Much to write, but little time, so in short:

Goddard’s residency was the experience of a lifetime. Really. “They” say you go to Goddard as you are and come home leaving as who you want to be. Maybe that should be, who you are meant to be–because I didn’t mean to come back the way I did, but I see now it’s who I should be–in a good way. I learned a lot about writing, but I learned more about life: like how one really can’t choose, in the end, who impacts them. This seems ambiguous. Let me just say, sometimes, we try really hard not to care, but then we realize, oh damn, I do care. Again, very ambiguous, but… Vermont was so surreal, so wonderfully isolated and created such a tightknit community. K, M, S, B, OK and OK–what wonderful people. I know I’m leaving some good friends out, but these were the ambiguously-initialed individuals who had the greatest impact on not only my work, but also my life. I learned a lot about being an individual and letting my individuality serve as a parenting mechanism in itself. Here I thought that having a “life of my own” was a bad thing–but I learned from OK and OK and M and a few others that kids appreciate a mom who fulfills a dream, who proves things don’t have to end because the unexpected kicks your ass.

UGH. I can’t say what I want to say here–not well, anyway.

The pattern for Lark Books is seriously a drain–but I think I can do that. I’m wondering now, though, how I will write/read/write/write so much for the next six months and keep up with everything else. I guess we’ll see.

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