February Wrap-Up

February has been a busy, busy month. Even with the extra day that leap year afforded, it seemed to go faster than ever.

At Mississippi University for Women, our year began with the announcement of a new name: a name that went over like a lead balloon. So February started with a scramble to come up with another new name and to include more voices in that process. What was at issue? Many of our alums didn’t want a new name at all, but even those who recognized the necessity of a new name were not happy with the name that had been chosen, which took many of us by surprise. Alums wanted to keep the brand or nickname that the university has been known by for a long, long time: The W. Though that brand doesn’t say much to many people, for those who know us, that has been the name they knew for decades. So the new (new) name, which was announced early in the month needed to begin with a W. Ultimately, we landed on the name Wynbridge, since Wyn in Old English was the name of the character that stood for W (even though it didn’t look like the letter “w”), combined with “bridge” to emphasize a bridge from the past to the future, from current students to alumni, etc. Many didn’t like this created name much better, but the decision had been made that a historic name was too fraught with pitfalls.

Fortunately, I had a break from all of that when I went to AWP in Kansas City. Yes, we did talk about the name because I was with current students who wanted that conversation, and because people always bring it up even if they didn’t know about our attempts to change it. The controversy got us an article or two in Inside Higher Ed so some migth have actually known. But the conference was full of books, writers, publishers, panels, and lots and lots of interactions. I even got to hang out with some of my long-time friends from Knox. So in that sense, it was a break, even though it was both exhilerating and exhausting. I talked to two of my editors, met magazine editors, and even had a magazine write and ask me for poems. i didn’t have a lot of what they were looking for, so I even wrote a poem for them — or started it at the conference and finished when I got home.

I enjoyed meeting Eric from Fernwood Press and seeing their books with marvelous covers. I was also happy to be able to flip through several of their poetry books to see how they handled things like acknowledgements and bios. And meeting with my editor from Bloomsbury led to more serious discussions of a possible 2nd edition of A Writer’s Craft.

Coming back home meant catching up on all the things I didn’t do while I was away, along with a big push to support the new new name in the legislature, and then the news that the bill would never make it out of committee. Though that was disappointing after all the effort people had made (and I had been less active than others) in the end, it will probably be a good thing. Having more time will give the university a chance to build support for a name change, to let people get used to the new name or possibly come up with a better solution. Maybe the decision about historical names might also be revisited.

Meanwhile, I kept teaching my classes, got back to reading poems for Poetry South, and even applied for an artist fellowship from the Mississippi Arts Commission. And there’s a fair amount I’m leaving out because it’s the fairly mundane work of a department chair. Today, March 1, I was at the Mississippi Philological Association conference at the Mississippi School of Mathematics and Sciences (which is on our campus and held in our library), where I read seven poems on a panel with two other writers, and attended two other panels, all while trying to round up the last midterm grades in my department and taking part in a curriclum committee meeting by Zoom between sessions.

So my apologies for not getting a blog post out in awhile. I have been exploring Bluesky, Mastodon, and Substack, but haven’t been too active on my blog. Check me out there, especially on my Substack Newsletter if you’d like to see more about AWP or the latest developments on my books.

MFA Application Advice 2024

Now that it’s January, we’ve started to see some applications again for our low-residency MFA program for another year. This has me thinking about all the advice I’ve given to applicants over the years. If I could give one piece of advice on how to apply, I think it would be to just be you. Don’t stress too much about the process (I know that’s easier said than done), and do put your best effort into presenting yourself as the writer you are. A genuine application letter will always look better to me that one that seems to be someone trying too hard to be someone they are not.

A few years ago, I wrote a post on 15 Things to Do Before a Low-Res MFA (plus 5 bonus things). I meant this listicle to be somewhat tongue in cheek, since I don’t expect anyone to do all of those things. It was intended more as a way to think about when you might be ready to embark on an MFA than to judge whether someone is good enough. For instance, many successful applicants to our have never published in a literary magazine, but if they haven’t ever thought of doing that or don’t even know what a literary magazine is, then maybe they’re not ready to start their MFA. Or maybe they are, but they should know there’s a literary world out there that they will need to get to know.

