Last month my progenitors saw an article about writing programs and conferences
beyond the swamp in the Greater Motownopolis. (Yes, I just made that up.) They encouraged me to contact one.
I had heard of the Meadowbrook Writing Project from a colleague who attended several years ago. I found information about the one-day retreat, but it was last summer.
In hindsight, the university having expired data on its current calendar was a sign. But I took a look at the full-length invitational summer institute writing class, since I would earn three credits towards my continuing education requirement.
Sure, it’s a little pricey, I told myself, but it’s a writer’s workshop! What’s an extra week of rice and beans compared to sending the Inner Child to summer camp? A summer camp with writing every day and without mosquitos, sunburn, or cruel taunts like “¿Te tostaste al sol? ¿O eres langosta? ¡Ja ja ja!”
So I began my application and fiddled with my essay while talking to myself as I read the vague-but-insider-handshake descriptors of the potential candidates. “Broad demographic spectrum? Oh, yeah, my demographic is so broad you’ll need special glasses to see the whole spectrum!”
Monday I went to the online application, raring to go. But I didn’t complete it. The university – surprise! – raised its tuition from last year.
Now I know that some of my readers consider talk of money to be vulgar. (Note: I am picturing those readers wearing top hats and monocles like Rich Uncle Pennybags.) Other readers are quite interested in costs and savings. (They’re like Scrooge McDuck, attired in frock coats and pince-nez glasses.)
In the interest of satisfying both types of readers, I will express the difference with La Casa de Tontería exchange rates. The 2014 tuition was a mortgage payment and three-fourths of a new stove, plus traveling expenses. The increase puts it at Good Lord! That’s a lotta money! How ’bout I give you forty dollars and you give me the box of old Writer’s Digest rottin’ in your attic? (as if Cheap Pete were a writer)
So it’s not going to happen as planned.
Fortunately for me, the mission statement of The House of Nonsense is Things will not go as planned, and then things will be made better. Or at least functional. Please hand me the screwdriver.
So I’m planing a little summer writer’s camp of my own. If anyone wants to join me, I’ll be laying out the schedule over the next few weeks.