An Interview with Victoria Lopez

Victoria Lopez is a writer, poet, and educator passionate about inspiring individuality and fostering creative exploration. As the Executive Director and Founder of Unfolded: Poetry Project, she has been a driving force in creating accessible spaces for self-expression and connection through poetry in the Rio Grande Valley and beyond.

Appointed as the 2022 and 2025 City of McAllen Poet Laureate, Victoria is recognized for her contributions to the literary arts and her commitment to uplifting diverse voices. Her debut novel, Fire in May (2016), and her forthcoming poetry collection (2025) reflect her dedication to storytelling and authenticity.

Victoria is also known for her Poetry on Demand performances—a live demonstration using her typewriter to write personalized poems on the spot. This practice underscores her belief that writing is both process and presence: a draft, a practice, and a shared human connection.

Through Unfolded: Poetry Project, Victoria leads free workshops, writing sessions, and open mics that nurture self-discovery, artistic growth, and community care. She is deeply committed to mentoring writers and ensuring that every voice has a platform to be heard.

Follow Victoria on Instagram at @victoria.l.lopez and Unfolded at @unfoldedpoetryproject, or visit her website at victoriallopez.com. #youareworthy

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Who/what made you want to write? Was there a particular person, or particular writers/works/art forms that influenced you?

For me, I had always been a writer. I started writing as soon as I could hold a pencil. It’s how I communicated. I suppose I’ve always had an interest in words, in their meaning, in penmanship, and in writing letters. I would often write to my parents as a young child—either to express something I wanted to say or to explain why I felt I should or should not happen. I’m the eldest of four, so I’ve always been observant, but being vocal was something I had to learn and practice—and I did that through writing. I’ve always enjoyed stories and the beauty and service of saying something in a way that captivates, that makes people listen and relate. I enjoy C.S. Lewis very much and how he’s able to take complexities and turn them into simplicities.

What other professions have you worked in? What’s something about you that your readers wouldn’t know?

Many of us are made to believe that life is a straight line, but the most wonderful things in our lives often come from stepping away from that path. I’ve worked in law, in recruiting, and now in manufacturing—and through all of it, writing has remained a throughline. It’s been my way of staying connected to myself and to others, no matter the setting.

Something many people may not know is that I founded a nonprofit called Unfolded: Poetry Project, which started during my term as the 2022 City of McAllen Poet Laureate and has continued through my reappointment in 2025. Since March 2022, Unfolded has provided free creative programming across the Rio Grande Valley—poetry workshops, open mics, poetry challenges, writing prompts, and monthly online sessions—to help people maintain their own creative practice. Our mission is to inspire individuality through the written and spoken voice, fostering a sense of shared humanity and emotional connection.

We recently conducted a focus group to reflect on our impact. Participants described Unfolded as “open,” “expressional,” “uplifting,” and “homey.” For many, it has served as a source of healing—78% consider our workshops a form of free therapy, and 82% have recommended them to others. One person said, “You helped me most when you didn’t know that you were.” Another described how a self-portrait workshop helped them find a new softness in how they viewed themselves.

We’ve learned that people show up not just for poetry, but for community—for a space that gives them permission to speak, to listen, and to heal. That’s the privilege: not just to write, but to create spaces where others feel safe enough to write, too.

Tell us the story of your book’s title. Was it easy to find, or did it take forever?

The title Hand & Knee came to me rather naturally, but its meaning has continued to evolve as I reflect on the themes of this collection. The poems in this book were all written through a practice I call Poetry on Demand, where I set up a typewriter in a public space and invite people to give me a word, a feeling, a memory, or a question—and then I write them an original poem on the spot. It’s a vulnerable and spontaneous exchange between strangers, and every piece in this collection was born in that live setting.

When I’m at my typewriter, I rely entirely on my hands to shape the moment. I’m bent forward, often bumping my knees against the table as I focus, respond, and create. There’s something deeply human and humbling about that posture—about writing in real time, in full presence, using the body to translate someone’s story or emotion into language. Hand & Knee is a literal and poetic reflection of the physical posture I take to write these pieces.

Much of my poetry explores the dual themes of surrender and urgency, and these two words—hand and knee—kept recurring in both my writing and my experiences. They’re more than just parts of the body;they’re symbols of human transition and intention. We fall to our hands and knees in moments of grief, prayer, love, joy, proposal, resilience, and reckoning. These joints are our points of contact with ourselves and with others—they reach, block, kneel, rise, carry, fold.

So while the title didn’t take long to find, it carries a weight that’s foundational to this debut collection. It introduces readers to both my voice and my vulnerability. I think Hand & Knee honors the immediacy, humility, and humanity in that process.

What part of publishing your book made it feel real for the first time?

