I envisioned the playlists that went along with this as companions to enhance the experience of the book – read a poem, listen to a song, etc. I’m not sure anyone used them for this purpose, and I’m not even sure that would have felt cohesive. But it sounded lovely in my head, and I sure had a great time curating these playlists.
I had a few narrative ideas when I arranged the book itself, and thematic imagery that I wanted to put in the forefront. But this book happened to me more than I happened to it, so it was surprising to find narrative threads and imagery that I hadn’t intended springing out of it. Listening to the full playlist of all seasons locates all of those things into an entirely new ecosystem that is equally surprising and interesting. I find this encouraging – that the things we create can take on a life of their own beyond what we intended. It makes me want to create more of them (which I’m doing, of course).
So, happy birthday to SOLACE, and here’s to many more book birthdays in future years!
(if you read the book, would you be so kind as to leave your honest Amazon or Goodreads review for it? I would be most grateful!)
Along the path I’m wearing thin between this place and that stands a wide field, some years corn and some years soybeans.
And today,
the corn is shorn close
like the back of a sheep
and the honey wagon trundles along
expelling rich brown manure behind.
They will cut it
into the cooling
earth.
The frost will seal it in, that it may
do the long work of making
the weary ground fertile,
a fit vessel
ready to enfold
new seed, Mary’s arms
encircling her swollen belly.
We piled them in barrows, body on body, and carted them to the pit. We lifted them into the ashes of their kin, and my youngest scattered ragged remnants across the lawn.
When we lit them
their skins crackled and split,
smelling sweetly of
of earth and age
and releasing their souls
in wisps and wavers
into a welcoming sky.
I raked the remains together long past the time my children left me, savoring the work and wellness of putting things to bed, all the more so in November against banks of bloody trees and stony sky.
All along they were
breaking, each bud
crowning into the bright
daylight of a new spring,
emerging from treetops like
feathers pluming out of caps,
green against the golden
halls of April.
In the woods on the longest day,
July sky filtered through
keyholes of clotted
maples, and the life of it all felt
nearer than skin, stretching
overhead and within me, a
pressing down and running over,
quiet like a memory. And now,
reverie at the heights of autumn
strips all the green away
to reveal the blood beneath.
Up on the old oak, the last leaf trembles,
vivid as a final garment sliding free,
wavering in shy silence,
xylans blushing at the
yearning caress of winter, the
zenith loveliest at the laying down.
It’s been a brisk, clear-blue-sky kind of day here in Indiana – the perfect start to autumn.
Of all seasons, autumn is by far my favorite. Though I love the changes – the reminder I need that every day is another day closer to Christ coming back and making everything right – autumn somehow captures my heart. It stirs me up. It’s bracing and invigorating, full of the weight of harvest and the impending weight of winter snapping at its heels.
It’s also the final season in my book SOLACE, and the one that somehow comes to terms with so many of the things the other seasons have wrestled with.
Autumn is a complex season. It signals the returning power of freezing temperatures, darkening days, and the death of living things, while celebrating the joy and abundance of harvest in a riot of gorgeous color. It is preparation – for sleep, for hibernation, for the long dark days of winter. But the preparation is exciting. It’s laying down root vegetables and winterizing pipes and raking leaves into fire pits and making cider.
I find autumn to be the natural capstone to the overarching narrative of SOLACE. The book begins in darkness and encounters it often, and it finds light and grace and goodness in unexpected places. But in the end, the cycle will return to the dark and cold of winter. I know this. I know this about my own life – that darkness will go away for a while, and then return. Perhaps it will be lighter this next time, perhaps darker. Perhaps it will be shorter, or longer. Either way, it’s as sure to me as the hope I hold that more darkness lies ahead.
But autumn is stacking firewood inside the mudroom door, so that throughout the winter we can keep the fire going. It’s carrying bushels of the harvest in so we can feast well. It’s cellaring joy and stockpiling grace and preserving patience for the long winter ahead.
And that, my friends, is an invigorating, hope-filled thing to be a part of. Death is coming, but it will not find us unprepared.
