Home again

I am back home.
It is now Wednesday, July 31, and I am finding it very difficult to make the transition from being on retreat in a remote mountain cabin to being back at my regular world, nice as it is.

I know I need to find a balance between the interconnected online digital world and the peaceful and serene natural world. I need both in my life. When I left Plum Village last summer Brother Ky Lee gave me a cock on which he had painted the Chinese symbols for "Mountain" and "River." Mountains and rivers are both very important to me. So is being connected with my friends and family.

Yesterday, Tuesday, I simply tried to adjust to civilization. It included going to my office at the college and cleaning out my e-mail, which was overloaded. I also had to deal with the most pressing business obligations. There will be more of that today. On Monday I drive from Carlisle, Pa., to home. It was a long, hard drive. On Sunday, I drove from Wildacres to Carlisle, Pa. That was a long drive too.

And Saturday was my final day as Writer-in-residence, or cabin dweller, as I prefer. It was great. I had breakfast in the dining hall with staff. All three artists-in-residence had lunch together in the little Switzerland Café. And then Lona, the storyteller, brought over some frozen stuffed shells, which she heated up for our dinner. After dinner we saw a bear at my cabin door. That was definitely a highlight of the trip.

Wildacres Residency Day 5

Friday, July 26, I drove into town to do laundry and get an Internet connection. I have been focusing on my writing and reading lately.

Last night I finished Joe Haldeman's science fiction classic The Forever War. I am so glad I finally read it because I have known Joe and his wife Gay for many years, and they have stayed in my home. At last I know what all the fuss is about. It is, indeed, a wonderful book. It is an eloquent anti-war story by a decorated combat veteran, and it is also a sweet love story taking place in several different centuries.

I will take advantage of the Internet connection to upload three photos of my beloved Owl's Nest Cabin at Wildacres. I will miss it.

The Owl's Nest cabin at Wildacres.

I

The interior of the Owl's Nest at Wildacres

The writing desk in the Owl's Nest.

Wildacres residency Day 4

Thursday, July 25 was beautiful. We had warm sunny weather, but cool enough to remain pleasant. I didn't use my car at all; I walked up to the dining hall for lunch and dinner. In between I wrote. Some was my textbook, and some was my report to the College President about my sabbatical.

I am getting used to the solitude. In my cabin I am completely alone. It feels good.

In the evening a local family presented an informal concert of Appalachian roots music. It was delightful. I was struck by the lack of rhythm and prevalence of melody in the music of the mountains that came from Northern Europe. It was the mixture of this style with African rhythms that created rock 'n' roll.

Wildacres Residency Day 3

Wildacres residency Day 3

Wednesday, July 24, dawned cool and cloudy.  I awoke with a headache. I took two Tylenol with breakfast and began to feel better.
I worked from 8 to 10 finishing Chapter 18 and then moved on to Chapter 19. I finished Chapter 19 before lunch. Wahoo! On a roll!

And now I am back online again. The twin peaks of my sabbatical experience have been the power of mindfulness, peace and tranquility on one hand, and the power of an integrated digital media platform on the other hand. I love sitting in my isolated cabin in the woods, and I also love being a part of this new kind of conversation. Balance is the answer--balance.

More writing and reading Wednesday night and evening.

 

 

 

 

 

Wildacres Residency Day 2

Wildacres residency Day 2
I slept later than I expected on Tuesday, July 23. It was nearly 9 a.m. when I finally came to my senses and got up. Breakfast up at the lodge was at 8 a.m., so I was happy that I had bought Cheerios and soy milk last night.
As I ate breakfast, poetry came bursting out of me. I wrote a new poem called “Grandfathers,” and I rewrote “Voices of the Blue Ridge” yet again. I think I may have it this time.

Then, between 10 and 12, I worked on Chapter 18 of The Elements of Academic Writing, about parts of speech.

After lunch, we three artists-in-residence got together and made a Wal-Mart run. What with chatting and getting to know each other, most of the afternoon slipped away. Dinner at the dining hall was good as usual, and we had some more good conversations. Jan (the young artist) and I talked about the “story arc.” I mentioned that it was the main theme of the writers conference I attended here two weeks ago.

