The Iowa Summer Writing Festival

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of the passing of my friend Glenn. Seeing all the tributes on Facebook for this remarkable, lovable man made me reflect on the things that are most important to me:  my family and friends, writing, travel. Glenn would never pass up an opportunity for a new experience. He would have spent his last dime on adventure in an exotic locale, or having fun closer to home with family and friends. I realized that the best way to honor his memory—and the memory of all my loved ones who have gone before—is to stay true to my goals:  to write and to travel, and to grab each and every opportunity which comes my way. 

To that end, last weekend’s travel adventure was not far away in actual distance, but represents a dream that was many years in the making. I have always wanted to be a part of the world-renowned Iowa Writers’ Workshop somehow, ever since I knew that it was such a well-known and distinguished program. And then, I found out that they have a summer writing festival where you can attend short workshops. Oh, joy! But even though my friend Rebecca has lived there for several years—which meant free room and board—I never had the time at that time of the year or the money to attend. I promised myself that once I quit my job and started writing, I would make it a priority to get to at least one workshop.

And 2015 is the year it finally happened.

I signed up for a workshop entitled, “An Illustrated Field Guide to Nonfiction.” I had feared some sort of competition, some sort of writing sample to be submitted, but no! All I had to do was sign up and pay! The workshop promised to whip into shape and form any rough draft or idea we had generated for a nonfiction project. I had three such rough ideas in the works. Perfect. When I discussed this with my writing group, as luck would have it, my friend Umeeta would be going there the same weekend for a workshop, and she and I would drive to Iowa City together. Perfect.

Unfortunately, my friend Rebecca wouldn’t be in Iowa that weekend, so no free room and board; it worked out for the best, however, because the Iowa House where I stayed was in close proximity to the workshop classrooms, and all the shops and restaurants of downtown. I could pop back to the room quickly between sessions to get freshened up or take a quick nap; I could also close myself off from other humans without guilt when it was time to do homework, which others had warned me about. The Iowa House was reasonably priced and right on the river, making for nice evening strolls. Perfect.

The drive to Iowa was delightfully uneventful. Umeeta is a charming chatterer, but also a good listener, so the four hours melted away. She was attending a weekend workshop, then a weeklong workshop, after which her partner would be joining her in Iowa City to see the town, and then driving back together. She asked me if it was OK that we were meeting Carol Spindel for dinner; Carol is a good friend of hers, a writer, and also the teacher of my workshop! I was excited to meet her, and hoped it wouldn't be weird. I shouldn't have worried. We met at the hotel, and then walked into campus to a sushi restaurant, and the conversation was easy; we talked about books, vacations, her children, cars, yoga, and a myriad other things. Afterwards, we walked to the local co-op and stocked up on breakfast items, since Carol told us that the hotel breakfast wasn't great. After coming back, I was so wound up it was hard to get to sleep, but I knew I should save my energy for the next day.

At orientation in the Old Capitol building the next morning, there were probably about 150-200 people taking workshops that weekend. That was the only time it felt crowded. Iowa City has a beautiful campus and a lively downtown, but the summer pace is slow and relaxed. We met our group in our classroom, and what an interesting group they were. Mostly middle-aged white women, of course, but we also had two men--Hillel, an older neuroscientist from Israel, and Scott, a youngish commodities trader from Chicago (who we later found out is interviewed on CNBC a lot). I fully expect to see published works from at least a third of this cast of characters. An angular woman from Ft. Collins, Colorado, with gray pageboy cut, wearing Keens and knitting throughout the class, was writing about sheep and how the demise of various breeds reflects the homogenization of our culture. She unraveled everything she'd knitted for two days in the last 20 minutes of class on Sunday, which makes me think that knitting was more of a coping mechanism. A schoolteacher from Texas was writing about the lost literary works of a writer named Evelyn Scott; her name was Patricia, and she was a somewhat loud, boisterous character that often talked over others. A nervous, twitchy homemaker with incredibly fast, clipped speech (somewhat appropriately named "Edgy") from Kansas had written over a thousand extremely short pieces of her upbringing being the 7th of 9 children whose family was so dysfunctional they were almost separated into foster care several times. Another retired teacher wrote of her sexual assault in Zaire when she served in the Peace Corps in the 1970s. Her friend from Madison, Wisconsin spoke in that quintessential northern Midwest lilt (think, "Fargo"--that singsongy "you betchya" and "oh, how niiiice," with all those shortened, tight, high vowels), but I had no doubt that she could deliver some zingers in that sweet singsong. She used everyone's first name when addressing him or her from the first five minutes or so of class; unfortunately, I’ve already forgotten her name. She was writing about her great-great grandfather who was somewhat of a mystery in his little hometown in rural Wisconsin. A very young Indian-American woman named Priscilla who is an international social worker and therapist was writing the story of traveling the world then settling down with a boyfriend in Morocco while first exhibiting signs of her bipolar disorder. Scott was writing about being able to predict the next financial crisis, and Hillel was writing about his two great-great-grandfathers (who were living in the U.S. at the time) who together formed an experimental agricultural community in the 1870s in Palestine, which may or may not have been the very first kibbutz, way ahead of its time. A retired Jewish attorney from Manhattan (probably in her 80s) wrote of her dilemma when her daughter met and married a Greek man whom she thought completely wrong for her daughter. She regaled us with stories over lunch about graduating from law school and trying to get a job in the 50s, and her new boyfriend she was living with in San Diego--an ugly man, dying of cancer, who has lived his life as a devout womanizer.

