My twentieth and final packet has been submitted.
My graduate lecture (on constraints to promote creativity) has been uploaded.
The only thing left is my attendance and I will be done with my MFA in writing.
I think any real reflection will be some months away. As it is, the gauntlet of reading (maybe sixty books, portions of another forty) and writing (about 425 pages of fiction in total) has gnawed so steadily at my consciousness these last two years that I don’t know how to put it in perspective.
What do I want to read, now? What do I want to write, now? When no one is looking over my shoulder, when there is no pressing deadline, have I been left inspired or drained? Eager to press on or ready to vegetate? What comes next?
But first, I’m off to Rome for the final residency. A chance to meet people in person, walk a new city, drink wine, eat pasta, and celebrate with new friends.