PicoBlog

The literary future is very BIPOC and very LGBTQ+: I don’t have the numbers but the whole place felt like an affinity group for traditionally underrepresented communities. FOX News and your cousin who just discovered either Ayn Rand or Trostky would probably predict that this made for a very dour, somber affair, what with all the social critiques and historical grievances we supposedly have. Instead, it made the whole experience incredibly joyful and funny as fuck. I have rarely found myself in a situation where almost everyone was either as funny or funnier than me. It was refreshing.

Finally, a literary event for extroverts: Or whatever, for people who actually enjoy other people’s company. (I hate the introvert/extrovert divide that initiated the now-storied tradition of self-diagnosing all sorts of personality traits powered with one TikTok and a cursory reading of astrology.) After the years of dwindling social life in Chicago, COVID and solo travel, I have been craving an abundance of social contact. An avalanche of it. An overwhelming presence of community. And here it was, amidst the happy hours, trivia nights, public readings, cafeteria lunches, Slack activity, impromptu dance parties, swim outings and more.

A workshop experience that centers the needs of the writer: I’m so glad we’re finally breaking free from the traditional workshop mode where the writer has to stay in a cone of silence while they listen to every single person in their class share their thoughts about their work. It’s not that I’ve ever had the sort of nightmare scenarios that have given people pause as to whether this is the right way to offer constructive criticism. Thankfully. But when I’m working on a draft, I am paying attention to specific elements and want feedback on those elements only. Anything more can be overwhelming and frankly premature. In our workshops, each writer had the opportunity to say exactly what it is they wanted feedback on whether that was flow, style, gaps, places where they felt stuck.

Peers want to see peers shine: I was scheduled to read on the very last student reading of the very last day and was convinced all attendees would have lost the willingness or desire to see anyone else read one damn thing. I was so, so wrong. Those students readings where packed every single day and you regularly saw faculty sitting amongst the crowd. I almost passed out when Kristen Arnett approached ME to say how much she liked my piece.

Bonding at warp speed: We’re all sharing the most vulnerable sides of our lives (writing) and when it comes to non-fiction, that usually meant we were starting our day discussing the absolute saddest events of our lives. You become bffs after 24 hours. I would probably sword fight an entire cavalry to protect my workshop buddies.

The Tin House Karaoke Experience lived up to its reputation: somewhere, there is a video of me in a very short black dress, 5 shots of mezcal in, singing “If I Could Turn Back Time” at full volume.

I think I have New York writer friends now??? It was nice to meet people who were in a similar stage of our careers because, as much as open mics in a Ridgewood dive have their purpose, I am beyond that while not yet accomplished enough to just insert myself into the Literati here.

I continue to elude the shitty dorm situation: My room assignment ended up being in the former home of Reed College presidents of yore, which mean that we had closed-door bathrooms and windows that opened. THE LAP OF LUXURY.

Craft lectures that fought against all the systemic shit that holds us down, but with actual info on what tools we could use to do that: I will often go to talks or lectures about how we must decolonize our writing and while I agree with that sentiment, I’m left with one big question: ok, but how? I can’t suddenly bring out an Inkan quipu and revert to an indigenous language I don’t even know. Every craft lecture here had that undertone but was accompanied by a plan of action of what approaches helped to bring out your own voice and free yourself from the tyranny of [insert whatever structure of power is bringing you down].

Bright light in pretty lackluster summer: I have spent the past few months very overwhelmed with work and personal issues that have made this summer feel heavier than most. How shall I put this? I now look back on August 2020 with nostalgia. Yup, it’s been that stressful. Tin House, however, felt like heaven. Like a glimpse into what my real life should be. I want to chase that high, use it as motivation to keep pushing on this silly writing dream even though I’m no young ingenue and I constantly feel like I keep making the wrong moves in adulthood lol.