Off to AWP today. The largest writers conference in probably the world. I am
very anxious as I am voluntarily putting myself in with 11,000 strangers in a
Boston conference center. What if there is a fire? That’ s my first thought.
not, OMG I get to hear Seamus Haney, or what if I meet the agent of my dreams?
Or find incredible contributors to my anthology? My second panic thought
is…where can I recharge my iPad and my iPhone in rooms full of 11,00 people
competing for sockets?
My friend Alexis Paige is blogging for the on-line literary magazine:
BREVITY edited by Dinty Moore, (who recently almost published a piece of mine)
comparing her panic experience at AWP last year with her
systematic approach this year. How does one navigate 500 workshop choices? Old
poets hitting on you? ( fine with me, actually, as I am old too.) I am riding
down with her and will hang on her every word. But then I worry, what if she
doesn’t want to hang out with me? I know exactly one other person besides
As I peruse the schedule, all 104 pages of it, I note that there
is a lactation room open every day. Is it like a meditation room for attendees
who spontaneously begin to spout milk out of sheer panic or is it a place I can
sneak into to hide, breath mindfully, and recharge my appliances?