Applicants may not have had time to revise their best work four times after graduating from college or after they wrote it, but they should be open and willing to revise, and they should be hungry for the kind of interaction they’ll get in an MFA program that can lead to revision. Applicants who want to be told that their writing is as good as it can possibly be should find other avenues for affirmation than an MFA. We don’t try to be cruel in our program (and some programs have that kind of reputation), but we are here to educate, and education means challenging students to grow and change. If that sounds exciting and invigorating, then an MFA is right for you. If it sounds debilitating, even when done in constructive and supportive ways, then maybe you should find another path.

When writing your letter of intent or statement of purpose, it’s great to mention some of the things on that list. It’s great to brag about your accomplishments, but if you don’t have many accomplishments, that’s not a deal breaker. Tell me your favorite magazine if you have one, tell me your favorite recent authors who have been publishing in magazines or books, tell me the styles or genres that float your boat, and describe who you are and where you’re from and/or where you hope to go with your writing. Don’t try to be the writer you think I want you to be, but instead write your best, well-crafted letter that shows me the kind of writer you are.

That’s my best advice for my program, and I expect it is good advice for just about any program. If you made yourself sound ‘better’ (and by that I mean different than you are, which is probably not really better after all), then you might get into a program you thought you wanted to get in, but it also might not really be the best program for you. It might be the best program for that ‘other you’ that you convinced them you were, but would you be happy becoming that writer? Maybe, maybe not. So relax, be yourself, and put your best foot forward. I’m confident that if you do that, things will work out for the best, especially if you do your research and apply to a number of programs that seem like they would be good for you.

In Praise of Traditional Small Press Publishers

First off, let me just say: I love books, even though I’ve long ago reached the age where I have way more books than my house and office can hold. That age came early for an academic, esp. an English professor who doesn’t like to get rid of books—and there are two of them, plus an avid reader offspring in our house, so we are surrounded by books, even when we do occasionally go through the painful process of culling.

This post is somewhat inspired by a Medium article on “New Ways of Bookselling.” I only read the title in the email roundup I get, since I haven’t been reading much on Medium, but this title reminded me of all the other articles I’ve seen lately about new ways of publishing. (Yes, I probably misread the title, scanning quickly, since the article is actually about “community building in art bookstores,” but it still sent me down this rabbit hole.)

People always seem to want to reinvent the wheel in publishing, and sometimes that leads potentially good opportunities for writers — serializing a book on Medium or Patreon or Substack, for instance, might make money for an author and not be that different than the 19th and early 20th century novels that were serialized in magazines. Magazines don’t do that anymore, as far as I am aware, though maybe we should.

Other ways of reinventing publishing seem to be aimed more at making money off of writers than providing a platform where writers can earn some income. The jury is out on Medium, Patreon, Substack and other platforms — will they work to the writer’s benefit or will they primarily enrich themselves on the labor of writers? It seems that if you work hard to make a name for yourself on these platforms, you can become successful, or at least some people can. That’s not the kind of author I want to be, so I don’t think I’ll use them as a publishing platform for anything more than a free newsletter (which I’m toying with on Substack—I mostly plan to use that to send news about my books, readings, etc., while I’ll keep this blog for other musings).

To me, Medium, Patreon, and Substack seem like a new take on self-publishing. Writers do all the marketing, all the editing, all the design, and all the production, what those platforms provide is the means to publish, and for that they do deserve a cut of the profits. What remains to be seen is how many writers can really make a go of it in that ecosystem and how many end up investing in the platform (on the platforms with fees) or investing a lot of their time and effort without much to show for it. These platforms may help writers make a name for themselves and earn some income, but they also don’t result in a physical book. I won’t be able to fill my shelves with Medium articles or even serialized novels. Libraries can’t lend them to their patrons, and used bookstores will have no value in them. I still love a hard copy book, in other words. But it is not just the book that I’m nostalgic for, it is the relationship with a publisher.

Over the years, really spanning my whole career as an author, there have been publishers that claimed to reinvent the traditional book publishing model, and they remind me why traditional publishing is so valuable, even today. When I first started trying to publish a book in the 1990s, there were four models, which are essentially the same today: vanity presses (where the writer pays a fee to print the book), self-publishing (which was still frowned upon), traditional publishing (small presses and the big houses), and co-op publishing, which at the time was a new model where the writer and the publisher both made an investment in the book.

