Page 18 - 2009 #1

A tall red-head walks into the tent, chatty and wildly confident; I recognize her from her
book-cover bio. I recognize her from her website. While moving through the tent,

through the crowd, she spots the Zia symbols painted red on my thin-yellow sox. “Are
you from New Mexico?” she asks excitedly, pointing to the symbols on my feet. I nod my

head shyly. “Are you Leeanna?!” Again I nod shyly.
How does she know my name? How does this nationally-known author know my name?

Upon my nodding reply, Samantha Dunn reaches out and embraces me with a tight and

wild hug. She hugs me like a Tἰa might, or a madrina would. “I’m from New Mexico too,
prima!” she states wildly, and I can’t help but smile, this tall-red-headed woman from out

of nowhere welcoming me with an unexpected hug.

She says she knows me from my application for the fellowship. I’m surprised at her

greeting, but also suddenly calm and reassured.

I should be here. I am here. Sam’s wild and generous hug tells me so.

3.

My fellow fellows. I am shy and polite upon meeting them, careful and cordial. We have
no idea who each other are, nor about each other’s writings. We only know that we were

selected to be here, a large but subtle honor. Little do we know, realize, how we will bond
over this week of writing on Esalen’s coast. Little do we know.

4.

As the writing sessions begin, there are so many notes to take, so much knowledge shared.
Pam Houston talks about glimmers, about writing what resonates for you, the writer, and

to write it down just as it happened, and let the metaphors speak for themselves, and

perhaps they will not speak until much later.

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