Sarah LaRue: Asked and Answered
Read to learn about Sarah LaRue, one of the featured poets of in The Dead of Winter Poetry Night and author of Altars, altars, everywhere, a poetry collection created and released in partnership with The Scribbling Collective.
The book launch celebration is happening on March 23rd, 2025, at Quince Coffee House.
We’ve chosen a question and answer format for this installment of Questions for Scribbler Authors, featuring questions posed by Kaitlynn (Club Facilitator) and answers written by Sarah. Without any further ado, let's begin!
What was the initial inspiration behind Altars, altars, everywhere?
The essential, radical, revolutionary notion of rest and retreat. The duality of recognizing that retreat is a privilege in late-stage capitalism, and that it is also a natural cyclical aspect of nearly all life.
The notion of homage - that none of us does anything in a vacuum, and hardly any of us do anything fully alone. The mere act of being inspired, lit up by someone else’s art invites gratitude and reverence.
Becoming a mother has been a slow unfolding for me, from deciding I wanted a child, to building a relationship with my partner, to the neverending development and growth of self I engage with in order to support my child. This slow unfolding shapes me every day, and shifts my focus both inward and outward.
Your cross-stitch work is being featured side-by-side with your poetry. How do these two creative practices inform and inspire one another?
It is wildly exciting to have two forms of my own creative expression in my book, and to have my book be made up of only my artwork. I have loved having the opportunity to highlight the artwork of talented friends in the past, and it is a unique form of empowerment to allow two forms of my own expression to be side-by-side in support of each other.
Both art forms combine relative simplicity with creative freedom, which as an academics-focused child, teen, and young adult is breath after breath of fresh air. I have been writing poetry for decades, and discredited it until about 2018. It has taken me years to call myself a poet.
Finding empowerment in my own words and ideas, and the power possible when changing one word or expressing one thought, became a generative force for my own replenishment. The guiding light of returning to my own essential truth feels like the most untouchable thing within me, even as it is touched and shaped by everything I experience. I felt, and still feel, fear in having my beliefs out there not cloaked by academic rigor, but therein also lies the freedom I find in it.
Cross-stitch is a nod to legacy crafting in my maternal lineage, which was mostly focused on practical pieces – my mother is a gifted quilter, my aunt has made costumes, my great-aunt made just about anything that could be sewn, my grandmother sewed her own wedding dress, and my grandfather did beautiful leatherwork. Cross-stitch itself allows me to play more with self-driven creative whimsy and the drive to see certain words in certain fonts, or paired with certain images.
More recently, exploring my anti-zionist, diasporic Jewish roots has led me to learn more about the Palestinian art of Tatreez, which means embroidery in Arabic. Art is such a powerful representation of cultural identity, especially wearable art – art can transcend the challenges and oppression faced by a people and provide a sense of place and pride through symbolism. Gorgeous tatreez patterns exist to represent the land of Palestine and cultural symbols, such as the flag, watermelon, and the pattern seen on keffiyehs. Textile arts of all kinds have historically been reduced to craft or “women’s work,” but can be powerful statements of revolution in their own right.
What does your writing process look like? I think we’ve talked about you trying both daily practice and seasonal retreats, have you found yourself preferring one or the other, or perhaps something else?
For me, removing formality from my regular writing practice (I won’t pretend that it is daily) has been essential in allowing it to grow. I used to think daily writing required specific things to make it sacred, like a special expensive notebook, a specific room, or even a particular chair. I wrote my first collection mostly on my phone, and mostly from bed due to long-term undiagnosed endometriosis – prescient for the events in my life to come, and informing my practice for many years.
I have been privileged to attend two free-form retreats at the Whiteley Center, part of the University of Washington on San Juan Island in the Salish Sea. One was in 2019 where I finalized assembly of my second book, and one was just this past summer where I dreamed up this current book and gathered work from the last four years. These times away have been formative in releasing myself from any outside routine expectations, inspiring myself with fresh surroundings, and they make me want to seek out retreat closer to home.