Today, this model tends to go by the name “hybrid publishing,” rather than “co-op,” but the idea is really about the same, and I’ve seen more and more publishers who drop the “hybrid” and claim they are traditional publishers, though they tout innovative contracts that still leave more responsibility for the cost of the book in the hands of the writer. This may be in the form of pre-sales requirements rather than fees, or it may be in fees for editing or other “services.” Or it may mean a departure from the traditional royalty system. I would approach any of these publishers with a healthy dose of caution. If you’re willing to essentially self-publish and do all the work yourself, then you might gain something by publishing with a press like this, but you might also be just as well off publishing on your own.

The value of working with a traditional publisher comes primarily from the relationship you build. A publisher should be willing to invest in a book. They should design it, edit it (though editing isn’t as common as it once was, esp. in small presses), market it, send it to reviewers, distribute it to bookstores, and help the writer get out and sell the book at readings or other events. It has never been the case that the publisher does all the work after the writing, of course. Writers have always lined up blurbs for their covers, helped to find good reviewers, and promoted their work through readings. But a traditional publisher invests time and resources in taking the written manuscript and turning it into a book. It takes a team to do this well and to then ensure that the book is successful once it’s published. A publisher provides that team, makes that investment, and takes a healthy cut of the profits on the book sales as a result. The author’s cut is usually around 10% (my latest book contract is for 8% of the retail price, which is actually quite good compared to the royalty of 10% of the net price that I’ve seen in previous contracts—net price factors in the discount the retailer received when calculating the royalty, retail price is based on the cover price not the discount).

Why do I care so much about royalties when I know that my book of poetry will never earn me a ton of money? More than cash, it’s about respect. I want my poems to make money for the publisher. I want them to stay in business, and I want them to continue to sell my book. I respect the fact that they are investing time and money into my book, and I want a standard royalty that reflects the time and energy have put into the book and will put into promoting it. The “new,” “innovative,” or non-standard publishing models I’ve seen don’t seem to be based on the same level of respect.

When a publisher invests money and time in a book, they have an incentive to see it do well. The publisher is invested in selling the book as much as the writer is, maybe more so. When the writer pays fees or does all the leg-work to promote a book before it is even published, the publisher has little incentive to sell the book. Many of these publishers sell their books on their websites and maybe on Amazon or through Ingram. If they get them in bookstores, it is likely only due to the efforts of the writer or through special orders. The nontraditional publishing models I’ve seen seem set up so the publisher’s main incentive is to publish more books so they can generate more fees or get authors to drum up more sales. But since the publisher hasn’t invested in the book, they have little incentive to do the work of selling it. Sure, they’ll be happy with the sales generated by the author, but they are less likely to exert much effort themselves if they can find ways to get the author to do it.

Many of these publishers argue (I’ve read their literature) that publishing is moving in this direction anyway. It is true that even at the big presses writers end up doing more self-promotion than they used to. We are all on social media, we are all out there giving readings, visiting book clubs, publishing in magazines, and finding other ways to make ourselves known. There is less money from publishers for book tours, so more tours are self-funded (which has always been the case at small presses). And yet, I’ve never known a traditional publisher, even a small press, that didn’t do something to promote their books. If I’m going to have to do all the things for self-promotion, I’d rather have a committed partner with a traditional publisher who is also invested in making my book a success. I value the relationships I’ve built with traditional publishers, and I trust them to do right by my book. That’s what I’m looking for when I look for a press. For all its flaws, the traditional book publishing model has evolved in ways that make this respect possible.

2024 Writer’s Resolutions

Each year we make our resolutions and try to keep them. I’ve never been one to focus too much on losing the weight gained over the holiday (I trust I will as I get back to my morning walks and other routines and work my way through a few leftover treats). My resolutions tend to be about my writing life, and this year, I have a some built-in goals.

2023 was a very good year for my writing. I signed a contract with Fernwood Books to publish my fourth poetry collection, Tree Fall with Birdsong, and I had poems accepted for two anthologies: Southern Voices: The Power of Place and The Ecopoetry Anthology: Volume II. I also published poems in Peauxdunque Review and Birmingham Poetry Review.

