Meet Our New Intern: Whitney Cooper

My first memory is cradled in a fog so heavy, I can never be sure it actually happened. Three years old, I sat on my mother’s knee and asked her what my name was. She giggled and told me. I discovered I wanted to write when I turned 11. Those details are somewhat foggy too: I had a dream about a young farmer girl who came across a magical baby and had to use the powers of nature to fight the witch who created the infant. I woke up knowing what I wanted to do.

Throughout my school years, I found joy and excitement in any excuse to write. In tenth-grade chemistry class, I stared outside the window, admiring the Bradford pear trees, and jotted down haikus. (I barely passed chemistry, coincidentally.) Upon entering college, I felt I was ready to start a promising career in fiction, despite having written very little of it.

My advisor informed me I needed one fiction and one poetry class to earn my bachelor’s degree. My introductory poetry class changed everything. Earlier attempts at writing fiction made me feel like a cat chasing a red laser along the wall. I had fun, but I didn’t get it. Poetry was the red dot and more. By the time I realized I’d misunderstood my advisor and I hadn’t even needed to take poetry, there was no turning back.

At first, I wanted to write about anything but myself. I eventually learned to embrace myself through poetry, especially nature poetry. The world around me was incredible, and I was an incredible part of it. At this point in my life, my fog had taken the dark form of depression. This clarity poetry brought me, this sense of purpose—as well as finding something I could enjoy—was rare for me, so I held it to my chest.

In falling in love with the cyclical tendencies of the natural world, I realized I wanted to know more about the life of the poetry I read. I needed to know the history of the pages of poetry I flipped in my fingers. How did they transform from manuscripts to poetry collections? This curiosity pulled me in several directions, eventually leading me to Sundress Publications, where I hope to live through what I learn.

Whitney Cooper holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Eastern Kentucky University, where they served as editor-in-chief of Jelly Bucket, the graduate literary journal run by the university. They also work as a reader for Atlanta Review. A clerical error was made while earning their bachelor’s degree, and they have been passionate about poetry ever since. Their poetry appears in Glassworks Magazine, Stillpoint Literary Magazine, Calliope, Right Hand Pointing, and SHARK REEF. They live in Metro Atlanta with their partner, cat, and miniature schnauzer mix.