Now accepting a limited number of participants for the 2024 Highland Summer Conference! This writing workshop has more than 40+ years of history with Radford University, bringing together writers, students, musicians, and community members from the Appalachian region in celebration of creativity.
Work with Our Guest Author
The 2024 conference features guest Annie Woodford, winner of the 2022 Weatherford Award in Poetry for her collection, Where You Come from Is Gone. Annie Woodford will lead our daily workshops.
July 8-12, Monday-Friday, at Selu Conservancy
The conference begins on Monday, July 8, at Selu Nature Conservancy. This beautiful jewel of southwest Virginia features magnificent views of the mountains and river. Enjoy the conservancy’s walking trails, and find that perfect, private place to bring your creative dreams to life.
After a beautiful day of workshops and free time, you’ll be able to enjoy our evening programs, which are free and open to the public:
Tuesday, 7 p.m.: Reading by guest author Annie Woodford, McConnell Library at Radford University (Note: new location!)
Wednesday, 7 p.m.: Jam session at Selu Conservancy
Thursday, 7 p.m.: Participant Readings at Selu Conservancy
Yes, I want to create amazing work this summer!
To register, check out our page here or use the QR below. Registration is only $150 for the entire event, July 8-12, which includes the option to camp at Selu or stay onsite free. Discounts are available for seniors and Radford University students. For more information, write us at hwc@radford.edu.
Poet Charles A. Swanson may have retired from teaching English, but he will always be a writer. An MFA graduate from Queens University, he currently publishes as a designated “Frequent Contributor” for the quarterly e-zine Songs of Eretz Poetry Review.
As a pastor for Melville Avenue Baptist in Danville, Swanson writes weekly sermons and reflections. His spirituality, including deep concern for nature and rural life, runs through his poems. “My poetry comes from a pastor’s view of the world,” Swanson says, “and, I hope, from a pastor’s heart.”
Swanson’s lovely chapbook, Farm Life and Legend, is available from Finishing Line Press. (This book, with cover art by Drew A. Swanson, is even prettier in person.) The book brings together narratives and the witness of nature, as in “Turtles Rising.”
After the Garden: Selected Responses to the Psalmsis Swanson’s full-length poetry collection from Motes Books. Seeing the words, “Responses to the Psalms,” might lead you to expect didactic, oatmeal-plain paraphrases.
But Swanson’s work is full of surprises, including wry humor and the realities of rural life. Swanson begins each poem with verses chosen for beauty of language, spiritual challenge, and unexpected connections.
Consider “The Profane and the Holy,” inspired by the verse, “He who has clean hands and a pure heart . . .” And subtitled “Hog killing on the day before Thanksgiving.” This concise poem mingles the spiritual resonance of the verse with powerful, bloody imagery.
Writing Exercises: Image as Gateway
For this spotlight, Swanson provided two exercises involving imagery. As he says, “Imagery can evoke emotions, and be the horse on which intriguing narrative rides.”
Both exercises have been classroom-tested in secondary school English for years. Swanson had great success with first-years, sophomores, juniors, and seniors . . . And I bet they’d translate well in other levels, too.
The “Scentsational” Experience
Take 12 lidded Styrofoam cups. Place a strong-smelling everyday substance in each. Substance can be solid or liquid. (Make sure to avoid known or common allergens, such as peanut butter!)
Ask the students, by smell only, to make their best guess about each cup’s contents.
After all the sniffing is over, guessing, and debating is over, the instructor identifies each cup.
Then the students are asked to choose one scent. (They can choose any of the 12, another strong scent tied to memory, or even their misidentification of a cup’s contents.)
Now write about how the smell figures in memory.
Swanson warns the excitement of the exercise may not lead to the most literary poetry, but you’re going to see an entire classroom come to life.
More “Hands-On” Learning
Give each student one piece of white bread from an ordinary loaf of store-bought bread.
Ask them to remove the crust. (Some ask if they can eat the crust; Swanson says he always allowed it, but in days of Covid use your best judgment.)
Squeeze a generous amount of white school glue on each student’s crustless slice of bread.
Work the bread and glue into a putty.
Show the students how to shape the “clay” into rose petals
Press the rose petals gently onto the end of a toothpick and allow to set. After it hardens, students can paint the rose if they choose.
After experiencing the changing texture of that sticky paste, ask them to write about any experience they remember involving a strong sense of touch.
For an example of how this exercise can bring out memories turned to poetry, Swanson offers a poem from the Spring 2021 issue of Songs of Eretz Poetry Review. His poem, “What would I put my hand in?” is an obvious response, but I’d bet his poem “Afghan,” from the same issue, would spark a lot of tactile images too.
