AWP: Day One

Denver, though mountain country, feels flat after living basically on a mountain for the past five years. Whatever will I do in Texas? (oh, yes--be warm) The natural mountains are far away, the primary mountains seem to be the Qwest building and the Wells Fargo Theater (large enough that a busy, windy street goes through it).

I have also never been to an Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference. But here I am. I'm torn. Perhaps because Levi didn't nap yesterday. Perhaps because we only got about four hours of sleep last night. Perhaps because tonight we've been trying to help him sleep for the last three hours but he screamed and screamed and screamed and...we finally broke down and Wesley decided to take him out for a nice ride in our rental car (that we are paying more for because...well, that's a completely separate story on my obsessive desire to save money and the deficiencies of technology to organize our lives). Perhaps because one of the sessions I was most excited for on form and prose poetry was this morning at nine and when I arrived (early) to pick up my preregistration, I had to bounce between three lines because of my last name only for them to realize that I wasn't in the system at all and that even though I preregistered in January something fell through. So I spent another two or more hours in another line to pay (again?). And I missed the session on form. Which made me want to cry. And it made me wonder why in the world we thought a family vacation in conjunction with this conference was a good idea.

Then again, I did walk around the city, enjoying the one-way streets, the gold domed capital building, the library banner that reads: "Commitment issues? No problem! Check it out! Bring it back!" I realized, again, that I've become too comfortable in my little world since shorter skirts, tattoos, and multiple piercings startle me slightly. We went to a cute little grocery store inside a parking garage (King Sooper) and tonight we made delicious tacos and tried Ben and Jerry's ice cream--yes, for the first time.

And I saw my old friends, which is great--especially since they are obviously thriving.

I went briefly to the book fair, but it overwhelmed me with rows and rows of booths filled with books and flyers and pens and people who were all writers or wanted to be writers and I thought--are these journals that much different than my personal journal? Who reads these if we're all trying to be published in them. Oh--duh--we do.

I did catch three forums this afternoon. I love Rebecca McClanahan. Can I say that again? I love Rebecca McClanahan. I read Riddlesong about a year ago and relished it. Today she read advice to young/new writers in the forum, "Re:writing Rilke: Advice to young writers." Lia Purpura was also on the panel; I wanted to be impressed with her--really I did--she was okay. But Rebecca McClanahan with her sweet mannerisms, sincerity, honesty, and artistry combined to just wow me. Add Fleda Brown--and I've got some books to buy. I loitered around in hopes of talking to them, but they were swarmed. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe next time? Maybe--?

Desirae Matherly also blew me out of the water. I can't believe she's publishing one of my essays on purpose. You mature as you write, according to Matherly. You come of age with every sentence. And then you start over. Love her.

The most surprising panel I heard was made up of primarily fiction writers. They discussed "The Limit--or Light--of Spiritual Belief" based on Flannery O'Connor's Mystery and Manners. Awesome! We went over time because so many people had questions. I appreciated Josh Allen and Nicole Mazzarella who discussed how spirituality does not equal religious propaganda and religious propaganda does not bring anyone closer to God because it cheapens the real complexity of faith. I'm still processing everything. Particularly in light of my next project which I think will be spiritually based. I've spent so much time pushing against the Mormon writer idea ("Mormon" should not be a modifier and neither should "writer") that I think I've in many ways failed to embrace the need and responsibility I have to write from a faithful perspective--not proselytizing, but honest. In the last few months I've concluded that art and spirituality should mix; at least, they should be an obvious blend in my work.

So, while we may be forever sleep deprived--we're happy (another complex emotion/response). Call that familial, supportive, living.