For a story to keep a reader’s interest, it must have characters we care about, a source of conflict or struggle, a dramatic climax in which the conflict is resolved, and a conclusion that leaves the reader feeling like change has occurred.

Perhaps I should look over each of the stories in my memoir and see if they each have that. Also, perhaps I should look at whether the whole book, taken as one piece, maintains that story arc.

Wildacres Residency Day 1

I arrived back at Wildacres in the early afternoon of Monday, July 22, 2013, and was greeted warmly by Dave and Sherry.

(The director, Mike, and his wife, Katherine, who I met during the writers retreat, are on vacation. I wonder where people who live at Wildacres go on vacation. Of course I am from Cape Cod, so people may ask that about me.)

The Owl’s Nest cabin is even more beautiful and comfortable that I had hoped. There is a king-sized bed, three easy chairs, a writing table, a full kitchen and bathroom. The main room is open to the peaked roof and is about 30 by 45 feet. It is a real log cabin with huge tree trunks forming the main beams. It seems to be the same style as the cabins built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. At the south end there is a modern kitchen and bathroom with a sleeping loft above. The cabin is located about a mile down the Wildacres Road from the main campus of the Wildacres Retreat.

The staff member who cleaned the cabin said a black bear has been sighted regularly around the cabins. This used to be the only residency cabin, but the Wildacres staff built two more this year.

I spent most of the afternoon reading journal entries left by previous artists and writers in residence. I feel like I have been initiated into a wonderful secret society. I love it. I am going to relax this evening and write a lot on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Perhaps Sunday too—we’ll see.

In the evening I drove the mile up the mountain to the main campus, where I had dinner at the staff table with Dave and Sherry and their children, plus two other artists in residence, Lona, a storyteller, and Jan, a visual artist. After dinner I went into Spruce pine for supplies—Cheerios, soy milk, and soda.

I fell asleep to the sound of rain on the metal roof. At one point in the night I awoke and found a large cricket in my bed. That inspired the following poem Tuesday morning:

Grandfathers

Last night, after trip to the bathroom,
I found a giant cricket in my bed.
It was the largest I had ever seen.
As a boy, I used to catch crickets in my bare hands,
but this one—Grandfather Cricket, I called him—was too large.
Does size in crickets come with age?
I found a two-cup Pyrex measuring cup in the kitchen.
The one-cup measure was not large enough.
A grabbed a phone book for our mountain hamlet.
It was the smallest I had ever seen.
I swiftly captured him between the book and cup.
He jumped and flailed inside his two-cup home
as I carried him to the door
and flung him out to sleep in the woods.
This morning I wonder if he—a grandfather like myself—
only wanted a soft, warm, dry place to rest his weary head.
 
James W. Kershner, July 2013, Owl’s Nest cabin, Wildacres

 

 

 

 

Mount Pisgah Day 8

Early Sunday morning I noticed a blinking green light on my cell phone, hanging in a mesh pocket next to my head. It was Brandon telling me the glow in the east was beautiful. I got up, added my jeans to the two pairs of sweatpants I was already wearing, and drove up the hill to the office, where Brandon was just ending his shift.

After watching the sunrise and eating breakfast in the dining room, we walked around the campground for a while, and then decided to join a worship service in the campground presented by Christian Ministries in the National Parks. There were three college-age leaders who welcomed us and sang, but the main speaker was a special guest named Dave, who has a motorcycle ministry. He tolk us how Jesus saved his loife and all the ways he has lived that over the last 30 years as a shepherd on a motorcycle. I am really glad Brandon and I went.

Mount Pisgah Day 7

There was yet more rain on Saturday, but it is not getting me down.

I am sharing my campsite with a friend, although I have not met my new friend. I set up my tent on the nice tent platform supplied by the National Park Service. It is four landscaping ties forming a raised square filled with blue stone and gravel. I didn't notice any animal holes in the area when I set up my tent, but afterwards, there was an obvious two-inch hole right in front of my tent. Later the hole disappeared, and then it appeared again.



