Tuesday, July 8
Again, I didn’t sleep well. I could have used an extra pillow. Why didn’t I bring my extra pillow!?! My throat was sore. I was convinced this wasn’t allergies, and it wasn’t getting any better.
I rolled my sad body out of bed at 7:00 a.m. I just couldn’t lie there anymore, and yet I was in a complete fog. I didn’t really sleep at all. And this was going to have a suboptimal affect on my creativity and my writing. I could only hope that I would find something in me to help me concentrate for the morning workshop. The Claritan-D surely wasn’t making much of a difference at night. I could only hope that standing vertical would magcially make things okay.
I went to breakfast had some sustenance of scrambled eggs, bacon and my gluten-free granola on milk. I intended on working on my novel, but I had company at the table. Two of the fellows sat down and we shared an engaging conversation about heritage and when our parents wished to make their funeral and burial plans, and how awkward that was.
I walked to the workshop. On my way I saw several dear noshing on grasses and flowers. I had to stop to take some photos. The presence of wildlife so up close and personal was astonishing. It never ceased to amaze me.
Today, we reviewed poems by Raymond Carver, The Car, and Kathleen Fraser, Poem in Which My Legs are Accepted. After we read and discussed these poem, we were given an exercise. We reconvened to share work. I held back. I just wasn’t feeling like I was writing well. I was a little discouraged and blamed it for the lack of sleep and fogginess.
At this point, though, I was feeling encouraged by Peter Sears to get my MFA in Creative Writing, specifically through a low residence program at Pacific University, a lovely campus in Forest Grove, where he teaches.
I was going to attend the Writing Programs at Johns Hopkins University, the part-time program for professionals, back when I lived in DC. But I couldn’t commit to it. I really needed some life experience under my belt before I could pay for and attend an MFA program. Plus, I didn’t have the money for graduate school and I didn’t want to acrue anymore debt. This is a major conundrum for me. Put myself in debt for the MFA or try to succeed and get published without the degree?
After lunch I walked back down to the lake. It was very sunny. I talked to my mom, as I got cell phone reception down there. It was long enough to catch up, tell her how amazing the Wallowas were, and to tell her I loved her. I worked on two poems.
After dinner we had our first Open Mic night for the attendees. Fourteen people signed up to read their work. It was very engaging – poetry, prose and some songwriting with guitar accompaniment.
Again, I decided against going to Russell’s. I was really tired from the lack of sleep, congestion and sore throat and decided to go to bed early. As I walked back to the cabin, I was a little wary of the bear roaming the grounds. It made me nervous. I picked up my step and darted across the main grounds of the campsite. It was also a little exciting, too. The fact that wildlife came up so close was exhilarating to me. Here, I was beginning to feel different. More connected to the earth. More aware of my surrounds. More deeply integrated in the natural world. More like a writer.
I was really beginning to wonder about Luis Urrea’s comments about the magic of this place, how things just seemed to happen. There’s a Nez Perce spirit that seemed to run through this place, there seemed to be an understanding about who we were, what we’re doing and why we’re here, and it seemed the magic of this place, of the trees, the mountains, the river, the lake, the native spirit, the wildlife – it all seemed to be a part of this experience. It seems to be nurturing, willing and influencing the experience. And I was in awe!
