It can be boring hearing about someone else’s happiness, but I hope you’ll indulge me because I am beyond happy about Underlife.
In reality, the book changes nothing. It won’t make me rich, famous, or younger. My kids love me no more or no less. It didn’t hold my marriage together or keep my life from very nearly falling apart this year. I am a poet with or without a book. But Underlife represents the years of hard work, the late nights, the rejections and the acceptances. It represents revision after revision after revision (even now, there are poems I’d like to tweak). It heralds the end of one period in my life and reveals the beginning of another. And I’m OK with that, because it’s always been about the writing. It has always been about the journey, not the destination. I tend to think that everything I have ever done has led me to this point. And while my life is not perfect, I am happy—that’s all I can ask for.
On the Acknowledgements page in Underlife, the last dedication is a thank you to “the community of poets and writers in the blogosphere.” You, dear reader, have been my biggest support during the last few years. Without you—your posts, comments, encouragements, and critiques—this book would not be here. Thanks for coming along for the ride.