Now you see it...

... now you don't.

I finally figured out that my neighbor was covering the entrance to his home by covering the hole with carefully placed stones. That was reassuring because I could not imaging a rattlesnake having the dexterity to close his door so carefully. It's hard to imaging a chipmunk doing that either, but that's who I imagine is doing all this midnight landscape engineering.

I've taken to speaking to him as I go in and out of my door, but I have not seen him yet. I have seen a few chipmunks around the campsite, so I figure he it must be one of those. I sure do admire his or her dexterity.

I managed to do another half-hour run between rainstorms this afternoon, and it felt wonderful, as usual.

Mount Pisgah Day 6

A statue of hogs and geese going to market in Pack Square.

Friday, July 19, found me heading back down to Asheville. It is such a friendly city. I needed to refill a prescription, and it all happened without any problem at all.

Then I had a veggie wrap at the Jackson Underground Café and now I am at Malarops enjoying free wi-fi and a great chai tea latte.



In the afternoon and evening, I styed at the campground. I took a walk around the campground and encountered a young woman struggling with a huge tent. I hoped to be a hero and show her how to do it, but I didn't have a clue either. Then the park ranger came by and tried too. He and I decided there must be pieces missing. Finally the girl's boyfriend arrived just before a torrential downpour. The boy and girl (about 20 I guess) took off.


My campsite at Mount Pisgah.

I checked back after the storm to see how they made out. There was no sign of the young couple, but a camper form a neighboring site figured it out and had their tent all set up.

Mount Pisgah Day 5

Thursday, July 18, 2013, dawned as a clear morning after a night of rain. It was raining so hard last night I decided to get dinner in the dining room. I had good chicken pot pie. I had done a load of laundry Wednesday evening, but some of the clothers--like jeans--were not dry. So I brought them up to the camp store this morning to give them an extra 15 minutes in the dryer.

A poem is taking shape, but I am not sure of it yet.

Then Brandon came to visit, and we spent the whole day together, just walking around the Mount Pisgah area. We also went down to Looking Glass Falls and on into Brevard for a dinner at a Waffle House--a real southern treat.

Mount Pisgah Day 4

View of Mount Pisgah from the picnic area.
 

Tuesday, July 16, was another beautiful day on Mount Pisgah. I relaxed around the campsite in the morning. Then I drove down to Candler and picked up Brandon to give him a ride to work, up at the lodge. Then I went for a run along the Blue Ridge Parkway. I looked off in the distance and saw ridge after ridge and daydreamed of running along the tops of the ridges. Then I looked down at my feet and realized I was, indeed, running along the top of one of those ridges. What a great feeling!

Brandon came down to my campsite during a break in his shift, and we sat around a campfire and talked. Later, I worked on a poem.

Mount Pisgah Day 3

This morning I woke up and was thrilled to find it not raining. I took a shower at the comfort station and had a Luna nutrition bar for breakfast. Then I headed for the Mazda dealer in Asheville. While they were looking at my car I had lunch with my son Brandon and his wife Poppy Kay. In the end, the mechanic said there was nothing wrong with my air conditioner after all. He said sometimes the condenser drain freezes if you run the a.c. for an unusual length of time (as I did on the trip through New York.) They had it for more than three hours, but didn't charge me anything. I was very grateful.

Now I am back at Malaprops Bookstore and Café. This afternoon I am going to meet up with a friend I met at the retreat who lives nearby.

Writing: I need to resume my writing. I think I should plow ahead with The Elements of Academic Writing,and let I Just Want to Be Happy rest for a while. I'll see what Glenda and the editor at the Cape Cod Writers Conference say before going back to that. I may have a poem emerging too. We'll see.

LATE ADDITION:
I forgot to mention earlier a wonderful experience. Tuesday evening at sunset, I was driving back up the mountain from Asheville and passed several cars pulled over on the side of the road to watch the beautiful sunset. As I passed one car, a young man gave me a little wave. So I waved back and drove on. But then I stopped and backed up. Something didn't look quite right. They weren't looking at the sunset. I asked if he was OK.
"Not really," he replied. "Can you help me push start me car?"
Rather than push it, I offered to jump-start his car with jumper cables. He liked that even better, I was happy to help, and the young man and his girlfriend were extremely grateful. I am so glad I backed up and asked.

