Mount Pisgah Day 2

Rain, fog, mist, clouds... the pattern continued on Sunday, July 14. In the morning I awoke and stumbled out of the tent in a fog both literal and metaphorical. I met Brandon in the office, where he was ending his shift as night auditor. It is great to see him again. We had a nice breakfast in the inn's upscale dining room.

Then I headed down the mountain to Asheville to get dry and to get an internet connection to upload this blog. I headed straight for my favorite bookstore in the whole world (and--yes--I have been to Shakespeare and Co. on the West Bank in Paris).

Malaprops is a favorite among readers and writers. Many of the writers at the Wildacres Conference sang its praises. I am sitting here sipping a delicious soy chai latte, listening to good music, sitting at a special table with outlets so that I can plug and recharge my laptop and phone while I use Malaprop's free Internet WiFi.
Even...
Mapaprop's Web site <http://www.malaprops.com/>
...is interesting. I love this place.

And it is just steps away form a dozen other fascinating places in downtown Asheville.

* * *

In the afternoon and evening I hung around the campsite hoping the rain would end. I spent part of it just sitting in my car. The rain let up enough for me to cook and eat macaroni and cheese at the picnic table. I read a little and fell asleep listening to the rain and wind on my tent.

Wildacres Day 14 / Mount Pisgah Day 1

View from the Wildacres patio.

Saturday, July 13, 2013, is the day I said good-bye to my dear, dear friends at Wildacres.
I had been meditating every morning at 7 a.m. with Marci. This morning I overslept. I was sound asleep in my bed when I began to hear a voice downstairs calling my name.
"James, James? Is James here? Has anyone seen James?"

I stumbled out of my door, and there was Marci, who was very concerned that something had happened to me. Her concern touched me deeply. I got dressed and caught up with Marci at breakfast. We decided to go meditate together after breakfast. Then we hugged and cried. In less than two weeks, she and I had become close personal friends. It was beautiful.




Marsha, James, and Marci, after a Wildacres hike.

There were many tearful hugs this morning. The depth of connection we felt shocked me. I didn't make friends with all 90 writers on the mountain, but I certainly felt close to about half of them, and extraordinarily close to a few. I will always treasure my friendships with  Will, Victoria, Janna, Marci, Marsha, Linda, Carol, Eli,  Radha, Bridget, Fasil, Bo, and so many more.

It was damp, foggy and rainy as I left Wildacres and headed south on the Blue Ridge Parkway toward Mount Pisgah.

*  *  *

... Driving south on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I found the fog just got thicker and thicker as I approached Mount Mitchel.
And then--suddenly--a "ROAD CLOSED" sign in the middle of the Parkway. So I turned around, gave my Parkway map to some confused motorcyclists, and found my way down the mountain to Asheville.

I arrived at the Mount Pisgah campground around 3 p.m. I was able to select the same site where I camped last summer. It was upgraded and improved over the winter, so the new tent platform was high and dry, despite two weeks of wet weather. I walked around the campground and had a nice talk with the park ranger, who has a Mazda Miata even older than mine. We exchanged stories about the joy of driving a Miata in these mountains.

I left a note with the campsite number for my son Brandon, who was working the night shift at the Pisgan Inn. (In the morning, he told me he had found the site at 10 p.m., but he heard me snoring and decided not to wake me.)

Wildacres Day 13

Friday, July 12, 2013, the last day of the Wildacres Writers’ Workshop.

I began with meditation, as usual. After breakfast I saw Janna, who has a beautiful singing voice. I heard her sing and play the guitar on “In My Life,” which I love. I asked her if she knew ‘Shenandoah.” She said she had not played it in a long time, and suggested I ask Jack (who had played one of the Beatles last night. I found Jack on the porch of the dorm and asked him. He worked out the chords and started playing, but was unsure of the words. Then Janna came along and sang the song. Soon others gathered, and they all started singing some beautiful songs, mostly traditional tunes, like “Danny Boy.” It was a sweet few moments.

Then we had our last creative nonfiction class, and took a class picture.

After lunch a few people, including Victoria, had to leave early, so there were some heartfelt farewells. We have really bonded with our new friends.  In my continuing quest to dry out the soggy carpets in my car, I drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and found a scenic overlook I remember form previous trips: the Three Knobs Overlook. I sat and meditated with my eyes open, soaking up the spectaculat mountain views.

That evening was the Gong Show, an annual talent show they do on the closing night of the Wildacres Writers Conference. Almost everyone volunteered to be a part of it. I played a newbie at Wildacres—type casting! My big line was, “What the fuck?!?”  which I delivered when my workshop instructor shows up dressed as Curella deVil with a bullwhip. I got a good laugh, so I guess I delivered it well enough. But it was another newbie—Fasil—who stole the show. He is of Pakistani ancestry.  In one skit he played a Chicago gangster. His partner said, “I’m Methodist.” Fasil said, “I’m Muslim.” Together they said, “We’re the M&M Gang.” That got a laugh. In another skit, he played a judge in a tv cooking show. But yesterday was part of Ramadan, so Fasil had been fasting during daylight hours. The skit began after sunset, so he could eat again. Completely ad-lib, Fasil began eating everything in sight, including a dish with lots of whipped cream, He put his face right in the cream pie, looked up with whipped cream all over his beard, face, and glasses, and declared, “I am so fucking hungry!” We were all laughing so hard they could barely continue the skit.

