awp pictures

Abdel brought the camera and took some great pictures of which I'm stealing a few and posting for your viewing pleasure. Because my camera went all wonky, I don't have pictures of my own, and most of these are from the Book Fair. Just don't get the idea that I was attached to a giant table all week, because that's sort of what it looks like.


Our motto for the weekend: sex sells. Whatever it takes, as Abdel says, whatever it takes, baby.


Mary's boyfriend Kramer's mother, the amazing Sue O'Neill, was published in IR's collab collage issue. Here she is posing next to Mary's beautiful banner. Can you see the fighting roosters?


We all love Joshua Poteat's poems. But he did promise to show up in an orange mesh tank top, so we were a little disappointed.


One really -can- spend too much time in a hotel bar. Packs of writers sprawled out from the bar's mouth and onto the carpet in teeming or tired masses. On the last night Ben Moorad took a picture of this carpet. It seemed highly symbolic at the time.


Everyone was happy at the Flying Biscuit. I ate the Love Cakes. I mean, really, who wouldn't?


Steven manages to camouflage himself at the Book Fair. Notice the low ceilings and cinderblock walls. I spent the week in a basement.


In the end, everything was gone. Note the absense of the stacks of journals. All we were left with were the pretty bookmarks and our sense of satisfaction for a job well done.


We flew home with Maurice, Mitchell and Micah. That sounds like a children's book. Mitchell's reading on the Affrilachian Poets panel was really wonderful. Thouh I missed Maurice's talk, I heard great things about it. And he bought me yogurt when I was desperate. Micah, she just exudes cool.