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.

Wildacres Day 8

Sunday, July 7, 2013, got off to a great start. I set my alarm for 6:30, got up quietly and walked up to the canteen, where Marci, Carol, and I meditated for 10 minutes. Marci left to go shower, and Carol and I walked around the retreat center for a while until breakfast at 8. The morning meditation just seems to make the whole day go better. I have been meditating on my own almost every day, but it felt very good to sit with a group. My home Sangha will be meeting back on Cape Cod today, and I send them good wishes through that mysterious network of meditation and mindfulness.

After breakfast I did laundry. I feel guilty that most of the folks here would have to go to a Laundromat in Spruce Pine, but the five of us in the guesthouse have our own washer and dryer.

While the laundry was drying I went to the lobby where I got an Internet signal to post this. I also re-read Jessica Handler's guidelines for the critique sessions. I didn't realize I was supposed to write a note to each participant. I'll do that between now (10 a.m.) and the class (2:30 p.m.)

Sunday afternoon was our first workshop class with our teacher, Jessica Handler, who is a successful author. I like her a lot. We talked about the nature of nonfiction. Jessica mentioned the phrase, “true stories well told,” which I like a lot. We discussed the nature of authorial integrity—do you trust the author? Do you trust the narrator’s voice? Other questions to ask are: “Is the setting clear?” and, “What’s at stake?”

We critiques two students’ work, and I volunteered to be one of the students to be critiques on Monday.

After dinner there were readings from four faculty members, and they were very good. I noticed that many of them made reference to Southern culture, reminding me that I am in the South. There was a party in the evening, but I went to bed early.

 

Wildacres Day 7

Wildacres Day 7

Saturday, July 6, 2013, was the end of the writers’ retreat at Wildacres, and the beginning of the writers’ workshop.

 

At 5:30 there was a “mixer” on the patio outside the canteen, although we all had to move inside when it began to rain again. It was an opportunity to meet the new writers who arrived that day. Last week there were about 50 writers and 50 others who were attending workshops for potters and storytellers. On Saturday the potters and storytellers left the mountain and 50 more writers arrived. I am glad I was here for both weeks. I had the first week to get comfortable with 50 other writers, and now more people have arrived.

 

After dinner, we had an orientation. Besides the rules and regulations (don’t hike alone, don’t pester the instructors, no smoking), the workshop director, Judi Hill, told a lot of jokes. There are little green dots on the nametags of some of the attendees, including mine. We were told the green dots identified first-time participants, but Judi said it identified people with STD’s. That got a good laugh.

Then we had a little while to gather in our workshop classes. I have signed up for a creative nonfiction workshop with a teacher names Jessica Handler. So in the evening Jessica and 10 students all met in the canteen and got organized. We have all submitted 10-page samples. And we all have copies of them, in a packet that is 100-pages long. Two students volunteered to be the subjects of our first critique session, Sunday. Then we will go over two samples each session.

 

There was also a late-night party at 10 p.m., but I went to bed early because another student, Marci, from Boone, N.C., suggested meditating in the canteen at 7 a.m. I also re-read the samples we will be discussing in the first workshop.

Wildacres Day 6

 

July 5, 2013:

Last night I went to bed and read the last section of Janna Zonder’s book Magenta Rose. This morning I sat next to her at breakfast and told her how much I enjoyed the book. (It is available from Amazon. She walked back to the Guest House with me and autographed my copy of her book. We had a lovely conversation. This is all so interesting.

I am writing this at 9:30 a.m., and now plan to work until noon on Chapters 15 and 16.

* * *

It’s about 10 p.m. now, and we had an exciting day. Yes I did make progress on my book. I am up to Chapter 17 now.  As usual in the mornings, I was working at a side-table near the picture window in the living room of the guest house. Claude was at his usual place at the dining-room table. His wife, Susan, was working in their room, but she came out and conferred with Claude from time to time. Will was in his room.

