I'm back from AWP.
I'm reading Ben Moorad's lovely letter-pressed books, The Strange Transformation of Eamon Arble and The Second Dream of The Berry-Nosed Cab and The Art of Chiaroscuro. Strange and wonderful poems. Although I had to repack my suitcase in the airport to make it light enough, there are so many good things to read I don't care. We were told many times that our banner was the prettiest at AWP, thanks Mary. Today I was confused to not be standing in front of a bank of eight elevators when I tried to take one in Ballantine - the hotel was ridiculous but somehow habit-forming. There are too many stories to write. But it's good to be home. Pictures soon.
My family is as wonderful as ever. I wish I could immerse myself in the chaos more often. I don't, however, wish that I could eat such rich food all the time! Collard greens and cornbread, fried green tomatos, chicken parmesan, tiramisu. How did I survive?
Today, for the first time this whole year, I read my first name in a submission. In fact, I read it in two. Back to the routine. Only different.
About Me
- Megan Savage
- Portland, Oregon, United States
- Although this blog does not represent the bulk of the writing I do, I see it as a place for me to track and sometimes theorize the nodes of kinetic, aesthetic, political, cerebral or affective energy that come into contact with my "self" in the various collisions and exchanges that constitute the course of my everyday life. That is to say, this ain't always good writing, but it's not supposed to be. It's process, baby.
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