Skipping Town

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...

Tomorrow, I'll be skipping town by myself. To Vermont. For ten days. I haven't been apart from the girls overnight in two years, and aside from my time in the hospital when I was pregnant with Greta, I've only been away from Lucia for one night in her entire life, when I went to a baby shower. Needless to say, I'm freaking out a little bit. A lot. I can't imagine what it's going to be like to be apart from them for so long. I have a good reason for going: the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference at Middlebury, which I applied to on a whim in March. I thought I'd apply just for fun, never thinking I'd really go; but once I got in, I couldn't bring myself to pass it up. So just underneath my jitters about leaving the girls is another jittery layer of anxieties about workshopping a new piece, meeting new people, pitching my work, and being surrounded by full-on literariness for ten days. It's a mix of nerves that has found its focus in organizing ...