I just got home from the last day of my four-day writing workshop, and this time I don’t even have any bookstore photos or vague generalizations about my native city to share with you. I am spent – in a good way.

Let’s see. My brain at this moment is three parts Alice Munro, two parts how to use imagery to make transitions, two parts alarmed by how badly my neck is aching, and one part reminding myself to come back to the Fort Mason Center sometime on a weekday, to read in the bookstore and drink coffee and write in the cafe. My bloodstream is three parts coffee, one part chocolate croissant, one part the first strawberries of the season, purchased at the Fort Mason Farmer’s Market. My brain is three parts seduced by my knitting, which I’ve ignored for most of the last seven days, two parts seduced by the silly surfer movie that recently arrived from Netflix, and zero parts ready to prep the lesson I will be teaching tomorrow (but don’t worry – there will be time in the morning).

Oh, and it’s also a couple parts the word fuck, which I heard in higher concentrations in the last few days than at any other time since I was in grad school. Fucking writers: we’re such fucking fuckups.

I will try very, very hard to have something substantive to tell you tomorrow. I hope your weekend was as inspiring as mine was.