Backstage #1

Notes from the Road.

Last night was the launch for The Time of the Novel, out now with Wendy’s Subway 🎈

For this first event, I teamed up with my dear friend and fellow poet, Emily Skillings, author of Tantrums in Air (Song Cave, 2025). I read Emily’s book last week in preparation for our double launch event at Powerhouse Arena (you can preview poems from Emily’s book over at The Yale Review and Harpers)— Tantrums in Air promises to be one of my favorite books of poetry for a long time, and I’m not just saying that because I know Emily (though knowing her is a beloved part of reading the work)… the book is just so different. Getting to hear the poems last night I was moved once again. The poems are fun, otherworldly, erudite, learned. They are whimsical and playful, born from a mysterious place: the soul. The last time I read with Emily was ten years ago at Berl’s, also in DUMBO. To be reunited under the banner of our new books at Powerhouse was fortuitous and spontaneous. It felt like we were united by divine providence, some elliptical series of events that had little to do with us, celebrating fiction and poetry (noteworthy in that normally these genres are not paired together— but we made it happen!); this all made for a very spirited and memorable night.

And it was a really lovely time! I would like to relay some impressions about the evening that are hard to convey outside of the feeling of buzzy book release energy. For one: it was hot. Like, oppressively hot. My look was a combo of some upcycled denim shirtdress by Nono Payer purchased earlier that afternoon from Bungee Space with some biker shorts plus sneakers by LA-based Brandblack and Heavymetal glitter eyeliner from Urban Decay (if you’re reading this: HI, JAE). This is not an influencer blog, so I don’t know why I’m linking to everything. Maybe because I think it’s funny. I mean, I did make an effort to turn up— because that’s part of the job.

I arrived a little early to Powerhouse Arena. I could see Amanda, one of the booksellers, unboxing some items. I bought some books that I knew I would have a hard time sourcing in Minnesota: The Places of Marguerite Duras (Magic Hour, 2025) and The Mystery of Perception: A Conversation with Lynne Tillman (Archway Editions, 2025). We ran through some logistics before guests started trickling in. Among the first to arrive was my incredible editor Rachel Valinsky of Wendy’s Subway. We’d been texting in the lead up to the event. I was relieved to see she brought extra books. When she arrived upstairs in the event space, she was carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I could barely see her face. I noticed her shoes— nice tabis! This will sound stupid, but being that I don’t really desire a pair of tabis which I know are a polarizing kind of item, I felt this funny mix of admiration and awe— like, yes, She is my editor! After so many months of text exchange and email, it’s easy to forget that we are us.

More friends trickled in, including Sara Jane, Giada, Corrine, Bridget, Mary, and some thanked in the book acknowledgements. I will not list them all here, but… it was overwhelming! At some point, I excused myself to shit a river of bile behind closed doors and slap on some lipstick. I thought of Dodie Bellamy’s Barf Manifesto, and some other writer friends who are teaching up at Bard this week: Trisha, Mirene, and Jess. I wish there was a way to get everyone in the same room. I returned to mingling. The reading commenced. I made a special last minute request that our publishers introduce us, or at the very least read our bios. I have been at events where no event organizers have been nominated to read presenters’ bios, and then when the moment arrives… there’s something immediately deflating about having to introduce yourself, even if most of the people in the room already know you. I believe in calling upon tradition every now and again to impart some kind of official extra feeling to these sort of gatherings. Both Alan of The Song Cave and Rachel’s introductions moved me. They were so considered and sincere. I kept having these bursts of appreciation. Independent, small press publishing: man, what an impossible and beautiful endeavor. Not all books are created equal, and while readers, writers (and some publishers and booksellers) might like to sometimes overlook these more nuanced aspects of book culture, last night, it felt really apparent to me in the wake of all this ongoing NEA nonsense how special, different, and unrepeatable these experiments are.

Emily read poems, then I read a short excerpt from the novel. I kept telling people to, “Stay hydrated.” How embarrassing. I guess I felt bad that it was so hot, even though it wasn’t my fault. I don’t control the weather, what the hell. But I didn’t want anyone to die. I kept asking for more water. Then we pivoted into conversation. It’s easy for me and Emily to talk to each other. We’re both teachers, experienced performers, and we’ve been talking to each other through our poems and emails and little exchanges for years. I loved inviting people into our dialogue and friendship. There was some comic relief when Emily began reading from the last pages of my book, and I had to interrupt her, afraid that she would ruin the ending (!)… these things aren’t faux pas— it’s just life, and the comedy of errors is part of the entertainment, the fun.

We signed some books, said some thank you’s; I handed out a few pencils in the few instances when I remembered I had some pencils. We packed up our wine as we couldn’t find anyone to give it away to. I was determined not to give wine I had paid for to someone else’s party. I don’t think this makes me cheap— that would embarrass me — but I am known to be possessive. A very small group of us went around the corner to some bar to decompress. We passed around a plate of squash blossoms, then after a spell said our goodbyes. I made it home before midnight. I called Ernie, in a bit of a panic. “I don’t think I’m cut out for all this. Everything went great, but…” I feverishly searched the apartment for a vase. I was grateful to have a place to land (Steph: thank you!!) but in the silence, after so much commotion, I had a hard time finding myself. I kept expecting to see my cat, but she is in Minnesota where some psychopath is currently at-large gunning down Democratic lawmakers. Feeling a little torn apart to be ravaged by all this love and grief. If I said anything stupid last night, I’m sorry. If I said anything that made you rethink what you’re doing, you’re welcome.