Accidental poet? Yup, doing my thing (love or leave it)

My book, The Tears of Things: Poems, drops today, February 18, 2025. It’s an 84-page tome—much shorter than the branded books I wrote back in the day (like how to design a bathroom or kitchen, paint walls, or display collectibles). Yet it took about a decade to produce.

Does the world need another book by a woman finding her way through midlife and beyond? (Make that a rhetorical question—not sure I’m ready to hear a resounding “No!”)

Anyway, I definitely took the cheap route on that “journey.” That is, I didn’t tap a bulging bank account or sell a posh house to finance a soul-searching, year-long trot around the globe (you know, the stuff of movies). Instead, I fell into poetry by accident.

Short-form copywriting gave way to poetry. Who’d a thought it?

Around 2013, print jobs (magazines and books)—once my bread and butter—were disappearing. That meant jumping the digital divide and going online. I was clueless except for my fascination with blogging thanks to my pioneering niece, Emily Hines, who started posting architectural preservation discoveries via Em’s on the Road. She ended up as a content manager specializing in destination marketing.

That sounded okay. One Sunday afternoon, I popped open WordPress and “built” a site. Of course, I had no idea what to write about, so I called the blog Random Storyteller—going against the advice to find a niche. The early posts covered flea markets, weekend getaways, and rambles through gardens and arboretums. But after my father’s death, I took a deeper dive, and posts became a way to journal emotions—depression, loss, breakups, and family stories (funny and reflective).

After obtaining certification in social media marketing, I “rebranded” as a digital copywriter. Adding short-form copy (e.g., pithy product descriptions, email campaigns) to my skill set forced mastery of compact forms—which triggered memories of creative writing exercises in college.

Long story short: the journal-like blog posts morphed into poetry, albeit clumsy at first. But I had a patient blog audience, who tolerated years of rewrites and kept pushing me forward. Some literary journals took a chance on my work, and a fledgling chapbook grew into a collection. My publisher—Kim Davis at Madville Publishing—has an open mind: she signed me (sans MFA pedigree).

Great literary expectations may diminish once you’re running down the clock

Stumbling into a genre at a later age has its pluses. You meet any measure of acceptance with gratitude and keep hammering out words to satisfy yourself.

• Would I like to sell a gazillion copies of my book? Sure.
• Would I like an outpouring of glowing reviews by top-tier journals? Um, that’d be nice.
• Would I like my poetry to read as easily as catchy aphorisms + doodles on Instagram? Not gonna happen.
• Would I like readers to shower my poetry collection with stars on retail and indie bookstore sites? Yeah, I’m only human. . . .

Moving right along . . . here’s reality: I’m fortunate to have a day job as a content strategist-writer-editor, with the luxury of exploring poetry (and myself) in my spare time and connecting with an audience “who gets” my scribbling. If my poetry is not for you, that’s okay, too.

Sometimes I hear poets lamenting that literary awards and writing fellowships tend to acknowledge a familiar list of names year after year. That’s understandable, especially if you’ve poured into the craft.

But at this stage of life, poetry’s payoff seems less about garnering heaps of praise (but good on any poet who pulls it off). I figure you’re blessed if you get to paint images with words, fiddle with figures of speech, juxtapose the unlikely, ponder the human condition, celebrate nature’s wonders, forgive the relationships that broke (and built) you, sing of those you love, and mourn your losses.

Tinkering with language is a joy in itself—and the cheapest therapy ever.

From Midwest Book Review: “If you only have time for a single volume of memorable and emotionally engaging poetry, make it The Tears of Things: Poems by Catherine Hamrick. . . . A compendium of wordsmithing raised to an impressive level of literary excellence.”

I’ll be signing books on Thursday, February 27 (5–6 p.m.) at Lemuria Books in Jackson, Mississippi. It’s like going home, as that’s the city where I first studied creative writing. If you’re in that area of the Magnolia State, please drop by. Or you can order a signed copy wherever you live. Lemuria ships!