Ruby Seidner
Crackle, rhythm and rhyme. The words twist under my tongue, overwhelming my body with an iridescent glow. From the time I was a gap-toothed eight-year-old running around my local library, poetry has seemed like a straight man’s game. I thought it was an art dominated by centuries of dust jacketed stanzas, warbling robins and premeditated lust. Because of this, I didn’t pay attention to the romanticness of the art. The lines that made my chest zing and the parataxis which made my skull dizzy. I didn’t let myself love it. Not until I found Sappho of Lesbos. The first queer poet on record. An ancient Greek enchantress and the honorary tenth muse.
I didn’t take up space before discovering her. I would shrink smaller and smaller into my shell. Convinced the world would be better off without my words. Finding Sappho’s work and learning about the secret group of queer women writers that she created started to shift my perspective. Her perseverance through unspeakable adversity and her confidence in her writing, gave me the courage to stand by my words and embrace my creative potential.
Sappho inspired me to push boundaries and lay myself bare on the page. Her words lit up the contracted places in my consciousness and her strength kept me going when I wanted to quit. On the days, when I got nothing but literary magazine rejections and thought maybe writing wasn’t for me after all.
Sappho’s poetry was more than just an outlet, her words were a saving grace. Through her writing, the essence of her is always with me. During my first heartbreak, loss of loved ones and confronting my abuser, she, in spirit, has been there beside me. Her voice, tender but unafraid, reminds me who I am and that because I stand on her shoulders, I can get through anything.
Those moments when her writings helped me through hardship made me discover not only the impact her writings had on me but also how much she’s influenced my own work. How before her I never noticed what all my creations had in common. Every short story, poem, novel and piece of experimental fiction was written for the next generation of mouthy, wild-haired, grieving survivors, so they can see their not alone.
It took years of writing mentorship programs, classes and hours spent scribbling away before I got any results. There were moments when I thought I would never reap the rewards of my hard work, but that day came and it changed my life forever.
My first publication happened on May 13th, 2023, from an OP-ED, I wrote about The Federal Minimum Wage. That was all the encouragement I needed. I started filling out submission forms and writing cover letters daily. Since then, I’ve been published in twenty-nine different literary magazines across the country and am on the third draft of an eighty-thousand word novel.
My words had crackle, rhythm and rhyme but they needed work. They needed to be cut and reshaped. Trimmed and shaken. From a young age, I thought that I didn’t have a work ethic. I was unfocused, enamored with everything that crossed my path. Never sticking with one thing. Little did young me, or anyone know, it just took finding the right thing to bring out the dedicated, focused, passionate creator I always was.
