When the past comes knocking

I got a letter in the mail today from the Virgina Piper Center for Creative Writing announcing the first opportunity to sign up for the same writing conference I went to in February of this year. I am certain I mentioned how amazing it was. Holed up in a room with Mary Sojourner and a few other writing students, laughing, writing and living. Sharing as many laughs as I could fit in with Tania Katan and Laurie Notaro. Basically, a good three days of being solidly artistic and forgeting the real world for a while. Sitting outside with a beer and a laptop.

The year's line had another familiar name on it. Would you believe that my very first creative writing teacher, the one whose class led me to my only stabs at fiction, which were total shit, is on the list? I am very excited about the idea of seeing her after 15 years for the sheer nostalgia of it. At the same time I am so thankful that it has created absolutley no spark in me to even remotely venture into the world of fiction. I still believe that on most days my life is stranger than fiction and you couldn't make half of this shit up.

So in the next few days, I'm sure I'll be signing up for another week of feeling 19 again. I'm sure I'll commit myself to another 8 hours of solitary confinement with Mary. This time, though, I am dragging my college roommate with me just to make the whole experience that much entertaining. When I call her with this proposal there will be a definite yes attached. I don't consider it living in the past. Just appreciation of new life. That's all. It's the jolt of literary life that you can feed from for a year. Gotta love it.