What does this have to do with learning to write?

Everything.

We all completely opened up our hearts and let down out inhibitions, which is what you have to do when writing. I learned more about writing at this retreat and workshop than any I have attended before.

I learned I need to open up and bare my soul early in my book.

I learned that the fictional techniques I teach my students are important to my nonfiction books.

I learned that readers need to see a character, narrator or protagonist about whom they care deeply.

I learned that the things that connect us really are bigger than the things that divide us.

I learned that my prejudice against Southerners is—like any prejudice—based on fear and misunderstanding.

I learned that people who look different are mostly the same.

I learned that diversity comes in many forms. (Although there were no people with black skin at this retreat there was still a wide diversity in other ways.)

I learned that the little village of Little Switzerland is even more magical than I thought when I stopped here on a family vacation in 1958.

Except for the last item, these are things I already knew. Now I understand them at a deeper level.

 

 

 

Wildacres Day 12

Wildacres Day 12

Thursday, July 11, 2013, was yet another wonderful day. In the morning I had the workshop class with Jessica Handler, and we reviewed two more pieces. The conversation was frank, open and extremely productive. Again, I learned the importance of the balance between scenes where there is action and narration. There also needs to be a balance between the personal and the general.

After lunch I went into town to get an internet signal at the Little Switzerland café and upload the last few blog posts. When I returned, I took a nice hike with Victoria, a writer from the hills of North Georgia who now lives in Atlanta. Although very different in almost every apparent way, we discovered many things in common.

After dinner, there was a wild theme party. People were encouraged to wear costumes, although most of us newbies had nothing. I wore my cowboy hat and a red rubber nose. Several of the regulars put on a show that was amazingly good. Janna did a parody of Tammy Wynette singing, “Stand By Your Man(uscript)” that was hilarious. Melissa, who is in my workshop class and is obviously pregnant, dressed up as Snow White. She entered carrying a sign that read “The dwarves have some explaining to do” with an arrow pointing to her baby bump. That brought down the house. Four men who are all excellent singers wore 1960’s style black suits and white shirts and did a medley of Beatles songs, beginning—appropriately enough—with “Rain.” They also did “Paperback Writer” and “A Hard Day’s Night.” They inserted lines to refer to Wildacres, and they sang very well. One of the guys did a Paul McCartney imitation, and when he shook is mop-top wig, all the girls screamed. It was hilarious. The party went on until after midnight.

The magic of Wildacres is that all the writers are given opportunities to express their creativity in new and different ways, including skits, songs, jokes and dancing—as well as writing, which everyone here takes very seriously.

Will and I spent some time sitting on the porch and watching the clouds over the mountains. It was beautiful.

Wildacres Day 11

Wednesday, July 10, 2013, I awoke feeling wonderful. Although I have been enjoying Wildacres so far, the positive reaction to my poem Tuesday night made me feel like an accepted member of the group, rather than a “newbie.”

 Marci, Carol and I met to meditate at 7 a.m. again.

At breakfast I got more compliments on my poem, including some very specific and sincere words of praise from Ron Rash, probably the most famous and successful author here, who has published books of short stories, a novel, and a book of poetry.  

Our nonfiction class met at 9:30, and we critiques two other student pieces, and I learned a lot form the comments, as usual. I could see one of the pieces needed “more scene and less narrative,” which also applies to my book.

During class, Jessica passed around a wonderful-looking book by Linda Barry titled What It Is. It appears to be a collection of collages and words presented as art. I would love to spend some time with it. She also spoke of a book about writing by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paola titled Tell it Slant.

After lunch I had another talk with my new friend Victoria. We are an unlikely pair: She is a 40-year-old conservative Christian from Alabama, and I am a 64-year-old liberal Buddhist from Massachusetts. We get along great. We went to the library and had a long talk about our childhoods (both with deeply troubled mothers), and about the Bible. It was very interesting.

At 4 p.m. (as I write this), Will, Claude and I are all sitting in the living room writing. Will and I had been on the porch until a strong rainstorm swept in form the west and inundated us.

After dinner, there was another evening of student readings, and again, they were wonderful.  I worked on critiques of two of my classmates’ pieces. I also worked on our writing prompt, which was to write a biography of a place. I ended up making a word picture—that is, a picture made up of words. I tried to make them look like the Potomac River, and I included words, names, and places related to the Potomac River. It is strange, but I like it.

 

 

 

Wildacres Day 10

Wildacres Day10

Tuesday, July 9, 2013, was another beautiful, sunny day at Wildacres.  Marci, Carol and I met to meditate at 7 a.m. again. At breakfast I suggested to Marsha that we go for a run. She said she and Marci were planning an afternoon hike instead, so I said that would be great.

Then I returned to my room, worked on my blog, and wrote the poem, “Mountain High,”  which appears at the end of yesterday’s entry. Then I wrote the abededarial form poem that appears at the end of today’s entry. I felt good writing two poems in one day. This place is very inspiring. All the other writers are also saying they are amazed at how productive they are here.