Daryl usually works at the table with Claude, but he spent most of the morning taking a nap on a sofa in the living room. After lunch, I came back and saw Daryl taking another nap. I thought that was strange. After lunch the sun came out for the first time all week. I went out to my Mazda Miata, which was parked next to Daryl’s nearly identical Miata. He and I had talked a lot about how much we loved our Miatas, despite the fact that the week of rain had gotten the carpets of both our cars wet. The roofs leak in prolonged rain. IN an attempt to dry out the soggy interior, I put the top down in my Miata, cranked up the heater, and drove up the Parkway a couple of miles to Little Switzerland, where I got a chai tea and checked the Internet. I uploaded the previous day’s blog entry. When I got back to Wildacres, I went for a short hike. I just looped around the Mountaintop Trail, which curves around the western side of the Wildacres property. It only takes about 20 minutes to walk that trail from the Guest House to the dining hall. Then I completed the loop back to the Guest House by the paved path through the middle of the complex.

When I got back—about 5 p.m.—two Wildacres staff members asked if I was staying there and did I know where Daryl’s room was. They said Daryl was lost in the woods and had called his wife, who called Wildacres. The office called 911, and a team of EMT’s and other rescue folks went looking for him. Apparently several people from the retreat were also searching the woods. The staff members wanted to look through his room to see if there were any medications. They said his wife had given permission for them to do that.

All through dinner people worried about Daryl and wondered what to do. After dinner I saw Mike, the director of the retreat center. He said they had not found Daryl yet. Several of us asked if we should go look, but Mike said they didn’t want to send any more people off into the woods at this point, and that the professional search and rescue folks knew best how to do it.

 

About an hour later—about 7 p.m.—Mike asked me to go into Daryl’s room again and get a complete change of dry clothes. He said the rescue team had located Daryl and were bringing him back. They said he needed dry clothes. Marci was there and came with me. We got the clothes to Mike very quickly, and Mike rushed off to meet Daryl.

We had assumed the evening reading would be canceled, but since Daryl was located, we went ahead. The readings were wonderful as usual. About 8:30, the conference director, Judi, came in and said she had just been talking to Daryl, and he was fine. In fact, she said, he wanted to read some poems. She also reminded us all of the rule that nobody should ever hike these trails alone. A few minutes later Daryl walked into the room to thunderous applause. We were all so glad to see him.
 

Daryl and out two (almost) identical cars

 

 

Wildacres Day 5

July 4, 2013, was another rainy day at Wildacres.

After breakfast I finished Chapter 13 of my textbook and began Chapter 14.

In late morning I decided to work on drying out the interior of my car. I brought two towels out and spread them on the seat. Then I sat on them and drove the 3.5 miles into Little Switzerland. I found a bookstore and coffee shop I have loved for years and ordered a chai tea latte. Then I saw a woman I recognized from my writing conference and greeted her. She ordered a chai tea too. I am glad I ran into her because I had forgotten my wallet. Marci was kind enough to buy my chai. We also found out there was going to be a Fourth of July parade there at 4. I may go back.

After lunch I walked back to the guest house with Will. We had a nice talk. Then Mike came up. He is the director of the Wildacres Conference Center. He said something like, “So you’re going to be in one of our cabins in a few weeks?”

I said “Oh, yes, the writer-in-residence thing.”

I am really looking forward to that.

Then I wrote a new poem:

 

 The Network

Gigabytes, terabytes
stored in the cloud
Access it anywhere
It’s all in the cloud

I’ve been to the cloud
I’ve been to the mountain
The Blue Ridge is shrouded
By clouds on the mountain

From high on the mountain
I connect with the spirit
That ties us together
Because we are spirit

Stardust and spirit
Together in joy
One person’s love
Is everyone’s joy

We are all in that joy
We are all in the cloud
With unlimited storage
It’s all in the cloud.

