Iowa, July 2015 & 2016

For this state, I decided to do things differently.  For a long time, I’ve been interested in the Iowa Writer’s Workshop, arguably one of the most celebrated creative writing programs in the US.  Its alumni have collectively won 17 Pulitzer Prizes (include the faculty and the number grows to 28, and include the University of Iowa as a whole, and the number goes even higher, to 40), numerous National Book Awards, and include six US Poets Laureate.  So, rather than my usual tour around the state this year, I decided to indulge in a week at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival and dip my toe in the water of the bigger program.  I know, some people go to spas and yoga retreats.  I decided to spend the week writing and having my drafts critiqued, potentially by really irritating people.  Turns out, it’s also good for the soul.  Now that my first book is out, I’ve been wanting to start a new writing project, so I found a workshop that seemed like it would prompt me to get busy on it.  (Yep, it’s an addiction.  I need help.)  And it did.  Although this approach limited my time for taking in all Iowa has to offer, my hope is that this is merely my first annual visit to the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, so I will see the rest of the state in small bites during future travels back.

I arrived in Iowa at night after a 15 hour drive from my home in northern Virginia and, as I came across the Mississippi River by bridge, the state celebrated with a battery of fireworks!  Although I would like to pretend they were to welcome me and my dog Tamu, I have to admit that we traveled on the 4th of July and arrived just as the party was reaching its peak.  I recommend fireworks over the Mississippi River during anybody’s first crossing.  It’s incredibly inspiring.  Tamu hates fireworks, so after I got him settled into our Davenport hotel, I stood in the parking lot watching fireworks in multiple directions.  Davenport is one of the Quad Cities, which comes in handy when you want to see a lot of fireworks without any more time in the car.   That day, I had traveled from George Washington’s home, crossed six states on good roads, and bridged a landmark body of water to get there.  I wished I could have paused to celebrate the holiday during the journey, but maybe exercising one’s freedom and acknowledging the ancestors who made it possible, is celebrating it.  They were all contributors to the drive that day: pioneers, presidents, builders, explorers, rebels, writers, and soldiers.  Tamu and I settled in for a good rest.

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