This week I attended the Iowa Summer Writing Festival in Iowa City, a program for writers of all levels, those just beginning through published professionals. I strongly recommend this program for you, if you have any interest in developing your writing, or any desire to meet other writers.
I chose a class in creative non-fiction. “Creative” is distinct from “expository” or “journalistic” or “textbook” writing. Most of what is written in the “creative” category, I learned, is called “memoir” from the French for “remembering.” It often includes the kinds of things old people talk about on the porch on a summer evening, watching the fire flies light the sky and hearing the crickets chirp, or the answers to questions sisters and brothers ask each other when the conversation turns to events of childhood. Not limited to old people, memoir could include the musings on a trip a young person took for study abroad, while she explored new worlds and maintained her own identity, or to what is sometimes called the journey of the soul.
Our class started with twelve students and one teacher, but on the first night, one student realized this was not the right fit for him, and changed to another class. Our group had three men, one of whom was the teacher, and nine women, and we ranged in age from 22 to at least 73. We quickly formed a cohesive group and had surprisingly similar tastes in reading and writing, though each one had a particular style. We were asked to bring an excerpt of about 30 pages from our book project in twelve printed copies. This is not the normal format of the workshop, but something this teacher wanted to try. Each day we discussed two of these projects, and also had discussion of other works and aspects of writing. Additionally, each day there was an optional lecture at 11:00 am by various members of the workshop faculty. It was an intense week with both affirmation and constructive criticism of our work, and new areas of writing to explore.
Iowa City is home to University of Iowa, and was the original capital city of Iowa. The “Old Capitol” building stands as a museum on the campus near the downtown of the city. A pedestrian walkway nearby includes a children’s playground and a delightful water playground. One day I took off my sandals and walked on the wet bricks while the children ran through the sprays of water. About eight faucets shoot water up from the sidewalk forming a series of water arches sparkling in the sun. Children run through this arched hallway, some completely wet, while others run through without getting wet.
One day I saw a man sitting on a ledge talking on his phone. His shoes were completely covered in silver duct tape. I enjoyed shopping in the small boutiques and eating lunch in the sidewalk cafes. On the final day, a little girl, perhaps ten years old, saw my nametag and asked me, “Is your name Julia?” I said, “Yes, it is.” “That’s my name,” she said, delighted to find another person with this name. I said I was pleased to meet her, and happy she bore this honorable and ancient name.
Last year I attended this festival and told the teacher, when she asked, “I am looking for focus and direction.” This year I have found that focus and direction in my project about my times in China as an English teacher. I have also received affirmation for that direction, and suggestions for refining my focus. I’m very excited about my writing project, but now I must set it aside, because we have only five weeks to enjoy the summer here, and get ready to return to China for another year of teaching.