Whidbey Writers Workshop

So I headed off for a few days to teach on Whidbey Island in their unique MFA program (http://www.writeonwhidbey.org/mfa/) and came away, frankly, blown away. The students, the teachers, the setting were all superlative. I’d expected to find serious dedicated writers, but I didn’t expect their generosity and humility and good humor. I’d expected some nice views, but I didn’t expect to get weepy from the sound of waves lapping on the sand.

Each morning I’d walk the beach from the dorms to rehearse my hour-long presentations over and over to myself—this my own hang up, my own version of OCD; I have to do it before bookstore readings, too—and I’d watch seabirds against the blue blue Sound and the green forested Olympics on the horizon. Each afternoon, I’d speak. (Phew, got that over with!) Then each evening, I’d hang out with the writers and try to soak in as much good energy as I could.

One night I got to spend some time with Jason, my old trail crew buddy, who’s working out there on historic preservation projects. When he gave me the grand tour, including sunset from a driftwood beach with seals flapping just offshore, I understood why we don’t see him on the east side as often as we used to.

Meanwhile, from in Stehekin, Laurie reported that smoke settled hard from wildfires in B.C. Mosquitoes and yellow jackets grew plentiful and cranky, and zucchinis in the garden got predictably out of hand: one per five-gallon bucket. Now I’m home, and the brush is brown and the wind is hot, and the pickup truck we barged downlake cost more to fix than I made at Whidbey, a lot more. Still, I’m thinking that if they ask me back, I’ll go. In a heartbeat.