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Tayari's Blog: Notes From The Mountain

Posted by TayariJones on August 19, 2009 10:29 AM
Filed under The Writing Life

My buddy, Alex, has written up his reflections on our three-day junket up to Bread Loaf. Here are mine—in the same format.

1.
This is the fourth or fifth time that I have gone to Bread Loaf. The first time was in 2003 (at long last) as a fellow—an award given to new writers within a year or so of their first books. I remember being a little bit scared, worried that people could tell that I wasn’t quite of this world. By “this world” I mean the mostly white, really ambitious, buzz-wordy universe. Mostly there was no need for me to be so worried. Everyone was scared, but for different reasons. In the visits that follow, I go as a slacker. Maybe I offered a one hour class, but mostly I hung out. This time, as last time, I go to keep Natasha company. To hear her reading.

2.
Alex and I have a fun drive up. We’re good friends and we’re good together. I have a new complicated hairstyle, which he compliments me on. In the car, we work on our private language of friendship. We invent new sayings. The three hour drive from his place to the mountain seems to take nine, but we get there. Natasha and Randall Keenan are walking up the sidewalk in front of the yellow clapboard buildings. I jump on the brakes, hop out of the car and give squealing hugs.

3.
Alex goes to lots of craft talks and readings and learns things. But for me Bread Loaf is always about the people. Alex gives breathless reports of all that he’s gathered and tucked away in this busy mind. I ask him if my hair is okay.

4.
Bread Loaf is a place where you can see people you haven’t seen in ten or fifteen years. People you didn’t even know were still writing. It’s a place where people try and give it another shot. It’s also a place where you see the people you see all the time on the circuit. At Bread Loaf you can see people that you’ve only met on the internet.

5.
The mosquito situation is unbelievable.

6.
When I say “young” writer I don’t mean age. There are a lot of young writers up on the mountain. Dolen has just gotten her galley in the mail. I can feel her excitement rolling off her skin in electric waves. Other writers were at that sad moment when you realize your first book isn’t going to solve your problems. Still others, on the brink, were wearing lucky boots or special shirt for ten minute meeting the agents and editors. It’s like speed dating, but you feel like your life depends on it.

7.
I say to Natasha, “I think I may be aging out of this scene.” We’re at a restaurant off campus because we need a little quiet and a little adult food. We are doing last minute revisions to her new poems. She says, “Probably.” We order a really good bottle of wine.

8.
On Monday night, Natasha reads from her new manuscript. We over-dress a bit, giving a little extra with the shoes. When she steps to the podium, Dolen and I scream and stamp our feet like we are at a concert. Reciting, Natasha’s in familiar territory, investigating history, but these poems are tonally different than the elegiac pieces that made up Native Guard. These new verses ask pointed questions. She doesn’t let anyone off the hook. These poems grab you by the throat. You can see the intensity on her face, in the space between her eyes when she pronounces the words. Natasha is the real thing.

9.
The nest day, Alex and I get back in the bucket to drive back. We laugh a lot, sing Mariah Carey songs, and trade stories. I tell Alex that he seems like an elder statesman these days. He doesn’t say how I seem. When I get home, I feel like I have been gone forever, but it's just been three days. Waiting for me in front of my door is my manuscript, marked up by my friend, Renee. I am eager to see what she thinks, but I am too tired to even open the envelope.

August 19, 2009 11:11 AM