Birthing a Manuscript

For the past several months, I've been working on a manuscript of between 60 and 70 pages to enter into contests and send to publishers. In poetry biz, having a book is like a having a passport; you can't get far from home without it. Furthermore, I've started to see my poems as related pieces meant to be presented together -- and I want people to read them. That seems obvious, but it is not always the case!

From what I understand, this desire to publish is not uncommon; nor is the practice straightforward. Since my first submission to a book contest was postmarked today, I thought I'd take this opportunity to talk a bit about process.

Like most things in my life, my process started with lists: I listed every single poem of mine that I thought was possibly publishable in a manuscript. I did this three or four times over two months, reconsidering work based on ongoing revisions and relationships to other poems. Once I had settled on 74 or so pages of poetry, I printed them out. I grouped poems together that felt connected (or interestingly disconnected) and made several stacks. In the process, I weeded out about ten pages (mostly due to redundancy).

Then I did what you see in the image: I wrote the titles of the final contenders on little bits of paper (recycled!) and sorted them on the keyboard tray of my desk. I used tape to hold them in place. This method allowed me to easily play with different orders without shuffling piles of paper all over my office floor. Clean up only involved sliding the tray back under my desktop!

After I'd settled on an order and on my sections (Part I through Part IV), I started to build the manuscript in a Word document, which allowed me to see the poems all together. Again, I found myself cutting (and sometimes pasting) poems based on the new experience of seeing them formally back to back.

My next step was giving my draft away to be read. Two generous and wonderful friends took a copy of the manuscript from me for about a week each, and each spent a few hours with me, giving me helpful feedback about placement, poem choice, and title. After each reading, I fine tuned: a word here, a section order there, cutting a stanza, adding a bridge poem.

After formatting a Table of Contents and an Acknowledgments page (four drafts in), I took the plunge. As I type this, my baby passes from postal basket to basket, making its way out of Bryn Mawr to its first contest. My little Moses, who will find you and give you a chance? Fingers are crossed!

I'm sure other poets have found more efficient (or perhaps more colorful) ways to build a book; if you know of any, please share!