I returned to San Antonio from my trip to AWP on Saturday and got right back to work.
I miss Seattle. It has a certain vibrancy. I had amazing food. My husband and I ate at Etta's Seafood where I told the waitress I wanted to lick the plate, but there were too many people there. I was not lying. I almost licked it anyway, but I resisted. I am proud of this. I met up with my undergrad professor and friend, Shannon Lakanen, at the Whisky Bar and drank the best ginger cider (I can't handle whisky) of my life. We visited the original Starbucks, the Public Market, the Space Needle, and we walked the city until our feet felt as though they were about to fall off. I read as part of the Festival of Language at Rock Bottom and the Hot Pillow at the Roosevelt, which I partially hosted but all credit goes to Joani Reese. I ate conveyor belt sushi and gourmet cupcakes. I met up with brilliant writers, including Robert Vaughan, Len Kuntz, Mia Avramut, Meg Tuite, Aaron Dietz, Bud Smith, Sara Lippmann, Bonnie ZoBell, and Karen Stefano, Bill Yarrow, Jane L. Carman, Sam Snoek-Brown, Cynthia Atkins, Shaindel Beers, Christine Fadden, and so, so many more. I lived. I enjoyed.
|Joani and Len|
|We ate this....|
|Me with the glorious Heather Fowler|
I did not sleep. I did not drink too much. I did not miss my plane, and I did not spend all my time nervous or gushing or networking. I did not stress out, and I did not get sick, and I did not hide out or get bored. I did not have the chance. I enjoyed the time I spent at the conference, but more, I enjoyed Seattle.
As I return to reality, I will take this experience with me. These writers give me confidence that what we all do alone, every day, is not done alone at all.