Dominique is a United States Air force graduate with a bachelors of Science in English. She currently lives with her husband and three boys in North Dakota. Dominique is active in her church and prayer team, enjoys cooking, and exercising. Her book, Motherhood: The Crucible of Love, dives into the struggles of transition from the life of a professional worker to a full time mommy. Her book explores the post-partum journey of self-discovery and the crises parents face when life is no longer about their needs. Below you will read a questionnaire with Dominique to get to know her on a personal level.
Where were you born and raised?
Shoreline, Washington (near Seattle)
What got you into writing poetry?
I've always written poetry. It's a release valve for lots of things: hope, anticipation, and stress. Some of my best writing has come from days at work when I had looming deadlines. A poem won't let me focus, so I would write it up then then move on with my day. Usually it would be a really good one. I need no time and lots of pressure to to get my poems.
What type of poetry do you write and why?
Free verse. I don't like rhymes as much as I used to. However, sometimes the rhythm and rhyme scheme just come out of me. If you'd like to know why, it's because of Edmund Spencer's Faerie Queene. The book entails 250 pages of rhyming poetry with made up archaic spelling that has multiple plots with every biblical and mythological allusion you can think of. In my opinion, the collection would have been much better if it didn't rhyme. I much prefer Milton's Paradise Lost.
Who are your top five favorite poets?
Keats, Shelly, the Brownings, and Shakespeare. I like the romantics. For modern poets, I have found that Pablo Neruda speaks to my soul. I've recently discovered Bunmi Laditan, who is a poet for parents. She and I have many of the same things to say. Her writing is beautiful.
What do you do when you are not writing?
I mostly chase my three boys. Towards homework, away from the oven, from the driveway, and into bed. I do a lot of cooking, which I find satisfying. Sometimes I'm able to workout.
What's your go to writing method?
Exhaustion and midnight. Those produce the best poems. Since I am not a stay at home mom, I don't have looming work deadlines to pressure out a poem. If I'm lucky, my few lone hours at night after everyone is asleep will push a poem out of me.
What are your favorite book genres outside of poetry?
WWII. I am obsessed. Non fiction, fiction, biography, and history.
What are your top favorite five songs?
Roundabout by Yes, The Four Seasons by Vivaldi, Gladiator soundtrack for writing, Awesome God by Rich Mullins, and The Blessings by Kari Jobe
What are your top five favorite movies?
Henry V with Kenneth Branagh, Hunt for Red October, It's a Wonderful Life, Land Before Time, The Princess Bride
If you could get writing advice from anyone alive or deceased, who would that be and why?
I had an English teacher in high school that would rip my writings into shreds. She went on to be a professor at a local university. She tore me up, but my finished product was amazing.
Write two of your favorite poems and write why they are your favorites.
From Motherhood: The Crucible of Love by Dominique M. Snedeker
Motherhood: The Badge
Do you want to find out just what love looks like?
Look into the mirror you tired, weary, worn-out woman
That's not grey paint that hasn't rinsed out of your hair just quite yet
That's what's left of every nutrient, mineral, and vitamin that you quite generously donated
Those dark, gray, blue and black eyes are badges of courage
To the dedication of the selfless acts of valor:
For the nights and days you you fended off the pillow,
For the food you didn't consume and the food you forced,
For the days of tedium and nights that were actually still days,
And days that never turned back into nights...
Look into that mirror and see what love looks like
Love gives when unexpected and when desired
Love goes farther
Love
So much farther than I thought it could go
From the manuscript of Cold:
Grandpa
By: Dominique M. Snedeker
Old hands rough with years and worry
Sitting idle, wishing for fingers clasped
Long and thin, thick and chubby---but
Hands that have since aged and faded
With the rise and fall of wanting
Thumbs thick with dirt reaching into
The bowels of deep brown secrets
Of growing things and future hopes
Now shudder thick with ache and yearning
Oh, winter cold, oh twilight years
This slow decent into sunset
Into geese honking over lakes
Flying ahead of the winter storm
He sits, with blankets draped
Or perhaps memories wrapped---
And waits in solitude, longing
For moonlit nights and dewy sunrise
For fat, sticky giggles, and long low
Luxurious humming as she sews
Or sets the table, and that gaze---
Eyes clear with wintry blue
Hands sit slow and quiet, lingering---
Remaining steadfast in remembrance
And then those hand reach
For that tomato sandwich
Cold and fresh
Like every summer past
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