Dear Readers, 

Preparing this Leaflet has me thinking about the inclination I had as a young, moody teenager, to journal in poetry. Looking back at my personal archives, I cringe and fight the urge to burn what I find in them. Then I remember this was poetry for the sake of poetry. It wasn’t trying to be “good.” It wasn’t even trying to make meaning. It was me, creating art from feelings that didn’t exist to please anyone else. These poems were the earliest renditions of me finding my voice–even if it was whiny and close-minded–and it was teaching me what I did, and didn’t, like in poetry.

The craft essay in this leaflet, written by Jacob Butlett, offers several nuggets of inspiration on the subject of using writing prompts as an entry point into meaning-making. Jacob asks “How can any writer be expected to learn if one doesn’t write again and again and again?”

My grandfather, who was a very skilled musician and professor of music, was also a great quote-maker. He wrote three books, one of which had this title: Have You Done Your Practicing? The title is a callback to a question his mother, a prolific musician herself, often asked him as a child, but is also perhaps the most important lesson extended to his descendants: practice, practice, practice. 

We’re nearing mid-April at the time of publication. April, as most of you probably know, is National Poetry Month (in hindsight, this Leaflet should have intentionally been poetry-forward, so I’m glad to have had the happy little accident of it being that anyway). For the first time ever, I have been participating in the challenge to write one poem each day in celebration. Today is the fourteenth day (yes, I’m writing this editorial letter the day before the Leaflet is released). So far, I’ve written twelve bad poems, and two that have potential. When all 30 poems have been written, maybe there will be a few more with potential. It’s too soon to decipher a lesson learned, but I’m thinking a lot about the title of my Grandfather’s book. After all, what is the NaPoMo challenge if not an effort to establish a daily habit of practice? 

That said, if there is a lesson I’ve learned so far, it’s this: there are no “bad” poems during practice. The purpose in practice is to be bad. To mess up. To make mistakes. To pencil-in notes in all over the margins. And to keep going. 

The idea of practice is nothing revolutionary. I can’t begin to count how many times this has been the advice given to me, the essential step towards anything resembling success. Like my grandfather’s mother, I often reflect on the art of practice (I’m going to call it an art-form, because isn’t that what it is?). We didn’t talk specifically about practice during our conversation with Millie Tullis, but on the subject of writing style, Tullis shares this: “The longer I’ve written, the more clearly I understand what I like to read, how I want to write poems, how I want to write this poem.” Practice is the key to uncovering what’s true for you, just as it is for me, for Millie, Jacob, Bri, or for any writer, in and beyond this leaflet. 

No, this isn’t a plug for you to begin the Poem-A-Day challenge (although it isn’t too late to start). All I hope to suggest here is that you begin to ask more questions about how you practice your craft. And if you need help getting started, then you’re in luck! This leaflet is full of wisdom. 

So, reader, I’ll leave you with my grandfather’s question: Have you done your practicing yet? 

Wishing you joy and safety,
Megan Eralie-Henriques

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