First two lectures were fantastic. I’m finally talking to a lot of other people on levels beyond their writing and where they’re from, which is nice. Apparently, today is the light day, and beginning tomorrow, I won’t have time to think at all. Classes from 9 AM until 9:30 PM. Yeeps.

I read for the whole student body in twenty-two minutes.

WWC: Day 2

Well, I have identified at least one need: I have to get a working alarm clock. I set the little travel clock for 7:30 and placed it by the bed. I awoke this morning to the sounds of dorm doors opening and closing and opening and closing and opening and closing. It was light outside. I looked at the alarm clock. It said 5:52.

Thank heavens for beer– I had to use the restroom, so I got up and just happened to look at my computer on the way out. 7:52. Somehow, in the middle of the night, the travel clock lost two hours. Phooey on that. I’ll not trust it again– I know I had the right time on it last night.

Ate breakfast with some of the new students. All the new folks still seem nervous and stilted. I suppose I am the same way; I doubt if I will really open up until I get into the workshops. I know we’re all here to write, but all anyone wants to talk about is writing! I don’t got to my first class for another hour, and I am already a little tired of hearing writers talk about writing. Perhaps that’s a function of the fact that everyone’s nervous, no one has any idea what to expect, so the discourse never gets below the surface. But it’s fantastically upsetting to think that if this is the whole ten-day experience, I am going to implode. I put on my headphones to escape it all and read the classhandouts for a while, which was really comforting. And, of course, the old blog never ceases to entertain, because I am an egotistical asshole.

There are several kitties floating around the campus, and I have attempted to make friends with some of them. One was very interested in me for about forty-five seconds, and then turned to the real business at hand:

Nicely done, sir.