The publication of a book comes with a number of built-in goals. By May, I’ll need to submit my final revision of the manuscript to the press and I’ll need to line up some poets to write blurbs for the cover and develop a list of places to send review copies. Those are three resolutions ready and waiting to be added to my list. A little less obvious, though, is the resolution to get out some targeted submissions of more poems from the manuscript to journals who I think could publish before the release date of may 2025. The anthology publications and a few well-placed poems will be a good way to get the word out about the new book.

Even more important, though a little less obvious, will be to continue to publish other poems, so my next resolution is to get even more serious about submitting new poems, especially those in my “Intergalactic Traveler” series. But since that series has now topped 20 poems is is finished or nearly finished, my next resolution is to focus more time on writing new poems. I have some ideas for poems, so we will see where this will lead. 2024 will be an exciting time as I gear up for the release of two anthologies and moy fourth collection of poem.

Ecopoetry Anthology: Volume II

Recently, I received news from Ann Fisher-Wirth and Laura-Gray Street that two of my poems “The intergalactic traveler tells it like it is” and “The intergalactic traveler in springtime” will be included in the new Ecopoetry Anthology from Trinity University Press, due out in 2025. Full disclosure: they accepted the first poem initially, which thrilling enough, then wrote back recently to see if the second poem was still available and if they could include it as well, to which, I of course said yes.

I’m very excited to see both of these poems published, especially in this anthology of Ecopoetry. The first volume really set the standard for defining ecopoetry, and this new volume brings that up to date with much more recent writing. I’m happy to be included, both because writing about the natural world has been an important aspect of my poetry since the beginnings in Landscapes and Architectures, and since my most recent poems have become more political, both on themes of ecology and climate change and on other social justice themes. That was one reason for taking on the persona of the intergalactic traveler: I felt a need to speak more openly about those issues and that perspective gave me license to do so.

I now have 21 Intergalactic traveler poems, which is nearly enough for a chapbook or a good amount for a cycle in fifth full-length collection, so I’ll have some decisions to make soon. I can only envision a couple more poems in this series since I’ve brought it to a good conclusion (or near one), though you never know. The poems I’ve been writing recently have taken a turn in another direction, though that’s one that would go well with these poems. It’s exciting to have a good start on a new project when Tree Fall with Birdsong is heading towards book publication.

More news on this anthology as publication nears!

My First Publication

Read the story of my very first publication, four translations of Paul Snoek in Pinchpenny in 1985, which I wrote about on my SubStack this morning.

I’m still looking for a good way to connect WordPress and SubStack, so in the meantime, I’m cross posting like this. I’ve connected WordPress to my Mastodon, Facebook, and LinkedIn accounts. Waiting for SubStack to make it easier, but for now, I’m trying to build some followers there and am linking to that from WordPress.

More News on Substack

I’ve just started a newsletter on Substack. It won’t replace this blog, but it will be a place to post news about my publishing life. My first post describes how Tree Fall with Birdsong found its publisher and reveals a secret about the title poem.

In doing this, I’m also looking for new ways to connect with other writers, and I want to see how Substack works, since we might use it for Poetry South and Ponder Review. I’ve been trying out a number of alternative social media sites as I move further and further off of Twitter (now X). I’m on Bluesky and Mastodon with my personal account @kdunkelberg, but neither seem like the best fit for the magazines just yet, so I’m trying Substack since a lot of writers seem to have gravitated there and other CLMP magazines recommend it. So check me out on Substack for one more way to stay in touch, and find out the backstory of how Tree Fall with Birdsong got its name and landed with Fernwood Press.

Why I Signed a Book Contract

Last week, I posted announcements on social media about my new book deal with Fernwood Press to publish Tree Fall with Birdsong in May of 2025. Today, I wanted to revisit that process, especially in light of my post from several years ago, “Why I Bailed on a Book Deal.” That was four and a half years ago, and though a lot has changed including the title, the order, and a whole new section of poems, this is essentially the same manuscript. So you might ask, whether I am glad that I waited.