Removing any early expectation of a finished product also helps me write consistently. I had a vague inkling of a third book for awhile – my second book came out in 2020 – but writing to write and letting the work shape the larger process rather than giving myself a deadline supports me writing more freely. I can apply tons of pressure on myself and creative obsession when I have a goal, so releasing the notion that a poem has to be for anything in particular helps curb my enthusiasm for a project until there is enough substance to build from.
My process also calls for seasons in my writing process: some seasons are for doing the living that informs my writing, some are for more writing, some are for more living and less writing, and others are for assembling writing and building a project. Zooming in and zooming out, focusing and unfocusing, from the minutiae to the horizon and back again.
How do you balance the demands of a job and family life?
Marrying a writer has been a huge support for not only my writing, but balance in my life in general – he was one of the first people in my life to acknowledge how hard it was for me to call myself a poet. He playfully teased that out of me, thank goodness! He is a fiction writer, and despite our different writing styles he actively understands and supports the time and energy it takes for creative output, and is a wonderful editor and writer in his own right.
Which poets or writers have had the greatest influence on your journey as a poet? Are there specific works that you turn to for guidance or inspiration?
Homage being a theme of this book, I’m so glad you asked me this.
Tricia Hersey of the Nap Ministry
Local author Steven Dunn
Music inspires me to be more boldly honest in my art too – especially local artists like Wheelchair Sports Camp and Dead Pioneers.
I love a variety of artists for a variety of reasons and purposes, and feel inspired by them continually in different ways. The variety of writers that I get the opportunity to experience is in itself a source of guidance for me. It gives me reassurance that each of us has only to be ourself as creator and created in this world. This acknowledgement affirms that just by continuing writing I can honor those who inspire me. I wanted to take an extra step in this work by including quotations from artists who speak to me and my work, as part of theme shifts throughout the book.
The title of your collection evokes ritual and sacred spaces. What role does ritual—whether in writing or in life—play in your work, and/or how have you reclaimed the term for yourself?
The ritual of self-return is one that can encompass nearly any activity, and one I seek to invite whenever possible. The title of my book comes from noticing that any place can be an altar, any connection can be an invitation to sacred nature, and any experience can have sacred purpose beyond our immediate interpretation. Rather than divide works and experiences by their relative divinity and gatekeeping what gets to be perceived as sacred, anything authentic can be ritual.
On a more practical level, arranging space has always been a grounding ritual, wherever I have lived – I’ve lived in six apartments since moving to Denver eight years ago, and I just moved to a house where I have my very first private office. The ritual of arranging space takes on new meaning, and connects me with my physical surroundings. I do have a few altar spaces and objects that I return to again and again, and I try to keep them where I can see and interact with them regularly.
What do you hope readers take away from Altars, altars, everywhere?
Simplicity, mundanity, and rest can be portals to magic. Writer’s block is not something to be fought, but to be honored as an invitation to shift focus.
Challenges and Triumphs: Were there particular sticking points you encountered while writing this collection? Any moments of challenge or triumph that stand out?
I had let go of the idea of putting out a book to the point where I wasn’t sure if I had enough poems for a collection – my greatest early challenge was believing this work could take up space. This is where the gift of retreat was so helpful in stepping back from the minutiae of word choice for each poem and into the themes I want to convey, the larger messages say with these selected poems.
An early triumph in this project was the structure of 5 – 5 poems in 5 themes, which came up organically. I studied 5-element acupuncture for awhile, I practice a form of ear acupuncture with 5 points, many of my pagan rituals often anchor in 5 directions (4 cardinal directions plus the center), 5 physical senses, and 5 human extremities including the head.
A more recent triumph was connecting with the Scribbler’s Club and Kaitlynn – who have provided a community of writers with varying goals and styles, which anchored my goals into reality and have allowed this book to go from dream to reality since last August of 2024.
As Altars, altars, everywhere comes into the world, what’s starting to emerge on the creative horizon for you? Enjoying this season or is there another work brewing?
I’m still in awe that Altars, Altars, Everywhere is here. My creative horizon has never looked blurrier, and I welcome this change. As I prepare to birth and raise my first child, I know my creative focus will shift in ways I can’t possibly be prepared for. I’m ready to release and return, and am enjoying this season in between.