Hand & Knee began as a collection of Poetry on Demand pieces—poems typed in real time for strangers, based on their words, emotions, or questions. I’ve written over 2,500 of them since 2015. For years, I’d take a photo of the poem and hand it away. I had performed my poetry aloud until 2022 when I was appointed as Poet Laureate.

When I decided to compile them into a manuscript, the longest part wasn’t editing—it was going back, poem by poem, photo by photo, transcribing each one by hand. It was a massive, manual process that spanned years of my life. Once they were typed out, I began organizing them—not just by theme, but by emotional arc: surrender, seeking, identity, transformation, and hope.

I’ve formatted them with oral cadence in mind—I wanted them to sound like a speech, like a calling, something that echoes in the listener’s chest. My style has always had a certain resonance—declarative, with a reverent tone, carried with weight and rhythm.

Now that the manuscript is structured, I’m working with an artist on the cover. It’s exciting to think about what home this collection will find. But truthfully, it already feels real. Because I’ve held every word again, with new eyes and voice, and I’ve come back to myself through this process. That, in itself, is the beginning of publication.

If your book had a soundtrack, what are some songs that would be on it?

When I’m writing—especially during Poetry on Demand—there’s no music playing. I set up my typewriter at marketplaces, local events, or community gatherings, and even if there’s noise all around me, I enter a kind of internal stillness. I don’t listen to anything, not even my own thoughts at times. There’s an immediacy to the process: someone gives me a word, a feeling, a question, and then I write, fully present, fully responsive. In that moment, the only soundtrack is the rhythm of the typewriter.

But that, too, is music. There’s a percussive lyricism to it—the fortissimo of the keys, the impact of the type bar striking ribbon, ribbon hitting parchment, the bell of the return, the carriage sliding back. It’s mechanical and intimate all at once. I often think about how it mirrors my time in orchestra—how even silence has a beat, and how expression doesn’t always need melody to feel musical.

So while there isn’t a playlist in the traditional sense, the soundtrack of this book lives in the physicality of its creation. It’s in the staccato rhythm of urgency, the crescendo of revelation, and the soft decrescendo of closing a poem with a final key strike. Sometimes I think even those standing in front of me as I write can hear it—that live, unscripted music of language coming to life.

What’s one thing you hope sticks with readers after they finish your book?

That you are worthy—as you are, in your becoming, in your brokenness, and in your boldness. I hope readers walk away feeling seen, reminded that we are profoundly human—soft, searching, resilient, and tender. Hand & Knee was written poem by poem through Poetry on Demand, in direct response to people’s hearts in real time. And when I’m behind my typewriter, the most common requests—whether whispered, written on scraps of paper, or spoken with a nervous laugh—are always rooted in the same longing: for connection, for love, for healing, for meaning.

The themes throughout this book—family, hope, grief, joy, forgiveness, purpose, rest—mirror the very questions people carry with them. I hope readers remember that every ordinary day is worthy of reverence, that the mundane is not separate from the miraculous. That we are all, in some way, building and rebuilding ourselves—by our own hands, through loss and learning, through silence and strength.

None of it is easy. Transformation is not straightforward. But it is ours. And it is real. And it is just the beginning.

And maybe most of all—I hope readers feel invited to listen to themselves a little more deeply, to hold themselves with more gentleness, and to trust that even in the moments when life brings us to our hands and knees, there is something meaningful awaiting to be revealed.

What was the most rewarding/meaningful part of publishing your book?

While Hand & Knee hasn’t been published yet, the most meaningful part has already arrived in the form of reflection, return, and remembrance.

It has felt like gathering scattered pieces of myself—versions of who I was, and mirrors of those I wrote for.

And in that return, I realized something else: I’ve always been passionate about people. About their worth. About the fact that we are both testimony and witness. We tend to shy away from the parts of ourselves that carry greatness, that require refinement. But through poetry, I’ve seen how we bring those parts out of each other. How we need one another to remember who we are.

So even without the official stamp of publication, I already feel the reward: the reclamation of my own voice, the preservation of a practice rooted in human connection, and the quiet, full-circle joy of watching all those once-given poems come home again.

I hope this book reminds readers of one essential truth: we are more alike than we believe. And we are, each of us, worthy.

What creative projects are you currently working on?

I’m continuing to work on Hand & Knee, shaping it with care as I prepare it for publication. Even now, the manuscript is still teaching me something—about voice, rhythm, and how the past can become present again when we’re finally ready to speak it aloud.

I’m also deeply invested in Unfolded: Poetry Project. It’s a space rooted in human connection, vulnerability, and voice—a place where poetry becomes a shared practice, not just a personal one.

And perhaps most importantly, I’m working on myself. I believe that in order to show up fully for my work, for those I love, and for my community, I have to first learn how to show up for myself. That means allowing space for rest, reflection, and the small, quiet kinds of growth that don’t always look like “projects” but are essential to the heart of everything I do.

So whether it’s a poem, a person, or a purpose—I’m prepared.

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