A Matter of Time

I’ve been seriously working on my poetry collection manuscript for about 6 months, and now feels like a good point to reflect on my progress. So with a 70-page manuscript (and growing) taking up permanent space on my desktop, here’s what I’ve learned so far.

1. The manuscript dictates the direction, I’m just following along. I set out to write maybe 5 new poems, and I’ve already more than doubled it. Which is exciting, given that before I started I was recovering from burnout and barely writing one new poem a month, if that. Having the direction of my manuscript has helped immensely, to the point where I’m writing the best poems I’ve ever written (so far).
2. Editing is a writer’s best friend. Sometimes I even prefer it to writing – getting to work from a canvas that’s already been laid out for me (thanks, past self), to zoom in, pick it apart, and then put it back together better than it was before. Editing is also the biggest part of this job, as I’m working with a lot of my older poems and my poetic voice and style has changed so much. That makes it a challenge so it’s a good thing I enjoy it.
3. It’s all a matter of time. I started really taking this writing thing seriously about 4 years ago, and I remember wanting desperately to be at a stage where I could publish a book. But I’m so glad I’ve waited until now, doing my dues through publishing in lit journals big and small, reading widely and honing my craft. Ironically, the better my writing gets, the more I can see my shortcomings, and the less confident I am in my skills. Also, the actual writing is harder to do, which I didn’t see coming. But it’s not only my skills that need time to grow, it’s also the poems themselves. I’m realising more and more that ideas need time to percolate, poems need time to sit, and my mind needs time to wander (Ocean Vuong said it better in this article). So there’s no rushing this thing, even though I can’t stop daydreaming about my book launch, or my second book, or my third book…
4. Imposter syndrome / self doubt / your inner saboteur – whatever name you want to call it, it’s your shadow now. A constant companion that won’t shut up about what or how you should write, that your work is ultimately self-indulgent and insignificant, and of course, that you’re a terrible writer and who thought you could do this?? Sometimes I can’t block it out, and I wallow for a bit in my mediocrity. But then I remember how badly I want to see my book out in the world, and the diversity of writers and readers already out there, and that my story is so personal as to be ‘unique’ (as terrifying as that thought also is) and that maybe, it won’t just be about me. Or I tell the voice to shut up and go edit a poem so I can feel like I’ve accomplished something.
5. What I’m making is a beautiful thing, and in some way it feels like a miracle that it will get to exist. The last two years of my life has felt like I moved to an alternate timeline, and the book that I’m writing is the most personal, vulnerable, authentic thing I’ve done so far. I never thought I’d be able to put this version of my life out in the world, and even though it’s still a work in progress, it now feels inevitable. And it’s still a little hard to believe.