This blog post is serendipitous of what I have accomplished with my self-imposed writer’s residency in the wooded forest of the Green Mountains in Vermont.
I just rewrote the poem I started yesterday, updated the TOC in the new manuscript, and yawned. Am I running out of steam?
I have decided to start this record of my one month between-teaching assignments that I have dedicated to writing at home. The flow and movement of prose will keep me going. Recording my progress will keep me honest. Thinking will order my thoughts.
My at-home “residency” is modeled on residencies I’ve attended in Virginia and Vermont. There is no attending one at this time. I don’t have money or time, and frankly, I don’t have the desire. I live in a perfectly beautiful spot in west county, Sonoma, California. The blackberries are ripe, and the heirloom tomatoes are coming in. Last year around this time I underwent open-heart surgery. Recovery was no picnic—I missed two weeks of August and a good part of September. Who…
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