This is
such a great question. There’s so many things that I’d like to do besides
write, but writing seems like the only thing I could ever do.
However if
it was an alternative life I would’ve like to be a lobsterman, a florist, a
lawyer, or a doctor.
I’m so
fascinated with different life forms, the ocean, the body and how we can use
language to change history.
I also
think it would be pretty cool to work in a national park or an aquarium to
preserve and educate about sea life. I would love to spend my day feeding and
talking with otters and sea lions. Anything that has to do with the ocean
ultimately makes me very happy.
18 - What
made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I think I
started writing because I needed to communicate in a way that everyday
conversation wasn't in allowing.
When I was
about seven years old, I took to writing letters when I was upset. I would
shove them under my mom’s door. They expressed how I was feeling when I wasn’t
able to sit down and talk to her about it, yet.
There is a
depth that I can get with the page that I can’t always get in real life.
My dad
helped me appreciate writing through his love of music. My whole family is very
big on music. We spent a lot of time on boats. In the middle of the ocean there
is not much else to talk to one another, look at the ocean or listen to
music.
My dad would
put on an album and point out a great line. He and I would discuss what
made a line so great and why. I think my parents were a huge influence in how I
came to writing through expression or appreciation. Then the more I was around
poetry, and I saw the effects it had on those around me, helping them heal and
discovery, the more I wanted it in my life. I started writing and was hooked
19 - What
was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I recently
read The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexi and I was floored at the honesty
and depth of the language. The voice of this young Native American
teenager, one with so much commentary about the world, otherness, the
need for love, was one of the most honest voices I have heard in awhile. So many
human truths, Alexi writes “ used to think that the world was broken down by
tribes,” I said. ... The world is only broken into two tribes: The people who
are assholes and the people who are not.” I think about that often.
Last great
film I saw, which might sound cheesy, was Amy Runs a Marathon. There is so much
wonderful commentary about body image, self-discipline, how our surroundings
shape our habits and what we owe to ourselves. It is cutesy film on Amazon
about a girl who is decides to run a marathon, but for me it was so much more.
There are so few films that talk about our relationship to weight, our
relationship to food and how we use it to fill voids .I found it refreshing and
honest without being preachy or agenda driven. It was great because of motivation
and insight it offered.
20 - What
are you currently working on?
I’m
currently working on a book about my heartbreaking struggle with infertility.
Me and my husband have been trying to get pregnant for a year and a half. We
have seen the doctors. We know what the issue is. Still it is an ocean of grief
I continue to cross daily.
There is so
much silence around fertility. Even though it is something that affects every
single person in this country. Everyone came from someone, yet we hardly talk
about it. Especially when our bodies don’t perform the way they’re
designed to. It is the ugliest pain I’ve ever encountered. It is the hardest
healing I have been faced with.
I know I’m
not on the other side yet, but this slow acceptance is producing a lot of poems
(for now) of what’s looking like my next book.
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