The songs contained in this final playlist for SOLACE, poem for poem, match autumn words with autumn tones. And because I just couldn’t choose between the two songs I wanted to use to end the book, I kept them both.
chicago in season iv / Pulaski at Night (Andrew Bird) familiars / Slack Jaw (Sylvan Esso) through fathoms / Autumnal (Teen Daze) blanks / Shatter (BAYNK, Martin Luke Brown) US-20 in october / Big Smoke (Tash Sultana) bleeding in, bleeding out / Humble Heart (Jess Ray) suspension lament / Maranatha (Jackie Hill Perry) ode to autumn / The Fall (Ben Shive) but now i see / Explaining Jesus (Jordy Searcy) bon-fire / Dream State (Son Lux) crowns / Virile (Moses Sumney) perhaps the sea / Dissolve Me (Alt-J) wanton / Just and Just As (Penny and Sparrow) and there will come a time / Be Kind To Yourself (Andrew Peterson) burn on steady / Lift a Sail (Yellowcard) bonus track / Into the Darkness (Drew Miller)
I see them: alive and electric like the air, pinwheel boys revolving, perched on flimsy plastic sticks, crushed into the midway dust by clowns and fools and cliques alongside tacky blood-striped cones. A broken echo, silenced sob, and they lose the light they own; they fade, unplugged, descending like the coffin to the tomb.
I see them: poking fists through air, they float above the crowd, lifted by design, to lose the thrill of flight they’ve found. The salty crackle on the tongue, the thirsty watch the girls, their eyes are young, their aim is off, to throw the dart to pop the dream, to win the prize; he’s making speeches about things he doesn’t get, claims the mic and holds the hostage, wins the bet, the posturing back-alley bully boys whip the towel into a noose, dropping threats like cherry bombs, like never-men who never lose.
I see them: lonely ones who hold back tears so long they cannot cry, weeping ones who only ever weep, gentle ones who lie, lovers who kiss back the tears and hold them close beneath the stands, rejects trembling at a lead-clad look, hopefuls who have lived so little of what they read about in books, boys wheeled here in wagons, eyes wide at a world of flame, and sound and color, wearied by the same and sugared up and wailing, boys who dream and boys who wake, boys who scream and who can’t take it anymore, who throw rocks and bottles and bullets, and boys who lift glassy shields and lower masks, and boys who scatter words like bottle glass, who run the shards along their arms to prove they bleed boy-blood, red as the flag-stripe, the apple peel, the battered head, the lashed back, the balloon unwillingly released, vanishing into the east.
Do you see them? Dying boys reaching for life,
tender as tinder in the fire,
flickering out like sparks
above the pyre.
The lake is a glass dish and the sky rests in it, flushed and warm like fresh-baked bread, pillowy and dusted flour-white.
I lay back into it,
the hum in my ears
drowning out the static in my brain,
slowing my wayward heart
to stillness.
For here the bread is multiplied,
rising above as
the fish populate the depths below,
such small offerings
spilling over their bounds
into other worlds beyond my own,
and I would rest in it,
I would take and eat of it,
I would become one with it
if it meant the moment lasted longer,
The bales are plump and fragrant on the back of the field, like just-baked jelly rolls or chubby baby cheeks.
I bury my nose in the air and inhale, and plant a kiss on the cheek of the earth, who, for all its troubles, still grins with only two teeth and bestows on me the scent of newborn hay.
It’s the extravagant amount of light we get from dawn to dusk. It’s watermelon and fresh tomatoes and sweet corn. It’s no school and no responsibilities. It’s releasing my shockingly pale legs from their denim prison just long enough to feel an ounce of deserved shame. It’s fireflies and staying up late because the sun is, and vacations with family.
Of all the seasons, summer is brightest. Maybe for this reason, it feels like it yearns more than the other seasons.
Fall embraces darkness with a blaze of fiery light. Winter slumbers and waits. Spring bursts out in song. But summer never rests. Summer is always moving, always longing for something else, always busy about bringing that something else into fruition here. Summer sees something beautiful on the horizon and wants to be there more than it wants to be here, mowing the lawn or washing the windows or writing the next word. Summer gets to work to bring that something else about, but sometimes misses the point of the present.
I’ve noticed that the collection of poems in the summer section of SOLACE, and likewise, this playlist, have been shaped by these competing states of rest and restlessness.
So here it is, friends: the summer playlist for SOLACE. May we all find rest in the midst of our longings for something more.
