And now it's all over.
Our final instructor, Chuck Palahniuk, said that every story should have death in it somewhere—and also a birth. After six weeks of living in a house with seventeen other people—all amazingly creative, generous, talented, and loving—disbanding the fellowship is something like a death. But a litter of eighteen newborn writers are puking and mewling in the aftermath, digesting the rich nutrition fed them over the past six weeks of gestation, converting it to writerly bones and muscles, preparing to spring forth and fly high.
One death and eighteen births: Good ratio.
And my plan going forward... write like hell and hope it's all for something.