Notes from the 13th Floor, Part the First
Ok, this has turned out pretty long, so I hope it's not too dreary.
Wednesday:
Caught the 7:45 train from Seattle, and was fortunate to get a seat on the water side. I was sitting right behind Marcia (whose last name I didn't catch), and Colleen McEllroy. Despite the cranky party from Portland who thought coughing up the extra few bucks for business class entitled her to a library-quiet environment, one mechanical breakdown (30 minute delay), and one forced deferment to a freight train on single track (also 30 minute delay), the journey was a delight. Totally different from the claustrophobia attending airplane seats, corridors, and bathrooms. Room to move, permission to move, and a dining car offering microbrews (bottled, but still...). On this route (Cascades), at least 85% pleasing scenery. A most civilized mode of travel that I am now addicted to.
Shared a cab to the Fairmont with Colleen and Marcia, checked my bags, and headed over to the museum next door (which is inexplicably called a gallery). The Emily Carr exhibit was amazing, especially her work from the late 1920s through the 30s (see below). I only wish I had been more alert; I sat down to watch the biographical film at the end, and kept falling asleep sitting bolt upright on a hard bench in a room filled with strangers. This is what happens when one doesn't sleep the previous night.
When I went to check in, the desk clerk said, "Are you superstitious?" Ummmmmm, why? So they sent me up to the 13th floor. On the same level as four lovely gargoyles (see below), bird creatures on the left and mammal creatures on the right. They were excellent company. Nice, big room, very would-be Ye Olde English with dark wood & chintzy prints. Quite comfortable. Reprehensibly fell asleep around 7:00, and didn't really wake up until 8:30 Thursday morning.
Thursday:
You know the infamous shower scene in "Psycho"? That violin, Eeeee, Eeeee, Eeeee? That is exactly, but EXACTLY, what my alarm clock sounded like. Spacing of notes, tone, everything. So I got an extra shot of adrenalin to help me wake up. I think the Vancouver seagulls must be pretty savvy; they smelled the smoked salmon eggs benedict through my open window quickly enough and came looking for their share. After they polished off some excess hash browns and anemic tomatoes, they took bits of energy bar from my fingers. Indulge my predilection for naming animals: they were Grace, Thomas, Diva, Jones-boy, and Dali.
What was up with the nametags-on-lanyards? Murphy's Law dictated that they always flipped around the wrong way within two minutes of putting them on.
I was on my way to the Hyatt to scope out the bookfair when I encountered Paul Guest in the crosswalk. So we turned back to the Fairmont and had a great chat in the lobby. Paul, I'd be happy to meet you in a hotel lobby anytime. Maybe in Austin. Sorry about all the rain.
First actual AWP event: the "When Good Submissions Go Bad" panel. Well, I must admit I missed the first 15 minutes. But there was nothing earth-shatteringly useful when I was there. Mostly stuff like "Don't use fancy fonts", "Don't put the life history of your cats in your cover letter", and "Don't call two weeks after submitting to ask why you haven't heard anything". Stuff you should know anyway if you have any common at all. The one practical thing I took away was the idea of using 6x9 envelopes so you only have to fold your sub. once. And, of course, it's always nice to hear editors say, "be persistent". Never hurts to be reminded of that.
Got to meet many familiar faces at the Asian-American Poetry (The Next Generation -- the Star Trek theme starts playing in my head whenever I read that) Anthology reading: Victoria Chang and her husband Todd, C. Dale Young and Jacob, Aimee Nezhukumatathil and her D., whose real name has slipped my mind. Also got to meet Lisa Gluskin and Robert Thomas. The reading was great ... no poetry voice whatsoever. Aimee, especially, was animated and wonderful. Brenda Shaughnessy, with whom I was unfamiliar, is hilarious and does some great stuff with sonics. I was so glad I had read C. Dale's "Torn" beforehand, and was prepared for the fist in the gut. Thanks to Victoria for the sweet munchies and wine, and for reading my blog!
Had to dash right over to the Hyatt for Paul's Crazyhorse reading. The contrast between the very prim and proper Fairmont and the hipster Hyatt is extreme. I have to admit, I'm glad I wound up at the Fairmont. I'm not really too hip, it was quieter there, and besides, I kept getting lost in the Hyatt. I liked how they worked the Crazyhorse reading. One piece per author, in issue order, so we got to hear a good cross section of what they've published of late years. I picked up a few back issues.
I wasted enough evening time back in my room ironing and talking to Scott (learned a painful lesson about hotel long distance charges on this trip) that the restaurant was closed, and I didn't feel like venturing forth. So I went to the lobby bar to have a Cobb salad and a G&T (a questionable combination). Nice bar, with a piano player, but all the couches and easy chairs and little tables had no familiar faces associated with them, so I was feeling a bit lonely when three students from the University of Michigan (who edit the student litmag there) invited me to join them. Which was very hospitable, and I appreciated it. I had envisioned the evenings of AWP as endless bacchanals, but encountered none myself. Obviously, I wasn't in the right places. Which is doubtless just as well.
About the pictures ... I'm still kicking myself that there are no pictures of humans. One day I forgot my camera, but the other days, I just got too interested in talking to people and neglected to document them.