And I could go on...

Carol is an extraordinary teacher. Our assignment was to first workshop others' proposals and ask leading questions that would help them find their framework, story arc, and cast of characters. Then that evening our homework was to come up with our own framework, to make a table of contents or a visual representation of the organization. I discovered so much during this process! My story of our four-month “honeymoon” in Brazil is what I chose, and I actually was able to hammer out the organization, and choose the scenes I would use. Wow! But...I'm neglecting the chronology. I went by myself after class for a walk, then sat down at a tapas place with a glass of wine and some octopus that was delicious. I then walked across the street and met Umeeta for a poetry and prose reading at a café. Wow. I didn't read, but I heard some amazing poems, and Umeeta read a piece she'd read before at our writing group that I loved about childhood discovery and shame. I thought that maybe someday I'd have the guts to stand up there and read something that I'd written. Someday. Umeeta and I walked around the downtown, got some gelato, and then walked back to our hotel, which was on the river. We walked along the river and across the bridge, enjoying the sunset and the lights, and the clouds. We had a lovely talk about kids; although she doesn't have kids of her own, she has twin nephews that are a little older than my son, and they had been visiting the previous week, as they do every summer. She calls it "Aunty Camp;" they go for putt-putt and museums, and visiting campus, and doing things that 12-year-olds find fun. They sound like amazing kids, and I really missed my own then.

I returned to the hotel room energized. I had figured I'd be too tired to do the homework, and since we wouldn't meet until 10 the next day, I could do the homework in the morning. But I started in, and couldn't stop. I finished it at about 12:15, and crawled into bed exhausted. We had to present our ideas to the class the next day, and since the previous day we didn't know each other and there seemed to be some tension in the class (such strong, opinionated players!), I was nervous about it. But the personalities seemed to gel a bit better, and the ideas flowed. I spent part of the lunch break at the Prairie Lights bookstore, a tiny, but impressive place where I wanted to buy everything. I stood looking for Carol's book in the Iowa Writers' Workshop section (it's called In the Shadow of the Sacred Grove, if you're ever interested; I’ve just started reading it, and it’s wonderful), and was just overwhelmed by the names I saw; Ann Patchett, Flannery O'Connor, Raymond Carver....and others, like Carol, who were teaching there and had books out. It was humbling and awe-inspiring. I bought Carol's book, and a memoir just out from Tom Robbins, and then came across Terry Wahls' book. My friend Rebecca who lives in Iowa City had told me about this book years ago. Terry Wahls is a doctor and professor of medicine in Iowa City (there's a huge medical school there). A few years ago she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, and it quickly progressed to the point she was in a wheelchair and unable to function, unable to keep up with work. Long story short, she researched many diets, and came up with her own diet, and has been able to reverse her symptoms! Now, as I’ve researched my own autoimmune disease, these claims, these stories are common; but Dr. Wahls decided to back it up with clinical research, and has done so in a very controlled scientific study through the University of Iowa. Her book (a signed copy) The Wahls Protocol, was sitting on the shelf, innocently calling to me just as I was ready to leave the bookstore. I had to take a look. (Her TEDx talk is worth a look-see, even if you don’t read the book).

We finished with the workshop a bit early, and I was anxious to return, full of ideas; but the Wahls Protocol book was calling to me too, and I realized how much I was craving just cuddling up with a good book. Or three. Needless to say, after a similarly uneventful drive back to Champaign-Urbana Sunday night, I did just that. I've read about 160 pages of the book so far, and it has convinced me to try the diet. Because, while my brain was being fed with wonderful literary ideas, my body was being filled with a lot of carbs. I managed to eat decent meals, but I also managed to snack a ton--at midnight, while feverishly finishing up my homework; at lunchtime, when I was nervously waiting for class to begin again; after dinner, when I really hadn't eaten enough to satisfy me, or I'd had two glasses of wine I needed to "soak up;" in the car, in the car, in the car....bread, yogurt, chips, granola bars.  All the wrong things. And my body has been telling me this is a bad idea. The combination of sitting in a car then in a class for extended periods of time, with bad diet, with lack of exercise has ensured that I am in pain. I am tired of pain. I am tired of medication. I am tired of the medication/steroid cycle. I am tired of being tired.

So…filed under Things On My Mind To Do In The Next 30 Days:

1) writing the book I've mapped out

2) changing my diet

And…because I don’t do anything in a wise, measured manner, more travel!  It’s summer, so keep an eye out for our two (two!) exciting trips to come!  Hint: For one of these trips, I'm trying to ignore the recent New Yorker article predicting the destruction of the populated areas of the Pacific Northwest by earthquake and tsunami in the near future.

I leave you with some glimpses of Iowa City…

Iowa City is a very writerly city. These sidewalk scenes grace Iowa Street (avenue?)

I can never seem to wait to take a picture before digging in and making my food all messy on the plate; sushi dinner our first night

The Old Capitol

View from the chapel below of the Old Capitol building

Small chapel on the river next to the Iowa Memorial Union

Amazing architecture along the river; amazing to think that all these buildings were half under water in the flood of 2008

The lovely Iowa River at sunset, well within its banks