When I was eighteen . . .

David's topic: Remember when you were eighteen. What did you look like? Think about?

Hmm, when I was eighteen, I moved to Valdosta to begin college, a new experience. My parents, brother and his wife, and grandmother all came to Valdosta with me to move me into Georgia Hall, where I would share a room with my best friend from high school. I joined a community; my roommate's boyfriend had an active social life, and we joined him.

I enjoyed college; a few semesters I enjoyed it far too much, but I learned from those experiences as well.

I enjoyed high school as well. I enjoy life. Period. I don't look back at earlier times and say, "I had it made then. I wish I were there again." I like where I am. I like who I am. I often want to be better, definitely smaller, but not enough to work towards it.

I love teaching. I love watching writers form ideas, words, texts. I love when students transform into writers, when they realize they created a text that moves others, when they read texts at the final reading and people laugh or cry in response.

Transformations aren't easy, though. They're more like the transformation scene in _An American Werewolf in London_ when the main character becomes a wolf. He screams as his hands lengthen and his snout develops. Becoming a writer doesn't involve simply writing for fluency although that's important. Editing for conciseness and precision requires close reading, close enough to blur vision; it may involve turning to a grammar handbook to double check commas.

Hmm, I'm struggling this morning to write. I wonder if Heather has started surgery yet, if Sariah has arrived, the newest member of the Summer Institute.

Sinatra plays in the background, "Lady Luck," and I remember seeing _Guys and Dolls_ last summer in London. Susan and I waited for tickets and paid full price, but it was the best production I saw that summer. And I saw plenty.

I eat more gorilla bread; thanks, Lindsi. Yum!

People chat in here, distracting me. I realize that I need quiet to write. I've known that, but I wanted to give the music a chance. I wanted to push my boundaries a bit, take chances as a writer. The blog has been one risk this summer--writing and posting to the blog. I censor myself a bit when I write here. Going public in this manner is a bit more risky than posting to the E-Anthology, which has a closed audience and a very encouraging audience.

Diana types. I wonder if she's blogging. I wonder if her boys are reading. I smile as I imagine the audience for the blog--the unexpected readers. Hi, guys!

We have a good group of writers and teachers this summer. I have learned a lot. I'd love to keep this community going throughout the school year. We need to figure out how to do that. Maybe we'll create a BWP newsletter to stay in touch with the whole community (all the past participants), sending it out once a month or once a quarter with news and writing and grant announcements and teaching ideas and meeting info. Hmm, I'll keep thinking about it.