Points if you know what band I'm riffing on for my blog post title.  Bonus points for the album. 

Can you tell I'm back in the classroom already?  :)

On the other side of the desk, that is.  The other week, I was a student again.  And I was a sponge.  There is so much to remark upon about Lambda, so the task of chronicling it to people who weren't there seems overwhelming.  I am also trying to consider my audience, and be aware that perhaps some of you dear readers may be my fellow comrades-in-arms, us Knights of the Pointy Table.  (that was the nickname for the Fiction Fellows at Lambda)  Maybe you had to be there.

But that is not a writer's excuse.   Let me try, just try, to capture some of the magic that swirled around all week.  Okay.  So there were us Knights, the fiction fellows.  And we got our asses kicked (in a great way) by each other, and by Nicola Griffith, our fearless workshop leader.   Then there were the poets, who were getting their asses kicked in a different way by having to write a new poem every damn day.   And the non-fiction peeps were workshopping and writing new material...

Point is, we all worked hard.  And we got to play hard too.   Share meals with each other and bond over beer and wine and cigarette runs.   (How did I shape-shift into a smoker for a week? I don't know, but I'm glad it's over.  Gave the pack to my roomie...as soon as I got back.  Okay, two days after I got back.  I had a couple nostalgia smokes).

I have a composition book filled with notes.   And I carried it with me wherever I went...from breakfast to class to useful lectures to late night beer around the courtyard tree where people would be dropping names of authors I couldn't believe I hadn't discovered yet, and couldn't wait to embrace.  Embrace.  All of them, all of you wily Lambda fellows.   We were like some kind of Chia Community.  It grew so damn fast!  But unlike Chia, I do hope some of the bonds we made will continue to take root.  Cuz Chia Pets, really?  Kind of a dumb fad.  The Lambda fellows?  Felt like home. 

And I'm psyched beyond belief to already see these seedlings sprouting with folks in my area, and through online connection to those I already miss like family.  I know that word gets thrown around a lot in queer culture, and I could write all night about why and how it's usually awesome and what have you...but beyond this.  Beyond the need for a chosen family, what about when you find yourself in the absolute rightest room of your life?  What about when you feel like that family chose you?  Queer writers.  Lambda Fellows 2010.  Knights of the Pointy Table.   I'm getting almost jingoistic here for the Queer Nation.   Honestly, yall, pass me a feather boa, the pom poms, and some tissue-- because after we kick ass I need to process.

And here's a shout-out to the woman who led the pointy-table charge: I linked to her blog above, but I'm going to praise her again here: Nicola Griffith.  What was so immensely helpful about working with her was certainly the way she helped me think about my novel differently, and rewire my brain to narrative grammar, sensory detail, etc. etc.  But ALSO--as a teacher myself, I was so inspired by how well she held that line between compassion and toughness.   You have to do that.  It's such a sign of respect  towards your students to care about them enough to be rigorous, to be demanding, but still do it with a smile and warmth.  I'd known how to do that...but not to the extent.  And I'd been burning out as a teacher.  So I was motivated to go to the other side of the desk again.  The change feels huge in my classrooms now.  AND her partner Kelley Eskridge also kicks ass and gave the best, most inspiring lecture on the business and life of writing. I can't wait to read her novel.

Oh also?  Learned a shit-ton about writing.  Also?  Felt my personal barriers about fears of risk dissolve as I read from my novel The Ella Verse at the end of the week.  Yes, I've slammed raw personal poems dozens of times.  I can't explain it.  This was transformative. 

I also loved the fact that the genres mingled so freely with each other, teacher and student alike.  (many of us are in fact "trans-genre").  Ellery Washington, the inspiring non-fiction teacher, was also wonderfully approachable and giving of his time and attention.  

Final highlight: I hugged Ellen Bass, co-author of The Courage to Heal after my reading.  Her book that helped me heal, helped take me to a place where I could write something like that.  And then have it come back around.  Won't forget that moment any time soon.

But there are more moments like these I could tell you about, leaking into three hour chicken and waffle post-retreat reverie time with Meg Day and Billie Mandel, my Oakland Lambda homies.  And coming down from the high...there are more moments to come.

And then there is coming back to the room.  And getting to work.
 
 
 
I feel like I'm riding my bike and I just learned so I'm like eight or something, and the training wheels are off, and I veeeeeered around the corner, and I got that thrill of danger with the woo-woo feeling of...gravity.   Like I could fall, I might, my joints ache with memory of asphalt, I taste the thought of blood--but not this time.  I didn't fall.  Thought I might.   Still shaken, still gut-drop feeling of...woah.  Near miss.   But there's a certain thrill with that.  There's a certain heart-pound and adrenaline rush.

What I'm saying is I got a little overwhelmed this week.  But I turned the corner.
 
 
I wish I didn't have to deal with the DMV tomorrow, or deal with the pain of dentistry today, or finish moving my stuff out of my apartment later this week...and any number of endless things, on and on.  Those things that keep me fettered.  I wish I could just dive into my time at the San Francisco Writers' Grotto this week and next and pour over the other students' work for the Lambda Retreat, and then, please, yes, finally, write write write before I go off to LA for a week of workshops, classes, exercises, networking, etc.  I'm sure Lambda will be fabulous--I have no doubt--but it's not really time for writing, at least from what I can tell of the jam-packed schedule.  There will surely be some.   But my point here--and I do have one--is that I am really frustrated with how much life seems to get in the way of writing.  And maybe it's too much time on facebook or watching livestreaming TV shows on netflix.  Okay, guilty.   I need to get more discipline.   But I always have this feeling--oh if I didn't have to be a responsible adult, wouldn't I just have more space to write?

Oddly, I am beginning to discover the opposite is true. Momentum feeds momentum.  And all these things that seem to keep me bound to Earth--bills, errands, the dentist, planning for classes, grocery shopping, taking care of my cat, moving, etc. etc.--I always thought kept me from playing in the ether.  But I have to start from some place.  The ball can't just float forever, it's gotta smack on concrete, and keep smacking, up and back.  What would it mean to fly if you never learned how to land, or to take off?  Flying wouldn't be that special.   But I miss it.  My wings ache to stretch.   But the more I do, the more engaged I am with the material world, the more I can knock out some words that feel meaningful.  Like this, right here, right now.  See?   Now tomorrow, at the Grotto, I'll back up on the runway and launch.