Wednesday:
Caught the 7:45 train from Seattle, and was fortunate to get a seat on the water side. I was sitting right behind Marcia (whose last name I didn't catch), and Colleen McEllroy. Despite the cranky party from Portland who thought coughing up the extra few bucks for business class entitled her to a library-quiet environment, one mechanical breakdown (30 minute delay), and one forced deferment to a freight train on single track (also 30 minute delay), the journey was a delight. Totally different from the claustrophobia attending airplane seats, corridors, and bathrooms. Room to move, permission to move, and a dining car offering microbrews (bottled, but still...). On this route (Cascades), at least 85% pleasing scenery. A most civilized mode of travel that I am now addicted to.
Shared a cab to the Fairmont with Colleen and Marcia, checked my bags, and headed over to the museum next door (which is inexplicably called a gallery). The Emily Carr exhibit was amazing, especially her work from the late 1920s through the 30s (see below). I only wish I had been more alert; I sat down to watch the biographical film at the end, and kept falling asleep sitting bolt upright on a hard bench in a room filled with strangers. This is what happens when one doesn't sleep the previous night.
When I went to check in, the desk clerk said, "Are you superstitious?" Ummmmmm, why? So they sent me up to the 13th floor. On the same level as four lovely gargoyles (see below), bird creatures on the left and mammal creatures on the right. They were excellent company. Nice, big room, very would-be Ye Olde English with dark wood & chintzy prints. Quite comfortable. Reprehensibly fell asleep around 7:00, and didn't really wake up until 8:30 Thursday morning.
Thursday:
You know the infamous shower scene in "Psycho"? That violin, Eeeee, Eeeee, Eeeee? That is exactly, but EXACTLY, what my alarm clock sounded like. Spacing of notes, tone, everything. So I got an extra shot of adrenalin to help me wake up. I think the Vancouver seagulls must be pretty savvy; they smelled the smoked salmon eggs benedict through my open window quickly enough and came looking for their share. After they polished off some excess hash browns and anemic tomatoes, they took bits of energy bar from my fingers. Indulge my predilection for naming animals: they were Grace, Thomas, Diva, Jones-boy, and Dali.
What was up with the nametags-on-lanyards? Murphy's Law dictated that they always flipped around the wrong way within two minutes of putting them on.
I was on my way to the Hyatt to scope out the bookfair when I encountered Paul Guest in the crosswalk. So we turned back to the Fairmont and had a great chat in the lobby. Paul, I'd be happy to meet you in a hotel lobby anytime. Maybe in Austin. Sorry about all the rain.
First actual AWP event: the "When Good Submissions Go Bad" panel. Well, I must admit I missed the first 15 minutes. But there was nothing earth-shatteringly useful when I was there. Mostly stuff like "Don't use fancy fonts", "Don't put the life history of your cats in your cover letter", and "Don't call two weeks after submitting to ask why you haven't heard anything". Stuff you should know anyway if you have any common at all. The one practical thing I took away was the idea of using 6x9 envelopes so you only have to fold your sub. once. And, of course, it's always nice to hear editors say, "be persistent". Never hurts to be reminded of that.
Got to meet many familiar faces at the Asian-American Poetry (The Next Generation -- the Star Trek theme starts playing in my head whenever I read that) Anthology reading: Victoria Chang and her husband Todd, C. Dale Young and Jacob, Aimee Nezhukumatathil and her D., whose real name has slipped my mind. Also got to meet Lisa Gluskin and Robert Thomas. The reading was great ... no poetry voice whatsoever. Aimee, especially, was animated and wonderful. Brenda Shaughnessy, with whom I was unfamiliar, is hilarious and does some great stuff with sonics. I was so glad I had read C. Dale's "Torn" beforehand, and was prepared for the fist in the gut. Thanks to Victoria for the sweet munchies and wine, and for reading my blog!
Had to dash right over to the Hyatt for Paul's Crazyhorse reading. The contrast between the very prim and proper Fairmont and the hipster Hyatt is extreme. I have to admit, I'm glad I wound up at the Fairmont. I'm not really too hip, it was quieter there, and besides, I kept getting lost in the Hyatt. I liked how they worked the Crazyhorse reading. One piece per author, in issue order, so we got to hear a good cross section of what they've published of late years. I picked up a few back issues.
I wasted enough evening time back in my room ironing and talking to Scott (learned a painful lesson about hotel long distance charges on this trip) that the restaurant was closed, and I didn't feel like venturing forth. So I went to the lobby bar to have a Cobb salad and a G&T (a questionable combination). Nice bar, with a piano player, but all the couches and easy chairs and little tables had no familiar faces associated with them, so I was feeling a bit lonely when three students from the University of Michigan (who edit the student litmag there) invited me to join them. Which was very hospitable, and I appreciated it. I had envisioned the evenings of AWP as endless bacchanals, but encountered none myself. Obviously, I wasn't in the right places. Which is doubtless just as well.
About the pictures ... I'm still kicking myself that there are no pictures of humans. One day I forgot my camera, but the other days, I just got too interested in talking to people and neglected to document them.
posted by Jennifer at 12:47 AM
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