You’d think that writers would get sick and tired of one another. I mean, we’re pretty weird. We keep insane hours, talk in our sleep, spend far too much time alone, and hang out with some pretty sketchy characters. Plus we’re never quite capable of leaving that little mental workshop of ours, even when we’re in a social setting, the one where ideas keep churning and phrases keep rearranging themselves in little clouds of letters that no one but us can see.
Among all writers, journalists are the worst company. If we’re not boring the life out everyone in earshot about the State Auditor’s latest outrageous response to our Open Records Act request, then we’re probably memorizing every detail of whatever you just confessed over your last martini for use in an article some day. We’re also insufferable know-it-alls, having mastered little bits of information about a whole lot of topics. Put two or more of us in a room and it’s like putting magnets side by side—we’ll either attract or repel one another.
Luckily, I happen to be one of those attracted to writers—poets, reporters, novelists, you name it. Can’t get enough of ‘em. Love hanging out with them. So the next several days are going to be especially fun. First, on Thursday, I’ll be leading a two and a half hour workshop on narrative nonfiction at Lighthouse Writers Workshop in Denver as part of its summer Lit Fest. This place is like a crack house for those of us addicted to writing. Even when there are no workshops scheduled, around every bend in the historic old house at Race and Colfax is some Serious Scribe bent over her next tome of poetry, a personal essay or a novel in the works. Every shaggy hipster milling about has something big-time going on. The best cure I’ve found for writer’s block is to hang out for an hour or so with folks like this.
Lit Fest runs through June 16, offering a cornucopia of salons, workshops, readings, cocktails hours and general schmoozing that includes an appearance by one of my new favorite writers, Cheryl Strayed. Her book, Wild, was recently recommended by Oprah. There is still some availability in some of the classes, so check out the website for details.
Next week will be no less of a binge. First, I’m off to New York City, where I’ll say a few words at the opening of a photojournalists’ exhibit about my recent experience learning combat medicine techniques through Sebastian Junger’s organization Reporters Instructed in Saving Colleagues. If you’re unfamiliar with it, read my recent piece in Salon. I’ll do all I can to spread the word about RISC and it’s an honor to discuss it at an exhibit featuring the works of powerhouse photojournalists like Tyler Hicks, Joao Silva, Lindsey Addario, Michael Kamber and Moises Saman. Christopher Anderson curates the exhibit.
And from there, it’s an Amtrak ride up to Boston where I’m a member of a panel at the Investigative Reporters and Editors annual convention. I’ll be discussing “Reporting on Veterans’ Issues” with my fellow filmmaker and award winning journalist Michael de Yoanna and 60 Minutes producer Henry Schuster before an audience of some of the best reporters in the country. Having been with U.S. soldiers in Kosovo, and reported on their experiences returning home for USAA magazine and Paris Match, as well as for the documentary we’re filming, I can bring a certain perspective to the discussion, but I’m especially looking forward to the views of my fellow panelists. Michael’s work on veterans’ issues has been featured in Salon and earned him an Edward R. Murrow Award for an NPR story he did (the first and, to date, only radio story he’s ever done). Schuster has spent the past decade reporting from Iraq and Afghanistan, with special attention paid to the difficulties soldiers face when they return from the battlefield. I look forward to the discussion … and to a long weekend filled with others’ stories of their Open Records Act requests and other esoterica that could only be of interest to writers and journalists.
I’ll just have to remember not to spill too many beans after my third martini.