But I didn’t bring the cable for my digital camera, so you’ll have to wait.
Last year I often felt lost and confused at AWP. This year I might be confused, but when I got lost, I knew enough to follow Johnny Temple, who knew how to get to his panel. I happened upon Ron Hogan, who was running home to post on Galleycat. Gavin Grant was easy to find — despite the fact that the book fair is on multiple floors — he was, predictably, at the Small Beer Press table. I caught the last few moments of Dan Wicket’s blog panel, which would have been fine if the slightly unhinged woman in the audience had stopped babbling about blog carnivals.
I saw Lydia Davis read — but had been hoping for a conversation between her and fellow panelists Percival Everett, Francine Prose and Jennifer Egan, so ducked out. Generally I don’t enjoy readings at conferences, since it seems like such a great chance to let smart interesting people — these writers — talk to each other, maybe exchange ideas. But I’ll still try them from time to time — look for me at the One Story reading today. John Hodgman is on the bill! John KELLOGG Hodgman. Long lost relative? Perhaps I will finally find out.
I stuck my head in to see Joyce Carol Oates, who said “I think of myself as just transparent, I’m just a class of water, I’m nothing, I’m not here.” During her 75 minute presentation, I understand, she revised a short story, wrote a piece for Bookforum, gave notes on two Princeton students’ manuscripts and finished a novella.
Ah–we were in the same room, then! I was at the One Story reading–alas, John Hodgman was not there. But I loved N.M. Kelby and her incredible equilibrium as a reader while the fire alarms kept going off. It made me really like her on a personal level.
Just barely. I started out at the experimental fiction reading, hit One Story for a moment, then retreated to the post-baby-boomer literacy panel — just in time for the fire alarms.