A Bunch of Writers, a Pot of Coffee, and a Box of Donuts walk into a bar . . .

No Telling

The month-long Writing Project Summer Institute is over. I’m still overwhelmed by the stunning teachers who came, who wrote, who conquered. We began as a class and ended as a writing family. Sandra, Becky, Carolyn, Verlyn, Renee’, Janice, Barabara, Nan, Jennifer, Janet, Stephanie, Jane, and Mary have all become my sisters and favorite aunts. Mike, bless your only-man-in-the-room heart, you’re the scribbling brother I never had.
That’s what the NWP Summer Institute does. It wears us out, it makes us dig and find our words. It makes us forever connected as teachers and writers. We’re scribbling kin now.
It also makes us eat food we shouldn’t. Good Lord. I’ve got four weeks until classes begin and it’ll take every last day of that to undo the Sugary-Donut Damage. And then some. I suspect there are only a couple of us – the strong ones – who came out on the other side unscathed.