I spent about a year
sending the book exclusively to contests — probably a dozen or more
— with absolutely no luck at all, not even a finalist mention. I was
finishing my MFA at the time, and sending to contests was the thing that
everybody did. But then the next contest season rolled around, and I couldn’t
stomach the expense and absurdity of it anymore. I knew other poets with
terrific manuscripts who had been doing the same thing for four or five years,
spending hundreds if not thousands of dollars in the process, with no end in
sight, biding their time and waiting their turn to be the next recipient of the
Backwater Review’s Now You Qualify For A Tenure Track Position Award. I’m not
sure what you call the ability do that year after year (patience is perhaps the
most generous word), but I knew I didn’t have it.
The problem with the
contest system is that it’s a side effect of the academic takeover of contemporary
poetry. I’m not hating on MFA programs here, because mine made me a far better
writer, but, in an environment where 9 out of 10 poets hope to make a living by
teaching, the lockstep relationship between contests and publication and
teaching jobs is restrictive and absurd. Too many good books sit around for too
long. I make this complaint as a reader as much as a writer – I want to buy and
read those books sooner rather than later.
Anyway, I was fortunate
in that I already had another way to make a living (I’m a web programmer), so I
didn’t have to live and die by the length of my CV. As luck would have it, my
friend and teacher Davis McCombs mentioned that Antilever was seeking
manuscripts at about the same time I gave up on contests.
I suppose my advice would
be to avoid the contest racket if you can. It’s a huge sink of time and money,
and the benefits outside of academia are negligible. But anyone who would take
my advice about publishing should probably check whether his health insurance
covers psychiatric care.
Tell me about the title. Had it always been The Road to Happiness? Did it go through
any other changes?
The title was originally Sawdust, which was taken from another
poem in the manuscript. Most of my writer friends were lukewarm on that title,
so after the book failed to place at five or six contests I changed it. In
hindsight I’m glad I did.
What was the process like assembling the book? How
many different versions did it go through as you were sending it out?
The book went through two or three minor revisions
as I was submitting it, most of which involved substituting newer, stronger
poems for some older ones I fell out of love with.
How involved were you
with the design of the book—interior design, font, cover, etc.? Did you suggest
or have any input regarding the image that was used on the cover?
I had no input on the interior design, but I did
approve the cover image after my editor suggested it. (I struck out trying to
find a cover image on my own.) I’m very happy with the look and feel of the
book — the folks at Antilever did a fantastic job.
What about the
publication of the actual poems in journals and magazines prior to the book
being published? Was there ever a concern for you to have the majority of the
poems published before you were sending out your manuscript?
I didn’t care about
having the majority of the poems published, per se, but I was desperate to see
at least some of the poems appear in journals or magazines, especially those poems
that were written during my first year or two of grad school (the Arkansas MFA
is a four-year program). I’d been writing and publishing prose as a journalist
for years, but writing poetry was new to me — most of my first real
efforts as a poet were included in my application packet to my MFA program. I needed
those first publications in journals and magazines to prove that I wasn’t
wasting my time.
How much work did you do as far as editing the
poems from the day you knew the book would be published to its final proofing
stage?
My editors at Antilever,
particularly Dillon Tracy, gave the book a tremendous amount of attention after
accepting it, and we went back and forth on everything from the order of the
poems to rewriting stanzas within individual poems to whether certain poems
should be included at all. That attention to detail was gratifying and
humbling, and the book is better for it.
What do you remember about the day when you saw
your published book for the first time?
I remember more about the
beginning of the day than I do the end of it. My wife and kids were out of town
visiting family the day my author’s copies arrived. So I came home after work
to find this box sitting on the stoop and no responsibilities claiming my time before
the next morning. I picked the box up and carried it, unopened, to my favorite
bar, where I ordered a double pour of mid-shelf whiskey and opened the box and
began signing books and giving them away to anyone I had ever met or anyone who
made the unfortunate decision to ask about the contents of the box. I gave away
19 signed copies that night. I have a vague memory of standing in line at Jimmy
John’s around 1 a.m. and asking the register lady to please give me the poet’s
discount on my sandwich. I woke up the next morning on my couch with a wretched
hangover and the empty box clutched in my arms and my final remaining copy
sitting next to an empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table.
How has your life been different since your book
came out?
It hasn’t really,
although there have been a few perks. Every now and again a random
friend-of-a-friend will mention that he read and enjoyed the book, which is
nice. The book’s presence on my shelves is strangely comforting when I wake up
in the middle of the night worried that I forget to pay the electric bill. Oh,
and every year on my birthday before the book was published I used to get
really drunk and lament the fact that I was a year older and still hadn’t
joined the author’s club. I suppose this year I’ll have to get drunk and lament
something else.
If you struck up a conversation next to someone
seated on an airplane, and after a few minutes you eventually told them that
you were an author who had a book of poetry published, how would you answer
their next question: “What’s the book about?”
The awful truth is that
I’m terrible at explaining what the book is about. I have a canned paragraph
that I send out when people insist, but it isn’t very good. Katrina Vandenberg’s introduction to the book
explains it better than I ever could. I don’t know whether Katrina and I share
a blood type, but if we do and she ever needs a kidney, I’m committed to giving
her one of mine.
What have you been doing to promote The Road to Happiness, and what have
those experiences been like for you?
I’ve done a couple of
readings, and a Skype appearance for a classroom or two, and this here
interview, and… so fucking little. I have no idea how to effectively promote a
book of poetry. My only comfort is that no else does either. It’s not that I
mind promoting the book — honestly, at this point I’d get naked on
television if I thought it would help.
What advice do you wish someone had given you
before your first book came out?
Related to the above, I
wish someone had told me to have a marketing campaign ready to go as soon as
the book was available. Also, I wish the same person had told me what an
effective marketing campaign for a book of poetry looks like.
Do you believe that poetry can create change in
the world?
I believe that poetry can
create change in the individual human heart. And I believe that is enough.
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Johnathon Williams is a writer and web developer living in
Fayetteville, AR. He publishes the online journal Linebreak. Find more at his website: http://johnathonwilliams.com
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