(You can pick up a copy of the book at my shop or at Bookshop.org to read along, or check out the spring and winter playlists)
TRACKLIST:
chicago in season iii / Lake Shore Drive (Aliotta Haynes Jeremiah) julep / Julep (Punch Brothers) that postmodern crap. / Faith (Bon Iver) ode to the city / Velours (Anomalie) kyrie for july fourth / It’s Not Working (The Truth) (Propaganda) starling / Lose That Light (Folly and the Hunter) placeless / So Far, So Fast (The National) chasingheaven / Five (Sleeping at Last) golf-ball sized hail / Ice Cream (William Fitzsimmons) three moments: her head in the palm of my hand / Little Flower (Peter Bradley Adams) three moments: safe no more / Letter to the Editor (J Lind) three moments: birdless / The Road, the Rocks, and the Weeds (John Mark McMillan) leech / Transform (Daniel Caesar) call and response / Good News (Mac Miller) rainplay / Storms (Nick Box) quiet / I Am the Antichrist to You (Kishi Bashi)
In reflection on that event, and now that the act of publishing is sufficiently in the rearview mirror, I thought it would be a helpful exercise for me – and hopefully for you in some way – to think through how everything shook down in that process with the intent of learning something from it.
So let’s start with some quick notes on the practical side of things.
Editing and Selection: I had the benefit of having four poet friends do a read-through of the book and give me their thoughts and edits, as well as a variety of outside listeners and readers along the way. These wonderful people helped me shape not only the poetry but also the overarching order and thematic elements of the book with their comments. I also was able to pull poetry that had been sitting for a little while, marinating, so that when I returned to edit it I could look at it fresh and know which ones had the most merit. This is not to say I didn’t sneak some fresh poems in, just that I had a bank of poems already written to choose from and craft into final products. One thing I would change is to find one editor who would go through with a fine-tooth comb and a totally brutal attitude, because I know there are things that could be better.
Choosing a Print-On-Demand Service: This was a relatively easy decision for me, because Ingram Spark offered hardback options. I’m sure there are smaller POD publishers out there that could offer the same, but Ingram also had strong distribution offerings. I also considered KDP, Blurb, and Lulu, all with their corresponding pros and cons, but ultimately the design was something I cared too much about, so I went with Ingram. The point, in my mind, is to choose the POD service that fits your goal for the book.
Running an Indiegogo Campaign: This took a large amount of effort, but was also one of the most fulfilling aspects of making this book a reality. I could write an entire post about this in and of itself, but if you’re thinking about doing this, pay close attention to three things. First, have a short run-time, both for your mental health and for the sake of keeping attention. Second, calculate in a buffer on your cost analysis (you will likely run into costs you didn’t know about, so it’s best to add some extra in). Third, take great care to schedule in updates, additional promotions, and bonuses for your supporters. Honestly, though, I couldn’t have been more thrilled with both the response and care of everyone who got involved. More on that later…
Design and Illustration: I had a superstar collaborator for this in the mythical form of Josie Koznarek. Not only did she create the whole aesthetic of the book out of a few scant ideas I gave her, she was great fun to work with. I knew coming into this that I needed help in the design and formatting area. You may be more savvy with those things than I am, which is great. But I really cannot overstate the value of collaboration here. Also, pay your artist friends. They are worth it, and in the case of Josie, well beyond worth it.
Timing: When it comes to my ability to deliver something on a deadline, I am usually dangerously optimistic, and this was no exception. Especially because I was doing it for the first time, there was no real way I could anticipate all of the back-and-forth between me and Josie and Ingram to make this happen, beyond such things as extended shipping times and corrections. I ended up releasing the book a full month after my chosen date. In my case, this didn’t prove to be too problematic in the end, except for my sanity. Next time I will just plan to add a month of buffer time into the schedule to manage the extra time.
Amazon: Amazon really provided nothing but a series of issues from day one when I had to jump through ten hoops just to get the cover to show up. After that, once they sold out of the copies they had, they gave the Buy button up to a third-party seller who cranked the price sky-high and never ordered more copies. I’m in the process with them of making this right, but I’ve been pretty disappointed with the whole experience. However, I’ve recently learned about Bookshop, and not only are they selling the book at the right price, they’ve pumped over $2M into local bookstores.
Now onto some more overarching thoughts.
