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 SOMETIMES guided me through the pandemic. My long-distance friend Kendall and I wanted to try writing a poem a day for a month and it was October and I drove my mom’s cream Mini Cooper in circles trying to decipher if this would ever come to an end. It was a period of unrequited longing. California ennui. It’s influenced a lot by Baudelaire and Cortázar and long pensive walks alone by the beach. I don’t have that same privilege of long days spent looking out onto the ocean, but I try to access that inner meditative state despite the chaos of New York. It’s strange because I was younger, yet one of the poems, “Beachcomber,” that made it into my debut collection GLIB has been remarked as more “mature.”
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I think poetry just comes naturally to everyone, especially as a child learning to string words together. I never stopped playfully stringing words together. Fiction requires more focus and sitting down to finish a single scene, whereas in poetry, you can leap into infinite worlds in a few stanzas, even between a few words. I love the liminality and open endlessness that poetry offers.
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?
Regarding poetry, I never knew SOMETIMES or GLIB were necessarily going to become a manuscript. The poems were collected throughout a certain period of my life. My writing usually comes quickly, and the initial drafts usually are quite similar to the final shape, give or take a few word changes or removing scaffolding. It was interesting reshaping a few poems in GLIB that I would have never thought about if it weren’t for my editor Kyle Dacuyan. I think the words are usually already there but playing with form can sometimes transform the poem into something else.
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?
I usually think of a line and go from there. I collect a lot of my poems in an ongoing document, and I came to a natural stopping point with GLIB where I felt like I had archived enough of a specific era of my life to turn it into a book.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I’ve grown to enjoy readings since moving to New York City. It’s cool to see what the audience reacts to, especially when it’s a new poem I haven’t shown anyone yet. I’m in awe of my boyfriend Matt Proctor who always reads something new at every reading. I feel restrained to reading the “hits” at certain readings, but I’m getting back into writing poems more frequently. I’d like to create more youth-centered readings intertwined with music, which I’ve done through my zine We Are in the Shop, bringing together upcoming artists with established ones in cool places such as Billy’s Record Salon. R.I.P. Billy Jones. He helped bring together some of my favorite writers and musicians into the same room.
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?
With SOMETIMES, I was concerned with the difference between loneliness and solitude. But with GLIB, I wasn’t necessarily trying to answer question, but a few ideas were naturally brought up and answered throughout the collection such as “Walking in New York like scrolling the internet.” GLIB examines the multitudes of a persona and how we’re basically actors in our everyday life, code switching from person to person. GLIB examines girlhood in a world where its overly commodified online.
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 feel like being a writer is only one role to play alongside being an activist, a lover, a friend. I think of the sign in City Lights bookstore: “Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.” Writing is important for not only documenting the culture but shaping it and creating something instead of just reciting what’s fed to us. It’s about making connections within neighborhoods and sparking revolution.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Like I said before, I worked with Kyle when he was at Changes, and it offered a lot of perspective on form that I had never considered before. As long as there’s some common ground, I don’t mind the process. It gave me a lot to think about. He was the first one to look at some of the poems I later added in, and I was honestly surprised by the generous feedback and enthusiasm.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
To not wait for permission!
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to filmmaking)? What do you see as the appeal?
They’re separate in terms of process but I find pure poetry in moving images. At the New York GLIB launch at Anthology Film Archives, my boyfriend Matt and I played our cut-up vlogs during our readings. It was amazing to be in such a historically rich theater.
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 more of a writing routine if I’m writing prose or have a deadline. If not, I’ve been working a lot during the afternoon lately and going out at night. I’ve started working on a longer prose project, so I’ll have to find blocks of time to continue the pace I’d like for it.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I dig into my archives. Listen to songs I used to be obsessed with. Old diary entries. Old tweets. Old Rateyourmusic.com posts. Anything that reminds me of me. I start writing things down again even if it’s just a to-do list. It turns into something, usually.
13 - What was your last Hallowe'en costume?
I was a bunny Sonny Angel doll and a vampire. It was cute, and I read a few poems at Matt’s Easy Paradise open mic and hung out at Tile Bar after.
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?
It’s mainly music for me. I’ve actually made a playlist for a song accompanying every poem from GLIB based on what I was listening to around the time I wrote it. I’m a very sonic person, and getting lost in a certain song evokes a lot of memories and feelings for me that don’t necessarily come out of other mediums as easily. There are a lot of references to songs and musicians scattered within GLIB. The Clientele, Felt, Now, Weyes Blood, Jack Kilmer, Bright Eyes, Housekeeping, Horsegirl, and Dear Nora are a few of the artists who directly influenced GLIB.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Alice Notley has been an important guiding force as of late. R.I.P. to her as well. I feel lucky to be in conversation with Matt, Eileen Myles, Aristilde Kirby, Edwin Torres, Julien Poirier, and Eddie Berrigan. Zines like Eli Schmitt’s Unresolved are important to me. Old letters mean a lot. I love reading interviews with indie bands. Julio Cortázar and the Beats, especially Jack Kerouac, haunt me always.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to direct a feature film. I already have a screenplay called The Lovers III that is a continuation of Magritte's painting sequence. It follows a young girl, coping with the recent death of her mother and hospitalization, as she runs off to Greece with a stranger––an older woman in a baby blue suit. It intertwines the human condition with the gaze, desire, and a love of art. I would also love to be in a band, even if it’s a Pastels cover band. I’d love to sing and play tambourine! I can play guitar, too.
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 love to open my own restaurant, imagine a tiny bistro in Paris where we play cards in the back room. Or a bookstore café that turns into a wine bar at night. I’d love for it to be a place that merges gastronomy with literature and music. Without being pretentious. I would not like it to be recommended on TikTok. It would have to be underground enough.
If I was not a writer, I would be a fashion designer. I love vintage clothing and going thrifting. There’s a reference in GLIB to the “fish pants” I made when I was sixteen. Also be in a jangle-pop band but that’s possible. Please reach out. I love K Records.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
It’s something I can do without any budget or planning. I can turn to my notebook or computer rather than go out and extra materials or wait around for approval. I love playing cinematographer, art director, and the lead role without a film crew. I also can’t help it.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Can I speak about the last two records I loved instead? Now Does the Trick, the latest from Now, is immaculate glam pop. Glimmering music to dance to. Each song is a poem. They hold a special place in my heart, especially when I’m away from the fog. Radio DDR by Sharp Pins has also been on repeat. Pure pop pleasure. I love Kai’s kaleidoscopic world of layers and layers of sound and color, fuzz and jangly guitar. Long live the youth musik revolution.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m currently working on an ongoing book-length prose poem that I like to call my “one-sentence novel.” It blurs the boundaries between genres, grammar, and cultural eras. The poem questions the presence and purpose of the “I” in writing through recollections, overheard dialogue, and interactions between memory and art, reality and the imagined. As well as a novella about a girl swept in Christmas.
If anyone wants an irreverent novel set in Berlin about a 19-year-old girl who ends up living in her lesbian godmother’s bookshop mixed with rowdy boys and Joë Bousquet, please email me. I am also pitching around my semi-autobiographical short story collection Have a Pepsi Disappear. Think Chelsea Girls by Eileen Myles meets Eve Babitz. It’s a love letter to California, underage cocktails, and above all, poetry.
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