Make one, two, three, ninety squares– somewhere in there the shape becomes rote, as do the twists of wrist, the slide of yarn over the finger holding taut the thread and emerging weave.
from “Afghan” by Charles A. Swanson, published in Songs of Eretz
The phrase “triple threat” pops up in sports far more often than in creative writing. But if there is a “triple-threat author,” Jim Minick fits the bill, with his moving poetry, award-winning novel, and thought-provoking creative nonfiction.
The first work I encountered from Minick was his poetry, published in several local and regional journals. Some of those poems would evolve into Her Secret Song, a portrayal of the growing relationship between nephew and aunt.
Later, in 2008, Minick published another collection, Burning Heaven, which won the 2008 Book of the Year Award from the Virginia College Bookstores Association. (If you follow these links, scroll past the well-deserved high praise of these works, and you’ll find outstanding samples from each volume.)
My family subscribed to The Roanoke Times with an almost religious dedication, and for some years we were treated to “Field Work,” Minick’s monthly column in its New River Current.
Those reflective columns hinted at his book-length creative nonfiction works, Finding a Clear Pathand The Blueberry Years.The latter, inspired by his family’s creation of an organic, pick-your-own blueberry farm, entwines personal experiences with reflections on national issues . . . And, of course, blueberries, blueberries, blueberries.
In addition to his poetry and nonfiction, Minick had another type of story he wanted to share: the novel Fire Is Your Water. This fictional story marked a venture into magical realism, creating a work Lee Smith calls, “a love story wrapped in horror, fire, and faith.”
Now that Minick has retired from the classroom, he has three new projects in the works. That’s right—three new books on the way.
Told you . . . He’s a triple threat!
A Favorite Writing Exercise
Minick attributes this exercise to Bill Roorbach’sWriting Life Stories.He says he’s used it “often and with great success”; like all the best writing exercises, this one can surprise you.
Write a letter explaining yourself to someone you know. Don’t expect to send the letter. The recipient can be dead or alive.
“The exercise often gets to deep emotional struggles and truths,” Minick says, “and often it is a great way to really find or think about your voice.”
What will you discover through writing a letter? Try it, and listen for the music of your own voice.
In July, the Highland Summer Conference at Radford University hosted two powerhouse poets: Diane Gilliam and Leatha Kendrick. While this visit was Kendrick’s first to the HSC, she has a prolific creative career as a writer, teacher, presenter, and workshop leader.
Recently Kendrick released her fifth book of poetry, And Luckier, through Accents Publishing, which praises it as “her bravest, most mature work.” Additional praise from Molly Peacock, Kathleen Driskell, Pauletta Hansel, and Sherry Chandler follows, but perhaps George Ella Lyon describes And Luckier most aptly: this is “a mature poet’s reckoning.”
Below is one of Kendrick’s favorite writing exercises, a prompt that brings together writing, drawing, and memory for potent results. (Note for teachers: this exercise works for poetry as well as essays; if you need a “starter” for a personal experience narrative, “Map the House” is gold!)
Here’s “Map the House,” as used by Leatha Kendrick, in her own words. Used with permission.
Writing Exercise: Map the House
In The Poetics of Space, Gaston Bachelard asserts “the houses that are lost forever continue to live on in us: . . . they insist in us in order to live again.”
I first did this exercise at the Appalachian Writers Workshop sometime in the late 1980’s. It may have been Jo Carson who gave us the assignment. Other writers of my acquaintance (George Ella Lyon, in particular) have used their own variations on this prompt to generate powerful and surprising writing.
Here it is: an exercise to help you write more vividly about the “housed” memories of your life.
Sketch a floorplan of a house or room that is important to you.
In each area of the map, place the objects that come to mind.
Label each object or piece of furniture with sensory memories or events they bring to mind. “The kitchen smelled of bacon grease (or cardamom or coffee) . . .
Note any actions or voices or phrases that come up.
When you are ready, start writing. Try to write quickly, without too much thought. Don’t second-guess, even if you think you are going “off topic.” Trust whatever comes. If you don’t remember something, say, “I don’t remember . . .” or “I wonder why . . .” and keep writing.
Remember: Writing is an act of discovery.
We are likely to vividly remember moments, single instances, and often in a more sensory than verbal way. In other words, our most vivid memories are likely to be ones we have not yet narrated for ourselves, rather than the stories we’ve been told or the “facts” about our lives. Our bodies store memories in our skin, our noses, our nerves, our bones – and not only in our brains.
We know more than we think we remember.
The things we have forgotten are housed. Our soul is an abode and by remembering houses and rooms, we learn to abide within ourselves.
COVID interrupted all our lives, and we still live with its consequences. The Highland Summer Conference is one of many longstanding traditions that 2020 interrupted. This July, however, the annual workshop and class marks its 43rd event. Rejoice, writers and readers–the Highland Summer Conference is back!
The Highland Summer Conference evolved from a residency program at Radford University, Virginia, in 1978. This creative workshop, hosted in the Blue Ridge mountains, features Appalachian themes and Appalachian writers. This year, the workshop welcomes two favorite guests: Diane Gilliam and Leatha Kendrick.
