Well, if you think you’re the only one a) flying to Minneapolis on a Thursday afternoon, and b) flying to Minneapolis on a Thursday afternoon to attend AWP, you would, in fact, be very, very wrong. You would find yourself immediately sitting across from four poets, for example, as you wait for your flight to board. Already, someone is handing out postcards for his new book (beautiful cover).
The woman next to you on the plane is editing manuscripts for a small literary magazine and the woman behind you has some business with Grub Street.
Oh! And NO ONE (and I mean no one) is watching the in-flight television.
Also, I haven’t met anyone yet who hasn’t been to several AWP’s. Let’s see, someone said, counting off AWP cities the way I count my students’ heads as they climb back aboard the bus after a field trip (I did leave someone behind in a cemetery once; exchange student; long story). Turns out, by November, it was impossible to find anywhere in Minneapolis to stay.
My hotel is very convenient to the action and the lobby? Full of writers.
Now if only Rebecca’s plane would land, this one writer out of thousands would love to go to bed.