Confessions of a Conference Whore

Anne Soffee, you rock as the bringer-together of middle-aged writers and poets!

And yes: you're all middle-aged. Um, we're.

So I'm at a conference in Rockville, MD a few weeks ago, and Marita Golden was the keynote speaker. She was just as accessible as she was all those years ago -- i.e. she booked immediately after the conference. Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a stylishly appointed Sydney. Squealing and hugging ensued, and then she pointed out to me that the guy I had been sitting next to at a previous session was none other than Wynn Yarborough from the MA program at VCU when we were all quarantined together. I thought he looked familiar.

Then I'm at the CCCC in New Orleans last week -- if you've never been, it is ground zero for college writing instructors: picture 4,000 middle-aged Eleanor Rigbys with an accumulated ownership of over 15,000 housecats and four hairstyles -- and I find myself face to face with Dave Zoby. Yes, I know what you're thinking: it was indeed frightening. But it was also a damn nice treat to catch up over one or eleven beers after 13 years.

It made me realize that falling out of touch is criminal neglect in this day and age. I have managed more or less irregular contact with Dave Hendrickson and Virginia Watkins and Our Lady of the Internet, Anne Thomas Soffee -- but I would love to hear what everyone is doing. (Outside this blog, I'm at john@angryshark.net. Write me or send me naked pictures of your loved ones.)

Am I writing? Occasionally, but not as much as I should be. Am I published? Under a blue mooon and only in the most obscure journals. Am I okay with that? Not really.

I am going to a conference this weekend in Philly. Which of you will be there?

John