Naturally, I had hoped to find a publisher sooner than I did, and I had several near misses: publishers who wrote encouraging rejections but whose lists were too backed up to take on another project or who felt my manuscript wasn’t quite the right fit for them. I understood that, and especially after COVID, I knew there was a significant backlog in publishing. So I wasn’t surprised that it was taking awhile to find a home for the manuscript, and I am very pleased with the home that it did find. More on that in a moment, but first, let me recap why I didn’t take that initial offer.

It all had to do with what I learned about the contract that publisher was willing to give. Their policies on royalties seemed off to me, and they required a high number of pre-sales before they would go to press, which was a concern. I also had trouble finding their books at stores other than Amazon or their own website, and it seemed like they relied on the author to do most of the selling without giving the author a commensurate proportion of the revenue. There were enough questions and issues that I decided to say no, feeling I could do better somewhere else, and I am glad I did.

Fernwood is very clear that they offer a traditional book contract, they do not require presales (which is not to say that I won’t try to get as many as I can; I just don’t want publication to be delayed until I reach a certain threshold), and they pay royalties based on the retail price of the book. I don’t expect my royalty income to be huge, but I do like an arrangement where the publisher is making an investment in the author and in book sales.

More than any of that, though, I had a good feeling about Fernwood from the beginning. We had good initial email correspondence, then when their self-imposed deadline for responding had passed, they responded to my query by setting up an appointment to discuss the book. I did have to wait a couple of months for that appointment to arrive — I don’t know why, and I didn’t ask — as I told them at the time, the timing worked out well for me, too.

When we talked, I got the sense that they understood my collection and respected what I’m trying to do in it. We had a fairly wide-ranging discussion and got into some of the practical realities of publishing it. Then they sent a contract, which they were willing to negotiate. I had done some research at the Authors Guild and had a few suggestions about language to include, including some language about AI use for subsidiary rights and a clause about what would happen if the company went bankrupt. They didn’t accept all of my suggestions, but they did answer my questions, and we arrived at a contract that meets my needs. They even said that they may use it as a model for new contracts going forward.

My takeaways from this experience are that it is worth it to wait. Finding a publisher you will be happy working with, one that is receptive to your work and willing to work with you, is much more important than publishing sooner. You never know, things might have turned out okay if I had taken that first contract, but I also might have been disappointed. Now I feel confident that I am working with a press who will get behind me, and that makes all the difference.

Rejection Letters: A Blast from the Past

This morning, I did a little unanticipated research, looking back through some files searching for some documents. This led me to a musty manila folder containing rejection letters from the publishers I sent Landscapes and Architectures, my first book manuscript to This was back in the days before most publishers had an internet presence. There was email by then, but not everyone used it, and my initial queries, including full manuscripts, were sent by USPS. I saved most of the responses I received, and there was one that stood out as I flipped through the folder.

It was handwritten on a full sheet of typing paper in beautiful flowing script, from Janet Pellam, former editor at Pine Press. In the letter, she kindly explained why she was no longer at the press and that she had moved to Montana with a new husband. She opened a window into their lives in the mountains, and she said she enjoyed my poems and made some comparisons to poets I love. It wasn’t completely clear whether she was comparing her own poems or mine to these more famous poets of a previous generation, but did that really matter? She had left the life of editing behind, but was still writing, and she wanted to know where she was still listed as editor of the press. After such a lovely, almost chatty, letter, I hope that I did reply and tell her where I got her contact information: probably from Poet’s Marketplace or the Directory of Little Magazines and Small Presses, since they were my bibles in those days.

I also glanced through a folder of acceptance letters from magazines, including one equally nice, full page letter from Bitter Oleander, accepting some translations. There were many like this, from a time when editors had time to actually engage in correspondence and exchange news of their lives, not just the practical realities of putting a journal together. And I still have a file of form letters with handwritten responses, however brief, to give me hope, as well as another with just the form letters, though I remember I stopped adding to that one after awhile. It would be much thicker if I hadn’t done that.

It is a good reminder, though, as I put together Issue 15 of Poetry South and as I get ready to announce some more good news: both that I’ve been at this for quite awhile (over 30 years) and that no matter how much things change, some aspects always stay the same. I’ve been having some more good correspondence with writers and publishers lately, now over email and not on paper. It feels more ephemeral that way, but the communication is the same, while the time it takes to send has decreased phenomenally.

