My poems allowed me to say things I could not have said to anyone in person. I think poems build a bridge between us as human beings and that's why I think poetry is so important. It gives us the courage to say the unsayable.
AWP can deliver on some of its promises. If you can keep calm and carry on, if you can acknowledge the hysteria without becoming hysterical yourself, if you can avoid eye-contact with the thousands, yet have conversations with the few, AWP can be magical.
Over 11,000 writers, editors, and publishers turned out this year for the Association of Writers and Writing Programs' Conference, making it one of the biggest literary hootenannies for anyone with a passion for putting words on the page.
In true glass-half-full, pony-in-there-somewhere, writing-geek style, I choose to focus on what I have to look forward to at AWP, situations that, writing and teaching in America's southern heartland, I can't experience any other way.
What do you call 10,000 writers on the shores of Lake Michigan? The start. The start of a three-day conversation that happens every spring when the Association of Writers and Writing Programs convenes its national conference.
Cross' stories reverberate with the idea that there was once, in each of these characters' lives, a moment when things may have gone differently, where youthful bravado and indifference could have matured into responsibility and self-worth.
On Thursday, over 8,000 writers flocked to Denver to participate in the annual Association of Writing Programs conference. One of the underlying themes of this conference for me was religion and spirituality.