Isabella Bank Institute for Entrepreneurship

Department of English, Language and Literature faculty member Robert Fanning interviews poet and Central Michigan University MA in Creative Writing alumna Kimberly Priest.

1. I remember you as a student writer at CMU—that you were finding in poetry what seemed like a primal connection, a way to express your voice—and it seemed like a vital moment for you. Can you talk a bit about that?

Happy to. As you may remember, I didn’t come to CMU to study poetry. I began my MA studying British literature, and I was having quite a nice time analyzing the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins. During that first semester, however, I was also going through an incredibly difficult, even terrifying, divorce. I had spent many years in a domestic violence situation, and my brain was working overtime to make sense of its terrors, even as I was trying to care for two young adolescent children and had no idea what I was going to do to support myself, and them, financially for the foreseeable future. What I knew is that I had a lot of unprocessed memories and a need to tap into and organize some of the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm me. I recall having a conversation with you, Robert, about the creative writing program. I loved analyzing poetry so, I thought, why not try to write it? I had dabbled with songwriting and storytelling as a youth. Writing poetry felt like a natural option to explore the memories and emotions surfacing. 

And it was a solid choice. My early work didn’t do much to reach the emotional depths I needed to plume, but it was a start--it got things stirring. The classes I took, both literary and creative, gave me the safe space and tools I needed to put language around feeling and keep crafting poetry after my MA. Over time, I was able to acknowledge the terrors, fears, longings, heartbreak, hopes, and losses I needed to express and they began to taking shape in poetry that, by some miracle, found its way into the world. 

2. You are a passionate traveler, and an incredibly motivated writer, and you are having great publication success, with a new book on the way. Tell us about your journey since CMU as a student, as a writer, as a teacher. What are your proudest moments?

Actually, I have two books on the way this year! My book tether & lung publishes with Texas Review Press this month (February) and my book Wolves in Shells publishes in October as the winner of the Backwater’s Press Prize in Poetry from University of Nebraska Press. These will be my second and third full length books of poetry.

Like many writers, since my MA, I went on to an MFA and published chapbooks fresh out of my MFA. Prior to the MFA, I had been accepted to a Ph.D. program but had to turn down the offer to continue caring for my kids in Michigan. Moving them out of state during their high school years didn’t seem like a great idea. It was a tough choice. Getting into a Ph.D. program in creative writing is a big deal, and I was surprised to even have this option.

But that’s not the option I took, and (once again) like many writers and students of writing, I slogged through years of part-time jobs, literary ups and downs, and even about two years of homelessness due to the circumstances of my first marriage. (I won’t tell that story here, but my two new poetry books do cover portions of my experiences. Get copies!). I finally landed a job teaching first-year writing (composition—also what many writers teach) at Michigan State University two years before the pandemic, and I am still there. I dream of teaching poetry somewhere someday. But the market is saturated with good writers, and I haven’t had this luck yet.

My proudest moments are always holding each book in my hands. I have a few chapbooks and one full length collection right now. I can’t wait to receive physical copies of the two new books this year. All the narratives in these books carry a piece of my life. They are difficult stories about marriage, sexuality, divorce, motherhood, assault, displacement, etc. I don’t know how I survived most of these narratives. Having them published for posterity and for others to feel consoled or changed or challenged by is a small reward for all the suffering—but a reward, nonetheless.

Also, I write for audiences, for my readers, not to be a known author. So other proud moments come for me when a reader feels companioned by my work. I won’t ever know who all those people are, but they are out there.

3. What advice do you have for undergraduate and graduate student writers at CMU—for how to find success in the program, and how to thrive as writers beyond school?

Success is such a big word and one we think too much about or maybe often misunderstand. Every semester, in my first-year writing classes we talk about the cultural narratives that shape our identities and behaviors. One of the narratives we sometimes contemplate concerns definitions of success for an assignment we do on failure. I ask them if anyone has ever asked them if they are experiencing success in their relationships. When we think about success, we think about money or fame. We don’t think about finding joy in simple pleasures, cultivating a healthy friendship, or lamenting well as signs of success.

In the literary world, we think of winning prestigious awards or attending an Ivy League school or selling 500 copies of a book on a first press run as success. But those things often go to people who have the privilege to align themselves with those who can open doors for them and offer these rewards. Not everyone has that. I didn’t. Most don’t. So, what is success then if it is not these things? If these opportunities are unattainable?

Well, each time I finish a poem that, by some magic, is whole enough to contain the compassion and care I feel for another human being, whether it’s received in real-time or not—that’s success. Success is the quality of the relationships I share with others, even if it’s only a few others. (And that doesn’t require poetry.) Success is believing that there are important matters and experiences to write about. My belief is success. Success is passing on my tools to my students so they can write stories that hold their difficult experiences too.

If I have any advice to give, I would say don’t base your thriving on writing. Thrive anyway—writing or no writing. If you want to write, aim to write well, authentically, and for that one reader who will be companioned by your story someday. Writing success is somewhat mysterious and fleeting, but you won’t reach any benchmarks if you don’t write often and challenge yourself. I think the standard advice is “quality over quantity,” but I once heard a preacher say, “quantity is more likely to produce quality than not doing much at all.” I’m sure he’s right. I do know I write A LOT and often, and I only keep what feels like quality.

So, write a lot and often if it suits you. Send it out. Take rejection on the chin. Write more. Send it again. Celebrate the wins with simple pleasures then file them away. Keep going. Keep a day job. And base your success on the more substantial necessities of life like human connection.

4. Anything else you would like to share?

As a writer and teacher of writing, I live constantly with stories. They open my eyes. They challenge me. They give me hope. They shock and unnerve me. Sometimes the constant barrage of stories burdens me, and I break under the weight. I think that it is important to remember, for us lovers of books and humanism, that we can’t hold all the stories or change the whole world or fight all the devils . . . or single-handedly save the planet from global warming. It’s ok not to care about everything and only invest in the few concerns we can adequately care for. It’s ok to write poems that are not earth-shaking, trendy, or popular—and that are maybe just for you.