More soon, when my news is final…

Homemade Pizza Crust

My niece wrote to ask for my pizza crust recipe and I thought I would point her to my blog, but then I noticed I’ve written about pizza, but I haven’t really written about the crust. The basic recipe came from my mom, who probably saw it in a magazine somewhere in the 1970’s. I’ve adapted it over the years, but it’s essentially so easy that it’s hardly a recipe.

The basic recipe for 1 large pizza started with 1 cup of water. I’ve adjusted that over the years depending on how many people I need to serve and how big our appetites or pizza stones are. Roughly speaking, start with 1 cup of water and about a table spoon of yeast for the basic recipe. That called for sugar, but I started leaving it out when I learned the original Italian pizza probably didn’t have any.

Dissolve the yeast a bit, then add a little flour, enough to make a wet mixture the consistency of mud. Essentially, you just want some flour in the water to buffer the yeast when you add salt. Stir the flour a bit to mix well, then add a dash or two of salt and a tablespoon or so of oil (more or less depending on how many people you need to serve). Many pizza crust recipes have quite a bit of oil, so there’s nothing wrong with being a little liberal with it at this stage, but a tablespoon or so for one cup of water is probably about right. Add more flour until you get a soft dough. Pizza dough is very forgiving, so don’t worry if you get a little too much flour when you first start making it. Next time you might try for less. You just don’t want the dough to be so wet it’s sticky, but you don’t need to get it too firm either.

When adding flour, I usually start with white flour and then add whole wheat so that the mixture is about half and half. If I want a low-carb pizza crust, then I’ll use all whole wheat, which is surprising good. You just want to keep the dough pretty wet, since the whole wheat flour will soak up the moisture as it rises. It makes a thin, hearty crust. All white flour works well, too, and I’ve done that if I don’t have whole wheat, but we prefer a heartier pizza crust with at least some whole wheat flour. Bread flour is fine, as is pastry flour. I’ve even used Grano Arso (burnt grain flour) when our son gave me some as a present, and that was quite tasty and very dark. But a basic white and whole wheat blend is our go-to pizza crust.

Knead the flour for a bit on the counter once it holds together when mixing it in the bowl. Scrape out your bowl and knead in all the scrapings along with a little additional flour to get the consistency you want. Then pour a little more olive oil in the bowl, just a teaspoon or so, and roll the ball of dough around in the bowl to coat it.

Let the dough rise at least half an hour. Many recipes call for a longer rise, so it’s okay to let it sit for a few hours, even over night in the refrigerator. I often let it rise for an hour to an hour and a half. If I’m going to let it rise longer than that, I will cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a wet towel, though I don’t bother with that anymore if it will be a short rise.

That’s it. When you’re ready to put the dough on your pan or stone, just sprinkle a little corn meal on the surface and then press the dough out to cover. Before I put it on the stone I usually spread the dough out a bit by holding one edge and letting the dough dangle in the air, then moving around the dough ball until it’s more like a frisbee. I don’t toss the dough and spin it the way the do in some pizza restaurants, but it’s basically the same principle. It helps to have it somewhat disk shaped before spreading on the pan by pressing on the dough and moving the edges further out. Press from the center out until the center gets pretty thin, then work on getting the edges to the edge of the stone or pan. That’s hard to explain, but you’ll get the hang of it by trial and error. We have round pizza stones, but if you don’t have that, it’s fine to press it out on a rectangular baking sheet. It takes a little work to get the dough into the corners, but that just takes patience.

I bake my pizza at 425 degrees for 20 minutes or until done. Some recipes call for an even hotter oven. Some people use a pizza peel to put the crust on a heated stone, but I’ve found it works as well and is easier to start with a room temperature stone and put the pizza dough directly on it, then put the toppings on the pizza and put it all in the oven. Maybe that’s because I don’t have a peel and I always want to use every inch of pizza stone, so getting the fully made pizza on a hot stone just seems too complicated to me. I still end up with a light and crispy crust, depending on how much dough I make and how thick it ends up.