--James W. Kershner July 2013

 

 

Wildacres Day 4

Wildacres Day 4

Wednesday, July 3, 2013, was a rainy day in Little Switzerland. There have been rain showers every afternoon for the last four days, but last night, while we were having our evening readings, the rain settled in with a steady downpour. It rained hard all night, and it still raining this morning at 9:30, while I am trying to do my morning writing.

At the readings last night, about 20 people read, I think. I recited my “New Poem,” and several people complimented me on it. The highlight was when one of the last readers got up. He had been taking notes, and he created a poem made up entirely of quotations form the previous readings. He pieced the quoted together so that they made sense, but not in the way the phrases had in their original context. Each of us reacted when we heard our own quotes or a familiar phrase form a previous reading. Sometimes a single work—like “naked”—would be enough to remind everyone of the original piece. We were all laughing, cheering or applauding by the end of his presentation.

During the breakfast announcements, one of the organizers announced that this is towel-exchange day and also “casual sex Wednesday.” I think he was kidding.

Today I plan to finish Chapter 11 and also Chapter 12. Let’s see if I can do that.

Afternoon update: Yes, and I started Chapter 13 as well. Of course these are extremely short chapters by design, roughly 1,000 words each. All I am doing is editing, rearranging and expanding on material I previously prepared as handouts for class.

In this lovely old guesthouse, there is a large living room with picture windows featuring mountain vistas. The whole house is in the style of Western ranch houses with pine paneling. Above the living room there is a balcony with two bedrooms, occupied these two weeks by Will and I. Will is 67 but looks a little younger than that. He still lives near where he was born in Western North Carolina. He said he has been to many retreats here at Wildacres—mostly in retreats for singer-songwriters. It turns out, one of his instructors right here at Wildacres was Carrie Newcomer, my all-time favorite singer-songwriter.

Will and I have a lot in common, including military service during the Vietnam War that did not include combat, and names. He is James William Wilson, and I am James Williamson Kershner, so the first 12 letters of our names are the same. And, of course, we are both writers. First and foremost, we are writers.

Wildacres Day 3

I had a major breakthrough this morning. I talked to an author who used Amazon Create Space to publish her book. She had an excellent experience and convinced me it is the way to go.

Last night at the readings, the one reading that made the greatest impression was one by a woman from Georgia named Janna Zonder. She read the first chapter of her new novel, Magenta Rave. This morning after breakfast I asked Janna if I could buy a copy of her book. She invited me to her room and we talked about publishing. I learned more in the 20-minute conversation with Janna than I have in the last six months of attending workshops and reading articles. She said the customer service at Create Space was excellent, and the cost of the process is very low. Her basic cost for each book is about $5, and she is selling the book for $12.99. She said the hardest part for her was the formatting, but I believe my experience designing newspaper pages should make that easier for me. I can’t wait to do it myself. Talking to an author about Create Space—while holding her beautiful book in my hands—was a transformative experience.

Until this morning I was harboring a prejudice against “self-published” books. Having talked to Janna, I feel different. Now I feel confident that it is the way to go for me. After workshopping my book here at Wildacres and at the Cape Cod Writers Conference, I think I will move to setting up my book through Create Space. Glenda will also be editing it, so I feel confident I will have a high-quality book.

After the talk with Janna, I returned to the Guest House for a morning of writing. The hard part is going back to The Elements of Academic Writing after getting so excited about publication options for I Just Want to Be Happy. Life is good.

In that morning of writing, I finished chapter 10 and started on Chapter 11. I also went back and re-read the first 10 chapters for consistency in tone, voice and point of view. I found out there is no escaping using second-person in this book. After lunch I walked the Mountaintop Trail, which circles the property. It was a short trail with some steep hills. It only took me about 20 minutes to walk it.

After the walk, I rested in bed and read the first four chapters of Janna’s book. It is very good. Then back to writing. I got a little writing done, but ended up mostly chatting with my housemates about foreign travel. After last year's trip to France, I felt comfortable in the conversation. I walked up to the lodge to upload this blog where these is an Internet connection. After dinner, there will be more readings. Perhaps I'll offer my new poem.