The writing workshop continues its inexorable tide. It's going well, I think, and there are odd moments when I remember what it's like to be a student on a college campus. Last evening, crossing a stretch of lawn on my way back from the dining hall, the bell carillon chimed the hour. The shadows were long on the freshly mowed grass, and if I closed my eyes, I could put myself back forty years to my own college campus, re-creating almost exactly, for one brief moment, that younger and lost self .
In one respect, however, this campus is different from my summer experiences at college. The place is almost deserted. The only people on campus are we SF writers, a huge gaggle of teenage girls here for hockey camp, and a monastery full of Benedictine monks. As you might imagine, the three groups have nothing to do with each other.
Although it might be interesting if we did.