There’s a whole bunch of post-AWP posts this morning.
VIDA is fucking great.
There is too much to give you a total rundown of the people I saw, met, and was excited to be in the same town with. AWP is rad. Exhilirating. Happy-making.
I spent most of my time at the book fair. I can’t wait to go next year.
Anybody from Seattle reading? Want a 4-day couch surfer in March?
I stayed in Gloucester which is a bit north of Boston.
I got a tattoo on my arm that says Strident Feminist.
That’s not a great picture. I’ll get a better one & show you soon. Promise.
I got the tattoo from James LaCroix at Compass Rose in Gloucester, I recommend both.
While I was there, I felt great. I felt special. I tweeted about it, and I’m still trying to reckon out how it works that I felt special–like I’m doing what I ought to be doing, unintimidated by the huge number of other writers, most of whom are far bigger deals than I am. I should’ve felt like an imposter, like I feel every time I sit down in front of a blank screen or page. I should’ve felt like there’s no hope for my success in this world. But I felt the precise opposite.
It was affirmative. Encouraging. And gave me more tools for moving forward, even though I failed to make as much use of the conference as I wanted to. As I should have.
My Brain Feels Mushy
And I want to take a nap. A two-day nap. I think I can manage a two-hour one sometime tomorrow.