Talking Manuscripts

[Originally posted on Twitter]

Some thoughts about trying to put together a manuscript of poems...

I enjoy writing poems. And, after years of experience, I feel quite confident about the results. But putting together a manuscript of poems for a book is a different beast entirely.

Normally, organizing things is not a problem. Ask me to write a book about programming or some technical topic — no sweat. I enjoy the process of identifying and selecting the optimal structure for practical information. Even abstract concepts, websites, or taxonomies provide a rewarding challenge.

But poems are a different kettle of fish. (Actually sorting a kettle of fish might be an apt analogy. What's the point? What do you want to achieve? Is order even necessary if, say, you are cooking a fish stew?)

Part of the problem is I tend to view my poems chronologically — as a constantly evolving journey. However, it is unclear if any of that is visible to the average reader. (Unlikely.)

Another approach is to decide what story you want your poems to tell? Or more accurately, what story *do* they tell? Do they tell a story at all? And if not, is that a problem?

If not, one alternative is to sort them by subject matter, style, or length. But then you get the problem where too many similar poems together can get very samey-samey.

The converse is to deliberately intermix styles, subjects, or structures (e.g. 3 short poems, 2 long, 2 short, 1 long, and so on.) But that still results in random ordering of the other characteristics of the poems.

In the end, I usually resort to micro-sorting: selecting ~5-10% as "keystone" poems, sorting the rest into groups around each key poem, then sorting the groups. (Not unlike a UX card sort.)

The issue is, when I am done, I never feel confident that I got the order "right", since there is no ideal order I am working towards (no matter how much I'd like to think there is).

The result is that there is a constant urge to tweak the order. Or worse, start the process over from the beginning.

Only time, ultimately, solidifies the order into a fixed form, out of habit or exhaustion more than conscious decision. 

Like fossils pressed into striated layers of rock, the manuscript takes on a permanence that cannot be altered, without the risk of breaking the whole.