Alice Friman read on the opening
night of readings and that thing happened where me and the poem - well, it was like that scene in West Side Story where Tony and Maria meet for the first time. The crowd around them disappears, the music fades, and time ceases to be linear. Later, I bought her collection, found the poem, and was awed that it wasn't even a page long.
Now that would have been enough to make the drive and the hard hotel mattress worth the trouble, but then I went to Ira Sukrungruang's creative nonfiction workshop. His presentation was lovely, learned, and intimate. I sort of cried a little in the beginning, was intellectually stimulated throughout, and had the start of a next essay bouncing around inside me by the end.