I am an impostor-poet

Today, you’ll find me cozy in bed, waiting for the snow. We’re anticipating several inches of snow along with a massive drop in temperature, and I am anticipating it highly. Wait — hold on — I just looked out my window and I SEE SNOW. Hell yeah.

Hey, you may have seen the news that finally, finally, finally a ceasefire has been reached between Israel and Hamas. I feel my heart lifting as I type those words. A ceasefire! We’ve hoped and prayed and activated and contacted our reps for 400+ days for this, and while this is barely the first step — ultimately, the goal is still a FREE PALESTINE — it is a big deal.

I’ll share once more the Kidlit4Ceasefire auction page — we’re raising funds to help people and families evacuate, and rebuild, and there is just so much need for this at this time! We’re nearly at 30% of our $60,000 goal, and I’m hopeful we can hit that milestone today. Take a look — there’s some truly incredible items up for grabs. Signed books, author AMAs, manuscript critiques and year-long mentorships, etc! If you’d like to bid on the 30-minute AMA with me (lol), it’s currently sitting at 0 bids, so, great chances!

That’s all for this introduction. <3

From the heart 💗

On celebrating — others vs myself

Lately I’ve been feeling the urge to celebrate.

Scratch that, I think I’ve been feeling this way for years now. In fact, when I started work on a verse novel in fall 2022, it was because of a poem that began from my POV and morphed halfway through into my protagonist’s perspective. That poem is no longer in the novel. It starts something like this:

Two years and some change later, those words still ring true in my own heart. I want to have news, celebratory news, anything to fling onto the internet and have people shout their excitement with me.

It feels like the last thing I got to unambiguously celebrate was my MFA graduation, which was over a year ago. I’m craving the sweet sweet release of getting to scream and shout and jump for joy.

Part of the problem, I fear, is just how BAD I am at celebrating myself. I celebrated and basked in the moment during graduation, but within an hour of the ceremony ending, I was back to feeling…normal. I didn’t have a party, didn’t make a big deal of it to my family and friends. It was simply a thing that I did, and then it was over.

When I got accepted into Lambda in May, I had about 20 minutes to bask in the excitement before a work email knocked the wind out of my sails. I never went back to the pure joy of that moment.

I don’t know how to celebrate myself, it turns out. I’m so scared of inconveniencing anyone that I am hard pressed to ask them to a celebratory dinner, much less anything more extreme. How could I ask them to give up a portion of their time for me? Who am I to demand they leave their warm homes and do something to make me feel better?

It’s weighing on me these days, because…I’m sad. I see my friends accomplishing things and I am so delighted for them and so ready and willing to celebrate them…but somehow I don’t trust that they’d be willing to return the favor?

Which is BS, because my friends — they’re some of the best people in the world. They’re selfless and uplifting and funny and always willing to drop things to help me through a hard time. There’s not a universe where they might resent me for begging them to show me some love.

So, I’m going to try to do better. Going to try to celebrate myself even when it’s hard. To that end, I may have some news this week 👀 so keep your eyes peeled for that ;)

From the camera roll 📸

The moon over California

From the page ✍️

Impostor syndrome in poetry, specifically

I was a poet before I was a prose novelist, an essayist, a short story writer.

I was a poet when I was in middle school, in high school, in college. I wrote poems on scraps of paper, scrawled them on napkins, lined them up neatly in notebooks. I transcribed them to my computer when I got one, and that’s why today I have hundreds — maybe a thousand? — poems from my youth in a folder on my computer.

I was a poet first, but I’ve been a not-poet for so long I fear I’ve forgotten how to speak in poetry.

Lately, the feelings of impostor syndrome have been choking me specifically when it comes to poetry. I recently put the finishing touches on the first draft of a verse novel I started in 2022 (the one I shared a snippet from above), and sent it off to some friends to read. When I got feedback from my first reader, I immediately spiraled into a puddle of goo — before even opening the doc! I was convicned that this friend, a certified Poet™️ in my eyes, was going to call me out as a fraud1.

For some reason, poetry is intimidating to me, and I’m convinced I’m not good enough. Not lyrical enough, or smart enough, or beautifully-tongued enough, to do a good job. I live in fear of submitting my verse novel to editors and getting laughed out of the submission trenches as because “who does she think she is? She’s not a poet, she’s a farce!”

This is what has kept me from writing standalone poetry for the past — decade, maybe? When I was in high school and early college, I didn’t have this immobilizing impostor syndrome. I had confidence. I had dreams that hadn’t yet been touched by passes from reputable literary journals. I knew what I wanted, I knew I was going to work hard to get there, and I knew I would succeed.

I wish I still had that firm knowledge and self-confidence.

And I’m willing to work to get back to it.

In 12th grade, a lot of my friends were doing a photography exercise, Project 365, wherein they took and posted to Facebook one photo every day. In about October of 2010, I decided to do something similar — I would write a poem every day. I compiled them into a document. It’s about 203 pages long — I definitely didn’t get all 365 days in, but I got over 150, which feels like a massive victory when you consider I was a senior in high school dealing with all sorts of external shit as well.

I’m going to attempt another Project 365. Starting Feb. 1, 2025, and for 365 days to follow, I’m going to try to write a poem every single day.

Wish me luck, and wish me a conquering of my own impostor syndrome about poetry as a result!

Oh, and while we’re at it — if I’m writing poetry I wanto be reading it, too! What are some of your favorite contemporary poetry collections? Share in the comments!

From the shelf 📚

Maya in Multicolor2, by Swati Teerdhala

I had the genuine delight of reading Maya in Multicolor by Swati Teerdhala last year. The book releases on Mar. 11, 2025 — which means you’ve got plentyyyy of time to get your preorders in and anticipate its glorious arrival on your doorsteps!

I read the book for Booklist and just fell head over heels for it. The chemistry between the two leads was sweltering and felt like it leapt off the page to delight me; their relationship was a delicious slow burn, one that had me on the edge of my seat. Maya as a main character is well-developed and surrounded by believable side characters, and I loved her dedication to making the Holi event as grand and amazing as possible. The way Maya and Nishant clashed and then worked together to make things make sense? Gorgeous.

I highly recommend this one, and as a plus, I mean — look at how GORGEOUS that cover is!

Alla prossima 👋

That’s all I’ve got for this week! Remember, don’t forget about Palestine until the country and its people are FREE, not just celebrating a ceasefire. The ceasefire is HUGE, don’t get me wrong, but the end goal is the lifting of the oppression.

Stay warm; stay safe; make a self-care plan for tomorrow, because I guarantee the Inauguration is going to hit like a ton of bricks. I, for one, plan to venture into the world to a coffee shop or library to do some reading and writing surrounded by others. The last thing I want is to be isolated all day dreading the future.

Love y’all.

— Karis xoxo