Seattle 3

March 1, 2014

Email (indirectly, not to me) from a group of old friends who came to town for AWP: We did this and that all day long, and really wanted to go to Dave’s reading, but we were so hungry. Do you people not try their words out on themselves before they commit them to the air? It’s a shame food was not available at any time but that one hour.

Anyway, started yesterday with eggs benedict in the Versailles of a diningroom downstairs, then off to two sessions. The first, on “the poetic line” was the most BS I have ever consumed in a commensurate period of time. It was a little like the Republican party, the four over-honored participants making things up and convoluting simple truths as though there were no reality to compare to. It was insulting. It was what “ordinary folk” mean when they vilify academia. I was angry at the end. The second one, much better, dealt with writing from a faith community. People talked about real things there, though one woman warned us that she had “no filters” and proved that through the session by offering a wise crack at every sentence, one which contained either “fuck” or “mother fucking,” calculated, I suppose to exhibit her wild sincerity. She loves Jesus so much she can say motherfucker and it doesn’t count. Tried to find the bar Jesse recommended and failed, though I did get a tour of the eastern parts of the city. Did eat at a fish restaurant, where the waitress was an actress (surprise) and invited me to her play tonight, and I shall go, barring accident.

In the evening I took a taxi to Red Wood and figured out where I had gone wrong (I had gone wrong by not going far enough, which is often the case) Red Wood was a happy, familiar place, and most of the Asheville contingent to AWP and most of our emigres who landed in Seattle were there. Katherine brought her brother and her beautiful son. I had a good time. Oriented, I walked back to the hotel, having a glorious view of the night city the whole way.

I’m supposed to be at a signing this morning. I hope not everybody gets famished at exactly 10:15.

Giving myself anxiety over the snowstorm prophesied for Monday. No mater how often I resolve never again to worry about something which cannot possibly be helped, I worry anyway.

Wrote a short story at this table in this room in my down hours.