I spent my first Pacific University MFA residency with one hundred and twenty-five fellow students supported by twenty-five faculty-writers.
As my dad used to say, “there wasn’t a clunker in the bunch” although the group did tilt decidedly to the left, not unexpected in a community of artists. One well-know faculty member used his turn at the podium for an extended conservative bashing. Without actually craning my neck to look, everyone I saw nodded in agreement.To blend in with my new BFF, I may wear my “I donated to NPR” button at the June residency.
On the subject of “you said what?” I award Honorable Mention to the woman sharing her creative theory that the US Treasury caused the financial crisis by flooding the banking system with unused greenbacks printed in anticipation of Y2K. She must write fiction, or perhaps fantasy.
And then there’s the Scarlet Letter A – as in Age. During my application process I was assured the average student age was thirty-eight. Right, I buy that. But, oh, what a distribution curve it must have taken to create that average thirty-eight-year-old student. Young’uns right out of their Bachelors’ degrees held down one end of the bell curve while I sat on the other, my head ringing.
Still, it’s all good. To quote a fellow freshman, “I can’t wait to use my student ID for discounts. That AARP card is embarrassing.”