Bread Loaf 2013
So I went to Bread Loaf, and we all survived. From the
moment I applied way back in March, the idea of actually going seemed far-fetched,
even ludicrous; and it seemed that way even when I got accepted. But then it
started seeming crazier not to jump at the chance, and in the end I did.
It was the right decision. My ten days in Vermont
reactivated parts of my brain that have been dormant for four years, possibly
more. Instead of starting each day with spilled Cheerios and diaper-change
chases, I had breakfast and then went to a lecture—one day Charles Baxter
talking about request moments, another Robert Boswell discussing authorial
custody; another day James Longenbach breaking down language into its most
elemental forms. The days galloped along, with workshops and craft classes and
countless readings, all of them instructional and inspiring. There was a visit
to Robert Frost’s cabin. I walked in the woods by myself one afternoon, down to
a creek, and laid on a rock, looking up at the trees and the sky—I felt outside
of my regular life all week, but maybe most so during that half-hour.
I missed Andrew and the girls, of course, and around day
seven I felt like I was ready to get back—but still, coming home was difficult.
After being immersed in a world of writing and reading, I was back in real
life, with barely time to drink a glass of water let alone apply some of the
things I’d learned to my own work. It was frustrating, and still is, since
those ten days seemed to build up a good deal of momentum that I’m now unable
to follow through on. But, as before, I’ll make use—good use—of the time I
have. Being around like-minded people, all toiling away (some in obscurity, some
not), was motivating.
I wouldn’t have been able to have this experience at all if
it hadn’t been for Andrew and my parents—the girls were, perhaps, sorry to have
me return after all the fun they had. I still miss “the mountain,” but perhaps
I’ll be lucky enough to see it again one day.
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