Post SWC Syndrome

I have been at a writer's conference, and people have fed me and brought me towels and taken away laundry and driven me places and let me read their poems and hear their stories and watch their plays. They have read my poems and heard some of my stories and watched me act as though I knew what I was talking about in class.

This has been very much an "and" experience and not an "except for" or a "however" one.

I will write more later, but for now, the following remarks will have to suffice:

* Charles Martin is a genius teacher and was able to explain to me not just what is good about my poems but why it's good. This will make me a better writer, because I will know how to find the strengths of a poem and play it up. Why has it taken me so long to realize this is a part of revision?
* Claudia Emerson is a divine teacher and a wonderful reader. And can that woman sing!?!
* Phil Stephens was and is a mensch and a helluva fiction writer, as well as being the only poet I know who's written an epic.
* David Roby is an amazing actor, playwright, oral historian, and genius scholar. No one deserves success more than he does.
* I am humbled by my workshop's critiques of my poems. This level of empathy and support has never happened before.
* I have been on a moth walk (saw dozens of species and picked up katydids and Hercules beetles and an assassin bug).
* I have been on a bird walking expedition and saw many really beautiful birds, none more beautiful than the red-tailed hawk I saw on the golf course. I now want a scope for zeroing in on birds. And better binoculars.
* I have walked by candlelight to Allen Tate's grave and listened to Andrew Hudgins read "The Swimmers."
* I have delighted many people with my nasal Kentucky ay-uck-sent.
* I have bought 23 books and a pair of cowboy boots, as well as a Bakelite bracelet I found at University Thrift Store. I also found a piece of treenware that may pay for all my gas to Sewanee and back. A kind gentleman gave me an antique aquarium of an otter holding a fish bowl. (Pictures forthcoming, I promise).

And, oh, by the way, I will be in BEST NEW POETS 2011. This is kind of like Marianne Moore going to the prom--an unexpected delight! And the fact that it's D.A. Powell who chose my poem ups the ante (and this convoluted simile) to a wrist corsage brought by her date Jack Kerouac, who promises to dance with her to "How High the Moon."

PS I am so glad to be home. I don't suppose Raleigh would bring me coffee every day, though!

PSS My amazing suitemate was also named Pamela. She doesn't like the "PAM" name either.

PSSS I met a beautiful young woman who brought 7 pounds of jewelry to SWC. I thought I traveled heavy!

Share|