I think every writer wants to see their work in print. Sure, we all write in order to express ourselves on the page, but there’s that inkling in some part of our reptile brains that wanders bookstores and imagines seeing our name amongst the names of the recognized, the beloved. For poets, the road is long, the recognition sparse, and the gates to acceptance are guarded by the Pretentious and Snooty. For those of us that don’t have our names in dozens of literary journals or any best-seller lists (yet!), self-publishing has become a way for poets to get their work out there and begin a grassroots campaign building name recognition and readership.
That’s how The Playground came to be, and how it came to be self-published.
Recently, thanks to the wonders of modern publishing, I updated the book to improve the formatting and add in a few pieces that missed inclusion the first time around. Also…my book is now in hardcover. Really. Hardcover. There’s something about the weight and density of hardcover that changes the reading experience for me. Paperbacks have an informal feel to them. They morph into your hand while you’re lazily reading in your work break room. Hardcovers require you to show up to the reading. To be a bit more present.
And they’re pretty.
The hardcover, in my humblest opinion, is a gorgeous way to enjoy The Playground. It includes a few notes from me on the jacket cover, and it will look quite fine on your bookshelf. (As well as all the bookshelves of your friends, neighbors, clients, relatives, and perfect strangers. Really, next time you’re out on the street, just start throwing my book at people and say READ THIS and then run away. It’s a fun game.)