For as long as I can remember, I’ve NOT dreamed of hosting a writing retreat.
When I completed my MFA, I remember being vocal about how un-confident I was about teaching. I was only 24 years old. While most of my grad school colleagues prepared to enter academia or return to their established careers (as lawyers, massage therapists, marketing professionals, and so on), I got a job at a university press. Then at an academic library. Then at a newspaper. Then back to higher ed. I wrote and edited and blogged and archived and social media-ed, but I didn’t teach.
Concurrent to all these “day jobs” that I felt better suited for, I guest-lectured in classrooms, a thrilled poser who was about to be outed as someone who had no business talking to young(er) people about writing, or really anything. I worked paid and free gigs with various literary orgs and presses, and I published poems in small mags, then bigger ones. Then I published a chapbook, and a full-length, then another chapbook, then another full-length. I co-founded and ran an online mag for a decade.
Then…bad life stuff.
Then…I found the Center for Creative Writing. Continue reading