This fall I’ve been given a rare, odd gift: an undergraduate Introduction to Poetry class full of eager, bright-eyed students. When colleagues ask me how the first weeks of classes have been I’m almost hesitant to tell them, afraid I will jinx whatever magic spell has fallen upon me.
Sawbill: A Search for Place,among many wonderful things, is an homage to a specific place—though one that evolves both as time moves forward and as he narrator discovers more and more about herself, her family, and their roots in the old and unpredictable Sawbill Lodge.
Whenever I talk of my genre—the chosen field that I have dedicated my life to—my husband puts dangling air quotes around it. As in: “Creative Nonfiction”.
What if I never write again. I wonder this over and over. Driving to work, doing the dishes, writing feedback on my Creative Writing students’ pieces. It isn’t so much a question, I am not searching for alternative routes and possibilities. Instead, I pose it as a statement to myself and question how much of …