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The tradition has become that the mid-point day of the residency is a bit lower-key than usual. We have the morning free for our own reading and writing, although I managed to be far less productive this residency than last. After lunch I led the first of two synthesis sessions. Last residency, this was done […]

The day began with Tony D’Souza’s seminar, “The Writer’s Toolbox.” We looked at some of what we can pick up from earlier writers.  The middle of the day was a double dose of workshop in which my work came up. Generally good commentary offered. And then in the afternoon, one of the items I was […]

Lack of sleep is beginning to catch up with me, and I was in a bit of a haze all day. I wasn’t the only one who was lacking sleep though—the first seminar was delayed because Parker overslept for the first time in five years as he claimed. Our day began with Eli Horowitz, former […]

This was really the first real day of the residency. I’ve decided to not to continue with Tampa Review Online, so I had some open time in the morning which I dedicated to some last-minute critique work. And thence to the first workshop session. No details about the work, but Tibor follows the Iowa format […]

But it also turned out that no amount of labor and no amount of foresight can save you, no one and nothing can save you except luck. Ludmilla Petrushevskaya, There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby.

And so the madness begins again. Apparently my tradition for the residency is to oversleep the first morning but this time around I knew that being late for breakfast/meet and greet was not that big of a deal—except of course that I was late in signing up for the wildcard workshop, which meant that my […]

The night Phan died, Sabine had thought the tragedy was knowing that Parsifal would die, too, that there was only a limited amount of time. But now Sabine knew the tragedy was living, that there would be years and years to be alone. Ann Patchett, The Magician’s Assistant.

They’d have a few trial runs, and if the kids from those didn’t measure up they’d recycle them for the parts, until at last they got something that fit all their specs—perfect in every way, not only a math whiz but beautiful as the dawn. Then they’d load this hypothetical wonder kid up with their […]

As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. T. S. Eliot, The Use of Poetry & The Use of Criticism.