After lunch, Marci, Marsha, and I hiked the Loop Trail, which was a beautiful hike part-way down the western slope of the mountain on which Wildacres is built. All three of us had a terrific time. It was a tough two-hour hike over rugged mountain terrain, so all of us got an intense workout.

After dinner, there were student readings in the auditorium. I had signed up to read, and I was very nervous. I decided to read my San Francisco poem because I think of it as a “crowd pleaser,” but I was not sure what this mostly Southern crowd would think of it. I was 12^th to read. All the previous students were excellent. I was expecting there to be a “clunker” in the group, but it all sounded good to me. Some read prose, and some read poetry.

I got very nervous. When it was my turn, my heart was pounding in my chest. I read it quickly, as usual. The four-minute time-limit bell went off just before the end. I read the last four lines and bowed. The reaction was gratifying. It sounded like thunderous applause to me. As I walked back to me seat, people gave me compliments. The people sitting near my patted my shoulders and said it was great. The next student reader said, “How do I follow that?” After the readings, I was flooded with compliments. People actually crowded around me to tell me how much they loved my poem. The instructor of my class, Jessica Handler, said she loved it too.

When I got back to the Guest House, my buddy Will said, “I wanted to jump up and yell, “That’s my roomie!”

Will and I sat on the porch again and watched the thunderstorm roll through the valley below us. After we both went to bed, the thunderstorm rolled across Wildacres.

Somehow I managed to re-read and critique two of my classmate’s pieces for the next day’s class.

At the end of Monday’s class, Jessica suggested we each try writing an “abecedarian,” in which the first line of every poem begins with a different letter of the alphabet, in alphabetical order. Here is my attempt:

Appalachian Abecedarian

Appalachian mountain ridges

Beckon to me to find myself.
Deer and bear welcome me
Every time I
Follow my heart into the Blue Ridge.
God is all around me and in me
High in the mountains.
I know this is my true home.
Just watching a mountain sunset
Keeps me peaceful and calm.

Love of the
Mountains fills me with joy.
Natural surroundings,
Open spaces,
Picturesque vistas,
Quaint mountain hamlets,
Rustic homesteads
Sustain and nurture me.

Tired from a day of hiking, I

Unroll my sleeping bag and
Venture into my tent as
Wistful evening birdsong sounds like a
Xylophone in the distance, and then I
Yawn, stretch, and close the
Zipper on my tent.

 

--James W. Kershner, July 2013, Wildacres

 

Wildacres Day 9

Wildacres Day 9

Monday, July 8, 2013, was the first Sunny day at Wildacres. It seemed like everyone’s spirits lifted as the sky cleared. I even put the top down in my car and continued to let the sun dry the wet carpets in the car.

In the morning I wrote out a critique of the other student being evaluated today, Eli. As I told her in person later, I thought the quality of her writing was head-and-shoulders above the rest of the class, including myself. She is an excellent writer.

After lunch, I went for a run–my first run of this trip. The gravel road from Wildacres up to the Blue Ridge Parkway was very steep, and I had to stop and walk at the steepest parts. Although it was only a mile, it was a very hard mile. Once I got to the Parkway I ran along it until I reached the Wildacres Tunnel.  Then I returned for a total of about three miles.

In class in the afternoon, Jessica said, “Good nonfiction writing imposes order on a jumbled world.” She also said that metaphor is the connective tissue to holds stories together.

In the student critiques, I could tell my nine classmates agreed that Eli’s piece was wonderful.

When it came time for them to critique my samples, they were very helpful. I gave them the preface and two chapters of I Just Want to Be Happy.

Jessica—the teacher—set the tone by referring to other “quest narratives,” such as The Wizard of Oz. Interesting.

In one chapter I say I “watched in horror” as the World Trade Center fell. They suggested I describe exactly what I felt and saw at the moment. They also suggested a better balance between scene and setting. I now know I need to—as I tell my students—“show, don’t tell.” My book is too discursive; the strongest parts are actual scenes and dialog.

Several also suggested they wanted to know more about the suffering the narrator endured as a child of alcoholic parents. They all wanted to know more about the narrator—more of me! They also suggested more tension would help.

So perhaps I am not done. I now think I may need to do some more revision.

After dinner and more faculty readings, Will and I sat on the porch of the Guest House and watched a distant lightning storm. Clouds rolled in and enveloped us, and then they drifted away again, restoring our view of the mountains. We talked some and sat in silence for a while. We saw a few lights down in the valley below; we saw the lights of lightning bugs in the forest around us, and we saw the bright stars overhead. The stars are so much clearer in the mountains.

Our lazy conversation lasted until midnight. It was a beautiful evening.

 

 Mountain High

High in the mountains
the clouds part
revealing the infinite blackness
of the night sky
pierced by bright points
of white stars
planets
galaxies

Down in the valley
the fog lifts
revealing villages
in the valley
punctuated by lights
house lights
headlights
street lights

Nearby in the trees
the mist clears
revealing fireflies
blinking their signals
like semaphores
metaphors
stars.