First of all, I was sick with a cold when at 10:30 pm I boarded the plane for a red-eye from Portland to Atlanta, a nearly five hour flight through most of which I would be sneezing and blowing and stuffing kleenex into my own private trash bag that I kept discreetly stuffed into theContinue reading “A Single Dispatch from Writer’s Camp on the 40th Anniversary of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College”
Tag Archives: Warren Wilson MFA Alumni Conference
A Single Dispatch from Writer’s Camp 2015
It’s quiet on campus. Everyone has gone home. It’s just me and Mark, the dorm all to ourselves. He’s here still because he can’t travel on the Sabbath. I’m here to simply take a few deep breaths, to take advantage of some solitude before heading home. I went down to the cafeteria tonight for dinner,Continue reading “A Single Dispatch from Writer’s Camp 2015”
The Post Writer’s Camp Blah Blah Blahs: How to Deal
Of course I was happy to be home. Of course I missed my family and was immensely glad to see them. Of course I didn’t miss that ugly, tiny, springy, single dorm mattress and that sweltering dorm room. Of course it was good to sleep in my own bed on the second night home,Continue reading “The Post Writer’s Camp Blah Blah Blahs: How to Deal”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: A Wally By Any Other Name
I’ve never understood how graduates from the MFA in Creative Writing program at Warren Wilson College came to refer to themselves as Wallies. It turns out to be an ancient practice, going back all the way to the year the program moved to Warren Wilson from Goddard College in 1981. I’ve done a little researchContinue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: A Wally By Any Other Name”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: A Room Of One’s Own With A View
I offer up a rumination about rooms, on this 5th day of Writer’s Camp for Wallies. In the best of all possible worlds, if one is a writer, one needs a room of one’s own, but it would also be fine if it provided a view, a good view, of something either internally interesting or externally,Continue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: A Room Of One’s Own With A View”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Tropical Flesh Mandala
I slept for seven hours cuddled up with my tiny electric fan–literally. I thought maybe I’d roll over in the middle of the night and knock it off the mattress, or, worse, dreaming that I was snuggling with this machine, I might wake up with my hair caught in the fan blades. No, it was safeContinue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Tropical Flesh Mandala”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: That Whole Sleeping Thing
It may just be, for now, that I’m in the wrong zone. On the first night, I was exhausted when I arrived finally in South Hadley from clear across the country there in Portland, Oregon, but I was too excited to go to bed early; I slept fine, but I just didn’t sleep enough. OnContinue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: That Whole Sleeping Thing”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Organized Chaos
Well, to begin with, a Wally boy who shall go nameless (after doing an absolute killer reading from his new novel) came down to the porch at about 10 o’clock last night wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and for the rest of the conference, I predict we will be asking him over andContinue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Organized Chaos”
Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Reading What’s Not On The Page
I arrived at Mt. Holyoke College last night right in the middle of dinner after a long day of traveling. I woke up at 3:30 in the morning in order to get to the Portland airport by 5 to catch a plan by 6 to arrive in Chicago to hang out for a coupleContinue reading “Dispatches From Writer’s Camp: Reading What’s Not On The Page”
#139: Writer’s Camp
I’m going to camp. I’ll be alone most of the time but at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and at least once every evening, I will be surrounded by friends, writer friends, people who know me and who share the dream and the drive or the dream of the drive or the drive of the dreamContinue reading “#139: Writer’s Camp”
michael jarmer 