A Conversation on Poetic Friendship

Cynthia Marie Hoffman and J.L. Conrad on bearing witness to the writing life.

I first met Cynthia Marie Hoffman when I was finishing up my MFA at the University of Wisconsin. The thesis I was working on had some poems that reminded my teacher of Cynthia’s book, Paper Doll Fetus, and she suggested that we talk. We met at a restaurant and talked about poetry and motherhood over cheese curds. Then I had a baby, the pandemic hit and we lost the connection. A few years later I showed up to a reading Cynthia was doing and re-introduced myself, as we were all in masks. Later, Cynthia invited me to join a writing group she was forming, with J.L. Conrad. Both Cynthia and J.L. had books come into the world last year (Exploding Head and A World in Which), and they have become both friends and guides in the work of sustaining a life in poetry. While my friendships with them have been more recent, the two of them have been supporting one another for decades. I wanted to learn, and share, more about how essential their friendship has been to each of their creative practices. My interview with them is below, and it is full of gems. I hope you enjoy hearing what they have to say as much as I did!

Ok, let’s start from the beginning. How did you first get to know each other?

Cynthia: I’ll never forget the first workshop we were in together, at the Fine Arts Workshop in Provincetown with Marie Howe, when Jenny read an incredibly vulnerable poem about an encounter with a dog. You could hear a pin drop in that room. That poem has never been published and has blown into a sort of mythical memory for me. There’s something so powerful about experiencing a poem’s first shaky pronouncement into the world, sitting around a table of peers. It was in that space of community and vulnerability that we first met. And perhaps that set the scene for the 20 years of poetry-friendship that would follow.

J.L.: I remember Cynthia reading a similarly moving poem! There was a kind of alchemy to that workshop (very much created by Marie Howe’s presence and invitations to write) that elicited a vulnerability from all of us. A couple of years later, when I was preparing to move to Madison, I was spending a lot of time browsing for apartments. I noticed an email address provided for a sublet, and it looked familiar. So I found myself sending an inquiry: not for the apartment but to find out if this was the poet I remembered from the workshop. Long story short: it was Cynthia, who had moved to Madison for a fellowship! When I arrived here, we attended a poetry readingwhere I remember Cynthia asking, “Do you have a poetry group?” And when I said “no,” asking,“Would you like to start one?”

Cynthia: Oh my gosh, am I the one who initiated the poetry group? I had forgotten. But yes, that sounds like me! I was already in another poetry group that was full, but I guess I knew I needed a second group now that Jenny had magically reappeared in my town and my life.

Cynthia and J.L. connecting with Marie Howe at the Wisconsin Book Festival (2024)

How have you supported each other over the years and through various projects?

Cynthia: In the spirit of that first meeting, Jenny and I have continued to create workshop spaces (small poetry groups with writing peers) where we can share the earliest, messiest drafts. It’s not like the old traditional workshop model where the author stays silent; there’s more of a back-and-forth. I’ve done some of my best thinking in those poetry groups when I was able to talk through what my poem was trying to say. And then the group can offer more effective suggestions in return. Support is often about giving each other permission, whether it’s a nudge toward bravely saying the thing outright or a reminder to sit more comfortably in mystery. And permission to write is just as important as permission to not write. We’ve both had seasons when the words wouldn’t flow easily or at all, or when we had to set the words aside to focus on kids, caretaking, career.

We’ve reminded each other to be gentle with ourselves during these times. Sometimes supporting a friend through an off-season means acknowledging how convincingly the demons insist she’ll “never write again” while reassuring her that the words will be there, nonetheless, when–or if–she wants to write again. It’s a friendly pressure. But at the same time, there’s no pressure. That’s the key. Jenny’s an expert at finding this balance.

Staying connected to other writers, even when we’re not writing, keeps a spark flickering in the parts of ourselves we’ve abandoned to darkness. Once, during a busy time when our poetry groups had lagged, I didn’t write for five years. When Jenny convinced me to join a new poetry group she was starting, I reluctantly joined with the caveat that “I’m not a writer anymore.” But sure enough, surrounded again by a circle of poets, and pressed by the deadline of having to bring something to group, I found my way back to that spark.

J.L. My recent projects have all come into being within the poetry groups I’ve shared with Cynthia. There’s something striking that happens when someone views your work as it emerges through time, in the course of life events. Cynthia has been a faithful reader of my poetry manuscripts, an interrogator of individual poems, and a supporter of all those threads (submitting! emailing! etc.!) that accompany a writing life if one hopes to offer one’s words to the world. I’m grateful for the ways she has extended support even when I haven’t thought to ask. In other words, Cynthia is an incredibly generous reader and co-conspirator–not only with my poetry but with the work of others with whom she engages!

How have you supported each other with your most recent books?

