In January, I set off for Boston to a slew of writing workshops and classes, a fresh sea of faces, among whom could be my next friend and writing confidante. In the meantime, I wait, trying to anticipate what a modicum of a schedule for my first semester will look like. I write everyday, through the medium of a blog or poems- they have not been tepid in their response and life seems to have such fodder presently.
At Green Apple Books tonight, I rifled through the “Writers and Poets” magazine, reading up on MFA programs and the fuel under my candle came in the assessment of low residency programs as providing a “real world” experience to writers by teaching discipline in the midst of working, loving, living. And so I wait, considering that I like life to be bubbling over with activity and will embrace whatever realities and relationship curvings that come with an immersion in a life of letters.
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