Students can take the workshop for course credit, as both undergraduates and graduates. If you don’t need the credit, you can still take the event as a conference (with a special rate for seniors, too).
If COVID has been hard on your finances, you can still attend free readings on Tuesday and Thursday from the guest authors. And, if you can’t be here in person, this year also offers virtual participation.
I’ve participated in the Highland Summer Conference as a student and a guest author. The experience remains a special one.
One of my favorite comments about the HSC experience is from Bonnie Erickson, a frequent participant, quoted in the 1997 volume of ALCAlines: “In this class you write about life–your life. . . . Some write about happiness, but just as many write about pain. Many write of success and some write of failure. Many come in wounded. Hundreds leave healed. I was among the latter.”
What a testament to the power of a writing community. With the return of the HSC, particularly with guests such as Diane and Leatha, attendees can refresh the creative spirit, produce new work, listen to a pair of fine writers, and maybe even find a little healing themselves.
This is my first “Spotlight”: a series (I hope) of posts about favorite regional writers, their works, and their favorite “getting started” exercises. Today I’d like to turn a spotlight on an excellent writer, teacher, and mentor, B. Chelsea Adams.
Chelsea was born in Fairfield, Connecticut, and she has spent much of her life in southwest Virginia. She earned an M.A. in English and Creative Writing from Hollins College (Hollins University today), working with writers such as R.H.W. Dillard.
For many years she taught at Radford University; I met her through my mother, Jo Ann Aust Asbury, as they taught in the English department. Chelsea’s friendship and her generosity with her gifts has left an expansive legacy within the creative community. Writers have blossomed in her writing groups, flourishing in a rich creative company.
Chelsea’s work runs from the elegiac to the playful, the contemplative to the sensual. Consider some of the titles from her Sow’s Ear Press collection, Looking for a Landing: “Chaos Theory,” “Aesthetics of Dying” . . . And, in contrast, the simply-titled “Bike Ride” and “Cows.”
It’s hard not to love her slender chapbook, Java Poems. This elegant book is a paean to the writer’s elixir of life: Coffee! The truly fortunate have been lucky enough to see Chelsea perform her “java poems” live, beatnik style, complete with beret and the jazz accompaniment of her husband, Bill.
Chelsea’s poetry collection At Last Lightis available from Finishing Line Press. Both her fiction and poetry regularly appears in Floyd County Moonshine, including their most recent issue. Her 2020 novel, Organic Matter,promises “romance and roadkill” and is currently available on Amazon.
The Sure-Fire Poetry Exercise
Below is a “sure-fire” exercise from B. Chelsea Adams. Answering its deceptively-simple questions will put you “in place,” giving you a quick path to concrete imagery and creative experssion.
Answer these four questions. (The answers can be real or made-up.)
Where are you? (But you can’t say, “I am . . .”)
What are you doing? (You can’t say, “I am . . .”)
What are you thinking or feeling? (Don’t say, “I am . . .” or “I think/feel . . .”)
What do you see? (But don’t say, “I see . . .”)
And that’s it! Have fun, and see if it’s “sure-fire” for you, too!
Park benches, easy chairs, floors, classrooms, beds, teacher desks, hotel rooms, coffee shops, fast food benches, desks, bean bags, lobbies, cars, staircases, boats, trees, patios, big rocks–even, at one ill-advised point, the bleachers during a demolition derby. I’ve tried to write in all these places, sometimes with more luck than others.
For some of us, “place” is part of the ritual of writing. We can get very particular: do we need to write? Music, television, headphones? Ergonomic seating, or just a place where won’t fall off a mountain?
I’ve seen impassioned defenses of writing by computer or by hand, in absolute silence or during the breakfast rush at Hardee’s, on moleskin journals or spiral notebooks. . . And, if you care about pens, that discussion will last for a while.
Some places do have a kind of magic. One of my favorite places is the upper balcony in the lobby of the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky. The Brown is home to residencies for Spalding University’s MFA program; during residency, you can’t toss a legal pad from the balcony without hitting writers of all genres, all experiences, all stages.
In my favorite nook, I can see everything–friends gathered at the bar, students encircling the grand piano, new guests dragging their luggage across the gleaming floor. I can write in my own space, but I’m part of things too, and I can feel my creative impulses fizzing like Pop Rocks.
Right now I’m at home, writing on a ten-year-old MacBook (which needs to work for a few more months–pray for me, y’all) with a small tuxedo cat under my elbow and two dogs at my feet. All the curtains are open, the trees are tossing outside in the wind, the room is quiet except for a couple of fans and my raging tinnitus.
That’s fine by me. Maybe this isn’t the lobby of the Brown Hotel; maybe I’m not relaxing at a beachside retreat. But, for the moment, I have time to work, and that’s more precious than a whole bundle of brand-new pens.
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