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?
Neither my first chapbook nor my first full-length collection changed my life very much because, I think, very people read them. My most recent collection, Agape (Saturnalia 2026), however, has felt a bit more life-changing: because Saturnalia has published so many other poets whose work has been important to me over the years, publishing with them has made me feel like I've finally come into my own as a writer—like I'm part of a broader literary conversation, contributing to a creative tradition.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
I actually came to fiction first! As an undergrad, I was really taken with Ernest Hemingway's economy of language, and I tried my hardest to emulate him. Thankfully, that was a total failure. From that failure, though, my love of poetry—that most economical of language's vehicles—emerged.
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?
When it comes to individual poems: I tend to draft in one sitting, then revise over the course of one or two days. When it comes to longer projects (such as chapbooks or collections): I work obsessively until I have what Anne Lamott would call a "shitty first draft," or a collection of poems that's technically book- or chapbook-length but that doesn't really cohere. Then, I slow down and begin to add and cut poems, which can take anywhere from several weeks to several years.
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?
When I first began writing, I was definitely a "project book" person: I'd come up with an intriguing premise for a project, then I'd exclusively write poems that helped to realize said premise. My first collection, fascinations (Finishing Line 2025), was this sort of book. More recently, however, I've been writing a lot of one-off poems (thanks, largely, to a lack of free time) that speak more obliquely to one another. These poems grapple with a small set of personal thematic obsessions—queerness, eros, violence, climate change, dog parenting, etc.—so they'll likely end up getting collected, but they aren't emerging from some sort of focused, unified vision.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I hate organizing and preparing for readings, but once I'm in front of an audience, I usually enjoy myself.
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 think the specific questions shift from project to project, but my work generally revolves around the relationship between pleasure and discomfort, love and harm. Agape addresses these relationships head-on, drawing on both personal experience and Western mythology—particularly the iconography of Catholicism—to explore the connection between desire and pain. My current project (more on this later) addresses these relationships more obliquely, investigating not the interpersonal harm precipitated by human connection but the slow violence of climate change.
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 different kinds of writers fill different roles. My current aim as a writer is to shed light on the subtle pleasures and dangers that shape everyday (queer) life. Other writers very compellingly speak truth to power. Others elicit pleasure via sonic and imagistic play.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I've only ever worked with very hands-off editors, so I've found the experience quite painless.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
My favorite piece of advice—which comes from a friend named Susan Amis, and which I often convey to students—has to do not with the writing of poetry but the reading of it. Once, in our MFA, Susan expressed bafflement at people who said they didn't know how to read poetry: "Read it the same way you read anything else—one fucking word after another."
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 like to draft in the morning when I'm fresh from bed, my brain is still a little fuzzy, and I have coffee in hand. I can usually only make this happen on weekends. When it comes to revision, I prefer to work in the afternoon when I'm feeling a bit more mentally focused.
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
I turn to other pieces of art: poetry, music, film. As someone with training in both poetry and literary criticism, I also like to turn to non-literary texts: works of critical theory and cultural history, historical documents, (pseudo)scientific texts, etc.
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Fresh clover.
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?
Film and music—both pop and classical—definitely influence my work. So does (more obliquely) academic writing. Visual art has less of an impact on me.
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
Just a handful, chosen somewhat arbitrarily and arranged in alphabetical order: Anne Carson, Natalie Diaz, Mark Doty, Ross Gay, Shirley Jackson, Henry James, Ruth Ellen Kocher, Toni Morrison, Maggie Nelson, Anni Liu, Layli Long Soldier, Mary Oliver, Claudia Rankine, Shola von Reinhold, James Tate, Virginia Woolf.
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I would like to visit the UK and knit a sweater for a human. (So far I've only finished sweaters for dogs).
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 started undergrad as a pre-med student, so maybe a doctor? I would also love to run a bakery if I didn't have to wake up at 4am.
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I used to be a pretty decent clarinetist, but writing was cheaper and easier to do on the go. Also, my husband is a classical musician, and I am 100% sure I do not have the discipline to practice as much as that profession requires.
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
The last great book: T. Clark's short story collection All This Want (and I Can't Get None). The last great film: David Robert Mitchell's The End of Oak Street.
19 - What are you currently working on?
I'm currently working on a collection titled We Have Always Lived at the End of the World. At its heart, the book is about climate change; it explores what it might mean to make a life for oneself and one’s family in the face of accumulating personal, political, and ecological catastrophes.
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
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