This year was my first at the AWP Conference, and I have to admit, I attended mostly because it was held in Denver and I would only have to commute an hour there and back each day. Not bad, considering I wouldn't have to pay for a hotel room and flight like many of the other writers.
There were some great bits about the conference. The best part? I got to catch up with lots of writing buddies I don't often get to see. Lish McBride, author of the forthcoming YA novel Hold Me Closer Necromancer, is a good friend of mine from my time at Seattle University, and she was helping out with the University of New Orleans booth at the book fair (she got her MFA from UNO). She introduced me to some really sweet writers, sweet in personality and talent. I liked that.
Second best? The Lost Horse Press table sold out of its copies of New Poets / Short Books, which means my poetry (along with Jesse's and Karen's) is out in readerspace being viewed! Second Best Part, Part A: I sold out of the copies I brought with me as well. Yay! I wish I'd brought more, seeing how I still have eighty copies hanging out in my dining room right now.
Third best? I budgeted myself and only bought three new books, all of which were pretty affordable. I got a copy of Gregory Orr's Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved, a book of critical analyses of Imagist poems, and a book called Lovely, Raspberry by Aaron Belz--a funny poet who doesn't mind discussing the finer points of good scotch in the middle of a business transaction. Ooh! I also got the book The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley (but I bought that at a bookstore, so I don't count that as an AWP indulgence). It's great so far, more because of the young female protagonist and less because it's a goofy mystery novel, and I can't wait to buy the sequel.
Fourth Best Part: the Robert Hass reading was terrific. What a natural presence, a comfortable reader! I felt like I was curled up at a storytime session even though I was rows back in an enormous ballroom. His book Time and Materials really captures a strangely unique perspective on the length and depth of one's life. His awesome sense of humor helps too.
Much goodness ensued at the conference, let it be known. There was too much talent to take it all in within the week. I'll quickly say, however, that much frustration occurred as well, in that I saw and overheard many writers (not all!) putting each other down, struggling for attention, presenting lectures that lacked depth or insightful calls to action, and promoting the unfortunate stereotype most writers (poets in particular) have been cursed with. I'm going to suggest to the board of directors a new panel idea: The Mindful Writer: How Compassionate People Can Promote Themselves Successfully. Honestly, we--as writers--seem to take little account of others unless they are evoking our pity or inspiring a story.
During a panel discussion that branched into Question/Answer format (which inspired fewer questions than testimonials) I remembered that I was still supposed to keep up with my Napowrimo pledge, and what better time to jot down ideas than in a room full of writers? I assumed, a little selfishly I know, that I wouldn't miss much. I mentally flipped back to the last TV show I'd watched, which happened to be a documentary on avocados. (Yes, really.) And I got the beginnings of a poem jotted down. Thanks for reading!
THE HISTORY OF THE AVOCADO
tells us that this fruit was, to the Aztecs, a strange
testicle of the earth, bulbous seed weighing down
flesh that ripened only when the human hand
loosened it from its branch; that Cortez, ironically,
had difficult pronouncing its name but loved to eat it
sliced in thick chunks or spread over roast dog.
He thought it might be rich enough to neutralize poison
and although his men soon realized it was not
they discovered it tasted wonderful too with apples
or with bowls of cold water, or with nothing at all.
A Puritan once accused the avocado of being God’s
unborn son, the wrinkled, ugly egg that even angels
pray will never hatch on account of its unsightliness;
thus, avocados must be peeled with great care.
Do not be deceived by statistics, which indicate
that less than half of all American households
consume avocados. The fruit is quietly popular
with scientists, teachers, and parents, who have
admitted to showing children how to insert toothpicks
into the seed like spokes of light around a sun,
balance the seed over a glass of water, half submerged,
nurturing the growth of a new tree and all its implications,
a fatty fruit, its possible relationship with God,
the name that fails to fall over the lips of explorers.
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