what I learned from publishing my book
It’s more work than it oughta be, it’s harder than it oughta be, and it takes twice as long as you think it should. And I reaffirmed that, under cover of darkness, misgrints creep in.
I had lots of good editorial help with my book to take out the mistakes I’d made. And after the first print, I found a few errors and corrected them. That was in September 2025. Last week when I started my new villanelle, I looked at the example in my book, and I realized that the capital "T" I had taken out of the middle of a sentence was really supposed to be the start of a new line. How did I not see that? Once again I’ve proven that I’m not patient enough for details.
I also learned that I am a devout coward. I ‘ve always known putting myself out there in print feels like I’m stripping in public. I just have to do it in an entertaining way that doesn’t make my friends embarrassed to know me. When I lived in Winfield, Kansas, I envisioned Main & 3rd. In Nashville, if I think Broadway and 3rd, stripping in public could just be a bachelorette thing.
But when it came to putting an erotic poem in my book, I side-stepped the issue by shrinking the whole thing to a haiku.
THAT TIME WE TOUCHED
From an ancient pose
We rose as One with healing
Sprouting in Her wings.
This week I posted a quote from Nelson Algren: “A certain ruthlessness and a sense of alienation from society is as essential to creative writing as it is to armed robbery." I’m not willing to be alienated, but I could risk a little more courage. I want to affirm what is not given much credence nowadays: That we are bodies, that our bodies are sacred, and we can experience transcendence through our bodies. I really do believe that the Word and Flesh can be inseparable.
It took all the courage I had to publish my book. Now I’m ready to strip some more.
Warning: The theology contained in this verse has been known to cause allergic reactions.
THAT TIME WE TOUCHED
That time we touched we thought we heard
Jaweh Himself sing in his bath
along the banks of Babylon.
The laugh and splash of skin on skin
hooted a revelry of word made flesh
and flesh made joyful noise.
Eve stopped not with that first taste,
with Adam raced till they had gulped
the apple’s pregnant core,
beheld as knowledge kissed their loins.
They worshipped on the fertile ground.
Dry bones rose up.
The desert bloomed.
Walls fell before the trumpet of our joy.
That time we touched
We fell into an ancient pose
And rose as one with healing in Her wings.
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