When I set out to assemble Hang-Dried Flowers, I assumed it would be easier than putting together My Family Tree Caught Fire. After all, I had already written, submitted, and successfully published a chapbook. With the same publishing company, no less! How hard could it be?

Turns out, it is just as hard as the first time. I am reminded of something Gene Wolfe told Neil Gaiman: “You never learn how to write a novel, Neil. You just learn how to write the novel you are on.” In my experience, the same goes for developing a poetry collection. 

While I benefited from having prior experience, support in the online poetry community, and a positive rapport with Bottlecap Press’s editor, I wanted to create something better than the work that came before Hang-Dried Flowers. Considering the collection’s theme is “growth,” I wanted to demonstrate that I had grown as a writer and a person. I had some poems on deck from participating in Instagram prompts, but I only wanted pieces that contributed to the theme and were well-crafted. 

While writing, editing, and compiling pieces, I was also in the middle of a mental health slump. I wanted the tone of Hang-Dried Flowers to be brighter than My Family Tree Caught Fire, but I was not feeling any brighter. In fact, in some ways, I felt less hopeful. The anger in my first chapbook has dissipated, but the melancholy remained. Drafting my manuscript was like trying to make a living floral arrangement with wilting plants. No matter how I placed them in their proverbial vase, they just looked sad. 

As I wrote, though, something happened. I noticed a shift within me from former bouts of depression and burnout. My self-destructive patterns were largely absent. My feelings did not control me; for once, I was taking ownership of them! I realized that my mental illness is cyclical but not a closed loop. The growth I hoped to display was precisely what allowed me to write instead of shutting down. I could share my highs and lows without becoming subject to them. My emotional garden wasn’t dead; it was just in winter. 

After a month or so of sitting on my manuscript, tweaking and fiddling with the layout, the order, and the presentation, I decided to let Hang-Dried Flowers be what it was meant to be. The poems are bittersweet because life is bittersweet. Some are filled with hope, joy, and love; others are more despairing. Some are beautiful purely for beauty’s sake. 

Submitting this manuscript was also just as nerve-wracking as the first. I worried that the project I devoted so much time and heart to would fail to impress. I grew nervous as I waited for a response, questioning whether or not my work would hold up to scrutiny a second time. But once more, I must express my gratitude for Bottlecap Press’s willingness to partner with me and publish my work. The founder and Editor-in-Chief, Craig Mullins, is kind, diligent, and truly lovely to work with. I cannot recommend Bottlecap Press enough if you are a burgeoning poet. 

If you have the means, my dears, I would love for you to read Hang-Dried Flowers. I hope you find connection, kinship, and solidarity in whatever season of life you are in. And please remember that winters end. I shall leave you with an excerpt from Hang-Dried Flowers. I wrote this poem in response to a prompt from Alt Poetry Prompts, and it encapsulates my feelings perfectly. 

I love you. 

“Preserved” (Inspired by Alt Poetry Prompts)

Forget me not, beloved, through this

invernal negligence

That keeps me frigid in your graciously tended

garden bed

Despite your faithful cultivation and

steadfast lenity.

Though melancholy leads me toward

torpid slumber,

Banish all belief my affection for you lies

eternally lifeless,

Or that juvenescent folly inspired my

tender ministrations.

Only press my heart within the pages of

your soul,

An amorous abditory wherein I may sequester

my spirit,

A naturalistic homage to the sensual susurrus

of spring.

Let the foxing yellows of your journal cushion my

downy phlox soul,

Until frondescent, I shall bloom anew in

verdant vivacity.

Pink petals will open to the sun, and I shall

love you.