Saving the Lecturship
Friday night was a lovely evening with a few clouds moving across a turquoise sky that slowly turned rose, then lavender as the sun sank. All of the writers headed off to the university president’s house for the faculty picnic. It was hamburgers and garden burgers and hotdogs. Side dishes included the usual bowl of salsa. (Even down in little Texas we have to have our fix of hot food), potato salad (surprise, it was good. Another confession. I’m unAmerican. I intensely dislike potatoes) and baked beans. The house is a lovely brick ranch house with an enormous backyard. Ian’s comment as we entered the yard was that he wanted to be the president of ENMU.
The yard was filled with folding chairs and tables, and the real surprise was the ENMU steel drum band. The rhythms of the Caribbean filled the twilight, and these kids were really good although it was a head shaking moment. The President is a tall elegant man who was very patient as first Ed, then Connie and I, followed by Walter button holed the poor man to tell him how much the lectureship meant to all of us. He seemed very open to the idea of continuing and even said they would spend some money on advertising if we would help them pick the venues. That was very encouraging, but we need to figure out how to present this event. It was one thing when Jack was alive, but we are out in the middle of nowhere.
After being that serious for that long I needed some outright fun. The music was good, and Walter Jon is one hell of a dancer. We started dancing, but no one followed suit. I guess nobody knows how to party like science fiction writers, or maybe any writers. Walter was a good sport because he’s six feet tall and I’m only five foot two so dancing with me puts a kink in his back. Still we had fun. Then at 8:00 o’clock the party was over. We were all just warming up so Walter Jon and Patrice went on an expedition to the Walmart for wine and snacks.
As the rest of us were returning to our cars the evening breeze brought the pungent scent of the feed yard a mile or so away. As Eau de Corral wafted across us I asked Ian if he still wanted to be President of ENMU. He was rethinking the decision. Back at the hotel we commandeered the breakfast room at the hotel, and talked until 11:30 pm. Much of the conversation centered around Clarion. It was interesting that the younger writers — Ian, and Emily had attended Clarion. Stephen is contemplating attending, and Ed had attended the very first Clarion. Since then he has taught many times, and Connie is a frequent instructor, and Walter Jon has taught though neither of them attended. They discussed the very real pitfalls and advantages of the process. It’s an intensive emersion where you really learn to write, but egos are shatttered, and while they are usually rebuilt there are some who never recover when they discover they are not the most talented person around. Something similar happens in Hollywood when the prettiest girl in high school and the handsomest boy in high school arrive in L.A. and discover that among all the beautiful people they may only be average.
I think it’s a sobering responsibility for a teacher. You don’t want to lie to people, but you can’t utterly destroy them. There is something profoundly personal about the rejection of your story. Because it’s not just a story — if you’re good and honest about your art and craft you are putting a little piece of your soul/self in everything you write. The good news for writers is that we can get better. We can study and learn and improve. In Hollywood so much of the rejection is so completely personal — you’re not handsome/beautiful enough, your breasts are too small/large, you’re too tall/short, your voice is unattractive — frighteningly personal, and usually something you can’t change, fix or improve.
We finally gave up and all went off to bed. Tomorrow was the traditional pilgrimage to the Williamson ranch.
Melinda
May 2nd, 2007 at 10:12 pm
It was a pleasure dancing with you, and no, you didn’t put a kink in my back. I didn’t stoop, I just bent at the knees.
To dance to Caribbean music requires lowering the center of gravity to the genital region anyway, so even if I’d been dancing with a giant I’d still have dropped a bit.
Pity that the other guys were so chicken.
Ideas for continuing the lectureship are solicited. What would you go to Portales for, now that Jack is gone?
May 3rd, 2007 at 7:24 am
Thank you, Walter. I had fun. You are a _good_ dancer. And thank you for anticipating my question to any readers. How do we save the lectureship? Is it worth it? What would make it worthwhile to make the long drive to a very small town?
I’ve got some thoughts and ideas, but I’d like to hear from other people.
May 3rd, 2007 at 10:12 am
I have been thinking a lot about the Lectureship continuing without Jack there as a draw. Portales is right near the middle-of-nowhere (the NM Spaceport is the center of the middle-of-nowhere). When Jack was at the end of the road it was a trip more people were willing to undertake. If everyone who has never attended a Lectureship knew how kind, generous and smart all the Portales folks are, they would understand why we who have been going for years don’t want it to end. I think you hit the nail on the head for continuing by suggesting combining the Lectureship with several days of classes and workshops for writers and readers. That’s a lot of work for the college but also a benefit to students there. I have been told Jack didn’t want it to continue and his wishes mean a great deal. Maybe something different like a few days of continuing education classes in writing, science, and science fiction would fill our wishes but not go against his.
May 4th, 2007 at 1:46 pm
I was talking to Maureen McHugh yesterday and mentioned Melinda’s idea of Master Classes. She misunderstood and started talking about all the people you could get from out of state.
Oh, I thought.
Master classes don’t have to be just for the =students.= They could be for =all sorts of people.=