Around a tight turn, you hydroplane into a gravel shoulder...
A literary bonanza over a weekend.
You just had to be there.
It’s been a hot minute since I had a triple dose of literary goodness over a weekend. I’m diving into this post with all the aquatics and soaked clothes one can handle.
The Barrelhouse Conference was this past Saturday at my alma mater, Temple University. Myself, along with Olivia Zarzycki, repped Thirty West at this casual affair. I got to see some authors of the press and writer friends I hadn’t seen in a while. Adam Gianforcaro, Shannon Frost Greenstein, Todd Dillard, Avitus B. Carle, Dan DiFranco, Nat Raum, and Veronica Bennett, to name a few. And at last, the epic brainchildren of it all, Tom McAllister and Dave Housely. I would tag Blaze Pizza, but they are no longer with us (RIP to some good pies).
It was so much fun, during and in hindsight. It’s been a while since I got to take notes on writing. In one day, I was informed on multiple topics and spoke to other writers. Designing a project management style, an in-depth look at dialogue in literature, editor speed dating, featured author reading, and then kicking back and writing ‘un-serious’ poems to close out. It should be a rule to always end a conference on a silly note. Seriously, make it so.
It was strange, yet familiar being back on such a dynamic campus. I even got lost in the student center where the conference was held! Had me looking like that Mr. Krabs GIF (IYKYK). TW sold some books and I may have some potential leads from the speed dating. Talk about fortunate. But then I remembered the drive into Philly. The screw in my tire disguised itself as a wheel bearing seizing. It didn’t stop me, though. I was tired, a bit wet, and hyped to visit my favorite indie bookstore.
A Novel Idea, an icon on Passyunk Avenue, hosted a sold-out book launch of Alison Lubar’s new chapbook, It Skips a Generation. I’ve known Alison for years, going way back to a cold reading series I hosted at Big Blue Marble. I couldn’t miss it for the world. Wall-to-wall guests sat in anticipation for the readers, including the likes of Jane-Rebecca Cannarella. Once Alison finished their set, I saw many magenta chaps in the hands of so many. I give Jeff Bogle and Stanchion Books a lot of credit and being part of the literary community. My night was essentially over and I slept like a baby in a bed of lavender.
Until the next day. Bring a Blanket #4 was still on, despite the driving rain. I was running late, traffic was rampant, and as soon as I parked, the rain got heavier. Rivers of mud crisscrossed the pathways of Washington Square Park. I saw no red balloons in sight. Passing the eternal flame at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier gave me the encouragement I needed. I soon found the group huddled close beneath a tiny eave of the security booth.
Did you know the ‘eternal flame’ has an emergency shut-off switch? I guess legally they have to, but it kills the metaphor.
My cohost, Alexandra Naughton, brought some snacks, like always. A mandarin orange a day eases the annoyance of rain away. Everyone else was there, too. We had a stacked lineup of local favorites, Graham Irvin, Audrey Lee, and Nick Perilli. Timothy Gager, our fourth and only out-of-towner, was strumming chords on his guitar. As remnants of Hurricane Ophelia bore down on us, I was fortunate we had a soundtrack.
The caravan migrated to an awning at the nearby Curtis Center. What a relief. It kept most of us dry and our spirits rekindled. A small stream ran parallel to the curb, with the occasional bus or speeding car kicking up waves. What a bunch of assholes. I assumed the role of the Umbrella Man, using my reliable Temple U to shield the readers’ heads and books. Workout via umbrella. The sets were loud and short, but nonetheless awesome. Even a little bird dropped by to say hi, like the one in the thumbnail. Some drunk guy, too, trying to get into the locked door. Sorry, bud!
Afterward, we all went our separate ways. I elected for some coffee a block away. I was literally soaked from head to toe. My shoes slapped around and I wrung out my shorts like a squeegee on the shop floor The cappuccino was nice, and the homemade mochi was to die for. The warm liquid revitalized my spirits. I didn’t take many viable pictures, but it was about a dozen of us. Huge, given the circumstances. I can’t thank the readers enough for braving the elements.
No sneaky PPA tickets? A rare achievement. Sunday afternoon, a hot shower and a nap were all I could muster. Dedicating many hours to my alma mater and the literary community is no easy feat. I traversed nebulous planes, battled unending weather, and broke bread with friends and strangers in literature. I surely need to recharge this week (more so now with the unfortunate contraction of COVID-19). The rain should be breaking and an unseasonable warmth to follow. Wish I could replace the weather with what we got, but we all know you can’t do that.
You just had to be there.