Cynthia: I might not have finished writing Exploding Head, if it weren’t for Jenny starting up that new poetry group. It was published in 2024, the same year J.L.’s collection A World in Which hit the shelves. We did a reading together at the Wisconsin Book Festival, and we attended each other’s local readings. But the thing about friends helping each other with actual publicity is that we largely run in the same circles. We’ve shared contacts and opportunities, but sometimes it’s best, if you want to grow your audience, to do events with poets you don’t know. That said, I simply can’t understate the value of having someone else in your life who understands the poetry world and can say, “hey, I’m submitting here,” or “I’m sending my book there” and “you should, too!” There have been lots of “two more days until X deadline!” reminder texts and Excel spreadsheets shared between us. But it’s not just about supporting each other through the necessary tasks of “po-biz.” It’s also what I call “poetry therapy.” Having someone in my corner who’s seen me through all the rejections as well as the acceptances and who can remind me, when I most need it, not just who I am but who I might still become… that is what has sustained me.

I drafted a novel and dumped it in a drawer. Sometimes I forget it exists; I forget I ever dared endeavor such a crazy thing as to write a novel. But Jenny keeps reminding me. It’s both kind of annoying and kind of the sweetest, most meaningful thing anyone has ever done for me: bearing witness to my creative life. And my having witnessed hers—two decades of tenacity, curiosity, almost spiritual fits of inspiration as well as drought, all of it—I would have otherwise felt very alone.

J.L. Conrad, Cynthia Marie Hoffman, and Alison Thumel at the WI Book Festival (Oct 2024)

J.L.: I still think about your novel! And would love to read it again! And think others should read it! I’m also reminded of the ways we’ve worked to create space for writing in busy lives, as well as room for different kinds of writing. Over the years, we’ve carved out time for writing retreats for our groups, which have helped to sustain me and my work. If it weren’t for these retreats and the encouragement of fellow writers, I would not have submitted the manuscript that became Recovery (Texas Review Press, winner of the Robert Phillips Chapbook Prize). Now that was a poem that emerged in a fit of inspiration!

And while I agree with Cynthia that it can be good to find readers by sharing work in different places, there was something magical to me about the Wisconsin Book Festival reading last fall where we read together. Marie Howe, whose workshop we’d attended all those years ago, read later that evening, and we were able to let her know about the durability of the connection that came about through her workshop. Speaking of reading, I can also get really nervous when I read to an audience, and Cynthia has been a steadying presence (my poetry support person!) in many contexts over the years.

What kind of practices or habits sustain your creative life?

J.L. I write in the margins, which is to say the spaces between. For a while that has meant writing at bus stops or while on the bus, recording poems on my Voice Memos app while driving, or even writing when awake in the nighttime. I also read in a similar way. I feel the most momentum as a writer when I’m actively engaged with the ideas of others, whether these present themselves in book form or within the conversations unfolding in a poetry group.

Cynthia: For me, poetry groups! I feed off the energy of those around me (maybe a bit too much!), so when I feel like everyone else is writing, I want to write, too. I thrive when I’m working on a project for an extended period of time. I like writing books more than I like writing poems. Sometimes this can create an all-or-nothing situation (either the whole book succeeds or the whole book fails), but it’s worth the risk. I’m currently obsessed with writing essays. If I’m not learning something new—either about writing or about myself—I’m bored.

Do you have any advice for people who are looking to be more connected or to find friendships that nurture their creative lives?

Cynthia: If you’re in school, meet outside the classroom to get a feel for how conversations about writing happen without a teacher in the room. If you’re in the community, look to libraries and arts organizations for in-person classes or writing sessions on zoom where you can meet other writers. Attend readings and open mics. Cultivate a presence on social media that is guided by generosity. Comment on other writers’ posts (don’t just lurk and like). Share (and tag the author) when you read something published online that you love; you’ll also be helping others connect and find new writers. Literary citizenship is as much about what you give as what you take. Listen to what your peers are trying to do with their own work. Ask writers what they’re working on. You might be the only person in their lives who’s asking.

J.L.: Be open to connection and active in seeking it out. Attend readings in your community. Participate in workshops or classes led by local writers. Read! And if you love someone’s work, let them know. (Cynthia is really good at this, by the way!) Go to conferences. Ask other writers what they are reading. This, more than anything else, has helped me to find new writers to read.

When I lived in the Hudson Valley, I remember seeing a tiny ad taped in a store window next to the building where I lived. It was a clothing store, and the small note was written by a poet looking for connection. Sometimes the world around you is filled with writers and you don’t know it! So don’t be afraid to make yourself known as a writer. I know this can be hard when you aren’t feeling particularly like a writer, but you never know what conversation might open a door to, say, a writing group.

I had coffee with a friend of a friend–you know, when someone says, “you should meet_____”–and this sparked the poetry group that kept both Cynthia and me writing over the last five years. It’s not incidental that I started writing a book-length poem (in the process of finding a home) in the month that our group began. As Cynthia has said, the presence of others can offer so much: it’s an unexpected gift to have readers for one’s emergent ideas, and even though finding these readers isn’t easy, it’s completely worthwhile, even life-changing.

If you want to read more from Cynthia and J.L., Exploding Head, an OCD memoir in prose poems, can be found on Bookshop.org. Or, signed copies via her website.

J.L.’s new chapbook This Natal House is out from Harbor Editions. A World in Which is available wherever books are sold–or you can order a signed copy here.

Do you have creative friendships that have evolved and encouraged you over the years? I’d love to hear about them in the comments!