V. H. King's Ink

Back in 2020, I had the idea to collect all the poetry I’d been writing into an anthology. It wasn’t necessarily a new idea. When it comes to marking turning points and timelines, I usually default to anthology collections. Retracing my footsteps, remembering what I’m capable of, reclaiming lost hope. When the present feels like forever, the words are both wind and anchor.

This too will pass.

There was so much I was feeling, and I knew I wanted to remember what it took to survive. I didn’t know just how badly I would need it. Originally I projected that I would start compiling my poems and maybe even a few art prints 18-24 months after March 2020. I thought that would give me enough time to organize my thoughts, flesh out the details of the project, and maybe even get in a few solid revisions. Well, that sort of happened.

What also happened is that my need for hope grew into a living thing with skin and bones and teeth–teeth that were all too eager to sink into my spirit.

A phrase started to circulate among a new-to-me friend group. It came from voice-chats late at night, when we rambled our way through a modified evening service. Sometimes it was spoken with a weary sigh in the mid-morning, when the day brewed nothing but trouble. Often it came as a lament of how the way things were had become so far from what we imagined had been intended.

This too is prayer.

I thought it made a good title for the anthology. Silly me, I had been writing more poetry than I realized. And if I wanted to add in paintings and such–well, this would be better off as a series. I’m learning that every project idea I have is usually far more grandiose than I anticipate. There’s a tide of content I don’t realize I’m in until I find myself trying to beach a submarine.

Analogies aside, I decided I would do the series. I had the poems. I had the artwork. First came categorizing what I had–some of which meant throwing out some things. Not to the literal trash, but gleaning over which pieces were practice exercises and which ones thrummed with veins of gold. The two years were put to plenty good use, refining and revisiting and reimagining what I wanted to put together.

And then comes the time to announce the project.

This is the scary part. I like sharing what I’m working on in small circles. People support me along the way, celebrating the bits of progress and bursts of inspiration. Then comes the whole picking a date and telling the world and–oh right, actually getting it done. I don’t want to let myself down, so I usually hold off on this for a good while, trying to give myself wiggle room. Opportunities to scrap something, I guess, but I know I won’t abandon this project no matter how many chances I give myself.

I’m going to make it.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, I keep reminding myself. Let it be what it is, and not my expectation of it. (That is also a prayer, by the way.) I have mentioned it in abbreviations, but I think it’s time to spell it out. Late in the Midnight Hour: the first volume of This Too, is Prayer, pairs 33 poems with various artworks. I don’t know how to tell you what it’s about, yet. Maybe the title and the timeline of my writing it are enough to give you a hint. Now that I’ve said it out loud, it’s time to get back to work. But don’t worry, I’ll be sharing more soon.