Expectations
When it came time to launch the book, I was just ready to get it out the door. I had put together a number of launch week events and ideas, and executed those when the week rolled around. But overall, I had not built a very robust platform for the launch to get it out to people who weren’t already familiar with it.
However, I did have a built-in launch team with all of the wonderful people who supported the book. They did some very kind promotion, posted reviews on Amazon, and generally provided a great rah-rah environment. And here’s the thing: they were technically my first sales anyway. I had to keep reminding myself about this when I got only 8 sales in the first week.
While I definitely could have prepared better for the launch, lining up more interviews, reviews, and publicity, the real problem was my expectations. Not only did I launch a self-published poetry book existing in the space between sacred and secular markets after Christmas, but I was in the launch team of another traditionally-published book by an established author during my own launch. This meant I got to see all of the things I could have been doing while not having the ability to do them.
I’m laughing out loud at myself right now as I write this, given the circumstances and perspective that time provides. But I was actually really discouraged by this at the time, and not a little bit jealous. I was disappointed in myself for not doing more, which is kind of my besetting sin anyway. And I was so proud of my book that I couldn’t help being a little crestfallen when it didn’t “make a splash.”
I’m also grateful, in a weird way, for how the launch went down, because it pushed me to invest in the long haul of the book. I began livestreaming Behind the Broken Season, which has been a huge growing experience for me. I created playlists for each season. I moved on to writing new poetry more quickly.
I will change a few things based on this experience, for sure. Next time, I’ll plan more time before the launch to do promotional work like podcasts, pre-orders, and advance copy reviews. I’ll go about building a launch team with rewards for those involved. I’ll plan an actual physical launch party at a local bookstore or library.
But mostly, I’ll control my expectations and remember that the goal of all of this was different than making a bunch of sales. If that happens, it’s only icing.
Community
I loved doing the Indiegogo campaign for two reasons. One was that I literally could not have produced the book the way I envisioned it without the start-up funds. But the other was that it was pure joyous shock to me to see how many people cared enough to support it. That’s why the acknowledgements page of the book is so precious to me, because all of those names represent actual people who are directly responsible for the existence of this book.
The point of this is not that everyone should do an Indiegogo campaign to publish their book. But it reminded me of the reality that no work of art ever comes to be in a vacuum. There are so many people who influence creative work that it’s impossible to acknowledge all of them.
This makes me incredibly grateful to those people in my life. It makes me want to make more and better art for them. It inspires me to seek out ways I can use my art to encourage and support my community.
And collaboration with Josie was this kind of grace in abundance. Our collaboration was a pure joy and the book is exponentially better because of it.
The Act of Making
Coming into fall of 2019, I was pretty low. I was picking up the pieces of several big disappointments, including one project I had been working for most of the year. I knew that I needed to make something, and at the bottom of my list for 2019 was to make a book of poetry. So I pivoted.
The primary goal of making SOLACE was not to make money off of it. It was not to build my platform. It was not to become a “legitimate” poet (whatever that means). I made SOLACE because I was discouraged and I needed to make something beautiful.
I’ve talked with a few poet friends about the nature of poetry as a way of seeing. Poetry, for me, has functioned as a light in the dark. It’s a reminder that I am my Creator’s child, that I am not alone, that I am more than my words or my work. Writing poetry reveals to me, somehow, the through-lines of grace and hope in dark situations. I mean, this is what the book is all about, so maybe I don’t need to reiterate it.
What I’m getting at is that creating something, and seeing people gather around that making, was exactly what I needed at the time to keep going. I’m not sure I knew that at the beginning, but when I finally got my proof copy of the book, it definitely sunk in. And since then, the gradual process of unfolding SOLACE over the last few months in Behind the Broken Season, the notes from people of poems that encouraged them in their own dark places, etc. have been an ongoing celebration of what God has wrought out of that dark place.
I guess that if there’s a takeaway here, it’s that we should never underestimate what God can bring about through and in us when we obey the call He has given us to create. He truly does make beautiful, rich, true things out of dust, and I’m not just talking about poetry books anymore. Creating this book was worth it for that reminder alone.
So, on to the next one! 🙂
I’m sure I’ve missed something in this post, so if you have questions on the process of self-publishing or just want to chat about making things, let me know. I genuinely love the longer letters I’ve received from people in response to my monthly Tethered Letters, so please take that as an indication of my interest in hearing from you!
