writers who want to hone your chops for writing about and for the world, the Abroad Writers’ Conference is having a session in Sarawak, North Borneo, in June, in which anthropologist Gerrell Drawhorn, a veteran investigator of Borneo’s incredible biocultural diversity, and I will be taking you out into the rainforest and to meet the local Iban people and to write up your experiences which we will critique. See Abroad Writers’ Conference facebook page for details.
There’s also a great conference at Lismore Castle in December, with four Pulitzer prize winning novelist and me as instructors.
The last conference, at Hever Castle, Kent, was such a gas for all of us and recharged my heroic narrative as a literary journalist who is here for the world, that I’m doing some more of these things. One of our students, Mary Pauer, just won best short story of the year in Delaware, for her story “Liar Liar” in Southern Women’s Review, and James Lawson Moore’s story SUNSET MAN (after editorial counsel from Robert Olen Butler , Paul Harding , and me during the conference ) won first place in his school’s literary journal. James and his dad are, at my urging coauthoring a family history spanning three generations, James’s grandpa the subsistence farmer, his dad the mechanic and minister, and James the writer. James is doing himself, and his dad himself and his wife and family, and his dad. This will be the first multl-generationally authored multi-generational family saga that I am aware of.
And Holly Woodward, another graduate of the December conference, sent this contribution to my blog with the proverb poem :
Here is a little aphoristic poem of my own, she writes, called
Ten Items or Less
Into each life, a little brain must fall.
All good things come to those who bait.
The good stumble, the great fall.
Abstinence makes the heart go wander.
You’ll catch more flies with money.
People who live in salt houses shouldn’t shed tears.
The good grumble, the great wail.
Better the anemone you know than the anemone you don’t.
Caution is the mother of all weevils.
At night, all toads are gay.