Stories and Amateur Pasty-Crafting
Good evening to you and yours from a basement out here in the middle or Minnesota. I hope this finds you all feeling hearty and hale and enjoying the heck out of the waning hours of your Monday evening. It was another toasty day today, though not nearly as much as the weekend. Today marked … Continue reading Porcupines and Bike Rides
Hello from, well not quite a basement out here in the middle of Minnesota, but more so the lobby of a fitness center waiting for my daughters while they have their swimming lesson. Hope this missive finds you and yours doing well, and feeling hearty and hale. And if you’ve got the doldrums or some … Continue reading Learning to Tell Stories in a New Way: Adventures in Reading Middle Grade & Young Adult
Hello from a basement out here in central Minnesota. I hope this missive finds you and yours doing well on this seventh day of Christmas, and that your true loves have bestowed a septet of swimming swans upon you.
Whenever we visit Door County, we make it a point to eat at Wild Tomato, tucking into one of their many innovative creations on their packed patio during pre-COVID times or more recently grabbing a short stack of pizzas and traveling into the deeps of Peninsula State Park to enjoy our slices from paper plates while perched on a bench overlooking Green Bay.
Nostalgia can be a dangerous pool to dabble in, but I do miss the days where a roll of pink tokens ensured the opportunity to try games on the cheap.
I get the chance to know her a little bit better than I do in the hustle and bustle throughout the day.
I feel like an Iggy in a Surf Ninja movie, waxing my board rather than climbing on and carving some waves. I talk a good game, and do just enough to convince myself I'm doing good work [...] Can't rightly be a writer if I don't actually write, can I?
Earlier this year I discovered the music of Billy Strings, and through the magic of YouTube's algorithms, I subsequently found Molly Tuttle.
I really can't speak highly enough of the transformative power of the program, its faculty, and its students on the life of a writer. I know that mine is but one story in the larger tale of Augsburg's Creative Writing MFA program, and that many students could and most likely will share similar experiences. It's my hope that you would take these into consideration and reconsider your decision to cut the program.
Her piece "A Message About Messages" offers a pointed and humorous rebuttal (of which only Le Guin was capable of) to those who insist on strangling messages out of the fiction they read
Purdy Good 