Allie Rigby has roots in the chaparral and deserts of California. She is the author of Moonscape for a Child (Bored Wolves, 2024), and the recipient of a Fulbright Fellowship to Romania where she taught at Ovidius University. Her poetry appears in Living on Earth Radio, Equatorial Literary Magazine, Parentheses Journal, Manzano Mountain Review, and more.
Additional honors include a William Dickey Fellowship, contribution to Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, a Pushcart Prize nomination, and a Best of the Net nomination. She has a master’s degree in English: Creative Writing from San Francisco State University, and has taught creative writing for Ovidius University, Point Reyes Institute, The Loft Literary Center, and the US–Romanian Embassy. She’s currently an editor for The SEEfest Review.
1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
Having a book out feels like I get to connect with people in ways feel special. When someone says, “hey I read that poem about your Dad,” it feels bizarre at first. But it’s also special.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
Poetry has always been a source of medicine for me. When writing it, I’m drawn by the challenge to tap into a new thought or idea, or even, a new audio-visual connection that I hadn’t consciously considered before. Its endlessly inspiring and challenging.
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?
Starting is the easy part for me–finishing a project is what is challenging. I try to stay in “listening and experimenting” mode for as long as possible, at first. In 2021, while in graduate school, I had over 100 poems, but not all of them were cohesive or strong. By the time I expanded certain ideas and poems, and cut others, I had a rough, 60-page selection–and that eventually became a chunk of my first book, Moonscape for a Child.
By then, I had been “at it” for three years, and only then was recognizing the big question in the book: What does it mean to live with purpose in a world on fire?
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?
Until I have at least 20 poems, I don’t really know yet what I’m tapping into, thematically, across poems. At that point, I begin to realize the question I’m actually asking, and try to generate poems that do (and don’t) answer these mysteries.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
It depends on the season and my mood. Half the time, reading out loud and attending readings helps my creative process, plus the break in routine can be good. And there’s the community aspect. But sometimes, I just need to withdraw a bit, especially in fall and winter.
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 like the idea that good poems–and poetry collections–clarify the question, even if they don’t answer the question. Plus, reading a preachy collection can feel abrasive, for me. It’s a fine balance of wanting poems that provide solace and some answers, but not too many.
Current questions for me are: How do we slow down and why can’t we? How do we stay as present as possible? How do we contribute to a less violent world? How do we not sink into despair?
The questions evolve with each poem.
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?
I think they do have a role, but that doesn’t mean that all writers fulfill that role. It feels hypocritical to me, to do otherwise, as in, to believe in the power of words (to whatever extent) and not speak to larger cultural moments that need attention, advocacy, and change. This doesn’t mean that all writers need to write about the exact same thing at the exact same time, as much as use their voice to advocate for pressing issues that affect everyone.
For example, I’m inspired by writers like those in the Writers Against the War in Gaza (WAWOG), who have spoken openly and advocated for a return of hostages and an immediate ceasefire in Palestine.
I think writers have a duty to choose what matters to them and express it. We can’t have opinions about everything, sure, but we can acknowledge violence where we see it, always.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Essential! That said editors are people with subjective taste, so I think it is important to choose your editors carefully, if you can. I was lucky that my editor at Bored Wolves was Stefan Lorenzutti, who would let me have the final say if I felt strongly about a particular word or phrase.
I edit for my “day job” with Sunlight Editing, so I fully believe that you need to work with an editor who understands your vision.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Be patient with yourself. Nothing blooms all year.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to reviews)? What do you see as the appeal?
Quite difficult! Reviews require a different part of my brain. I tend to approach them from a highly structured approach, where I aim to be as coherent as possible. I also feel more pressure, in some ways, while writing a review, because I want to articulate exactly how the book resonated, why the book matters now, specifically, and what distinguishes it from others.
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 don’t pressure myself to write daily, mainly because I’m too “Type A” as it is, and then I get frustrated if I don’t meet my “write every day” goals. Now, I’m trying to write one poem a week, without getting too stuck on if the poem is “any good” or not. J
Each day begins with coffee with my partner, Petruț. It’s a routine we both really look forward to. Then we usually need to work until 5p.m. or so. Somewhere in that window, when I have a spare 30 minutes or hour, I try to sneak in some writing time.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I take a break. Go for a walk. Look away from any screens. It’s hard, but I also try to accept blocks when they happen. I know “writer’s block” is controversial in not everyone believes it exists. Paul Hoover, as one of my professors in graduate school, told me that to help writer’s block, I needed to lower my expectations of my writing. That helped a lot.
I don’t’ think it’s realistic to write all the time, or to write/work on a project all the time, at least. Breaks are important, and healthy.
I’m always reading a lot, block or no block, and eventually, all that reading needs to be processed in some form of writing, for my own sake if anything.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
California sagebrush. Black sage. Persimmon pulp. Lawn. Chlorine. Orange blossoms.
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?
Absolutely. So much of my poems come from the landscapes I consciously spend my time in, as well as the dreamscapes and memories I subconsciously explore, or even share with others in the forms of character archetypes and myths.
I don’t play music during the later revisions of a poem, but if I am feeling stuck, I’ll play a lot of music and inevitably, the themes from the lyrics may drip into the poems. They might not stay for all iterations of the draft, but they will emerge and disappear throughout the editing process.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I am immensely grateful for the On Being podcast with Krista Tippett, as well as The Slowdown with Major Jackson. As far as more writers, I have massive respect for the writing and teachings of Brenda Hillman, Gabrielle Bates, Chris La Tray, Katia Aoun Hage, Blas Falconer, and Matthew Zapruder.
Outside of “my work,” I’d be lost without my extended community and friends. It’s better to be lost together.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to live with more compassion for myself and other people. To advocate more for climate solutions. To hike sections of the Appalachian Trail with a few friends. To ignore emails on weekends.
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?
I would have loved to be a professional dancer. Or a kickass lawyer.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Always been drawn to it. Always felt endlessly fascinated by the ways each draft or entry comes close, but never fully hits the nail on the head. I like the idea that every poem is an iteration of every other poem you’ve tried to write–we’re just constantly trying to re-explain something to ourselves or to our readers, something we can’t quite figure out.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I’m reading Becoming Little Shell right now, a memoir by Chris La Tray. It’s incredible. As I said earlier, when poets write nonfiction, it tends to be some of the best writing. I’m not finished yet, but I can say so far it’s a really emotionally moving story.
On a very different vibe, as far as films, I just saw was Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. The worldbuilding was as nostalgic, weird, and fun as the first.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I am trying to experiment with new poetic forms, even some traditional ones like sonnets. There’s also a memoir starting to nag at me. I’m terrified of writing the memoir though. I can still hide behind a metaphor in a poem, if I want to. Non-fiction doesn’t let you do that.
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