Today I went to a Women in Theater conference. Our Women in Theater professor got us in even though it's been sold out for weeks. The Artistic Director and Director panels were interesting, and the "networking lunch" was fun, even though I spent most of it talking with other Princeton undergrads...but they were ones I had never met before! Emily Mann, artistic director of the McCarter Theater made a very good and point: writing is work. Taking a walk and thinking about your writing is work. So block that time off and don't let anyone bother you. What you're doing during that time is no less important than any other work you'd be doing when it would be inappropriate for someone to interrupt you. Maybe this should have been self-evident, especially for the self-reliant writer I like to think myself, but it was still nice to be told this.
The part of the conference that just knocked the breath out of my lungs, however, was the playwrights panel. This didn't always look like it was going to be the case. It was right after lunch, and it started out slow. I was pretty disappointed, until Danai Gurira started talking about her next project. She talked about the need she felt to write her next play about Zimbabwe, even if that meant that she would no longer be able to return. And then she, and probably half the people in the room, started to tear up. Lisa Loomer, sitting next to her, mentioned something someone had once told her: don't worry about whether there will be an audience for your play, don't worry what people will think of it--whether they'll get angry or be upset or disappointed--"you have to complete your body of work."
I was so touched and inspired, and ran back to my room and made Roommate J listen to a recap of the entire thing. And then I opened the word document of The Play, and looked at it for the first time in months. Time to revisit? I think so.

It smelled a little like fall in the air today: just a hint of tea season--not much, but enough.

My week is almost over (only one class on Thursday, and since I've already described that one...): it must be time for a rundown of my other three classes.
There's one on Romantic poetry. And non-poetry, but mostly poetry. My main reason for taking that class is, well, it fulfills a requirement. But it has the added bonus of being the equivalent to a class Dad almost got thrown out of while he was at Princeton for finding innuendo in every corner. (There is likely a misplaced modifier in that sentence, but I got up at 7:30 this morning, so I'm allowed.)
Then there's queer theory, which looks to be fantastic. I've had the professor before, in my gender studies class last year, and it's a perfect storm of awesome, informative, and challenging.
Finally there's my junior seminar on theater and sacrifice. The professor of this seminar will also serve as the fall semester Junior Paper (lovingly known around here as a JP) adviser. Let's call him Adviser O. While he doesn't have the charming French accent, dimples, and winning fashion sense of my last adviser, he seems friendly and approachable and has already offered those of us in his seminar more say in deciding our topics than those juniors in other seminars. So all that's good.

Update! Former COS did, indeed, call me on his drive home. Through crackling reception he regaled me with tales of the non-melodrama-filled actual west wing, and reassured me that, yes, they are usually pretty smart. Then we chatted about Princeton, Harvard, Paris, my dad the rock star, and other excellent topics. Then he said, "Well, if you have any more questions, you have my number now!"
After hanging up and picking myself up off the floor, I proceeded to go over it all for my roommates.

Whew.

Class this morning was excellent. I only have one class on Thursdays--and none on Fridays--so you'll have to wait until Monday for my next description, but for now let me just say I am enamored with my Women in Theater class. We'll have the opportunity to see shows at Princeton, in town, and in New York, and also we're being sneaked in the back door of a conference on women in theater in the 21st century. The professor is friendly, the other students seem nice too (and they're not all "theater people"), and most importantly it's a seminar class, but not a capital "S" Seminar Class where the "s" stands for "scary."
If all my other classes are like this, I'm golden.

Safely ensconced in my new room, enjoying sound of HaHa and Roommate J typing away on their computers, and eagerly awaiting the start of classes tomorrow, my reverie was (not shattered, but rather) paused upon receipt of the following e-mail:

[Nom de Plume],

Check your voice mail. [Former COS], former White House Chief of Staff, may call you to talk about Leo McGarry on West Wing.

Love,

Dad

Seriously. It is moments like this when I'm glad I have not only a blog, but a sense of what would be a fabulous story that overwhelms at every turn my sheer terror. Of course, he might not call, but if he does I'll have, if not one for the proverbial grandkids, one for the facebook status. And a David Sedaris-sized essay. I love you Dad!

Don't worry, I'm not dead. Yet. Tomorrow I drive off to commence the trek to New Jersey, with Junior Year waiting for me on the other end.
Since I missed August entirely, here are the top five highlights of life since last I wrote:
1) Finishing work a week before I had to leave Paris, and using that time to work on my NaNoWriMo novel from 2007. The one about my French godfathers. It was great to work on it in Paris (sometimes while sitting in the Palais Royal gardens). I finished my second draft and sent it to a handful of well-liked and well-trusted people to read it and give me feedback. We'll see what that means.
2) Returning to Midwestern Town and picking up with my parents' Friday evening tradition of drinks at The Bar, where the bartenders are awesome. One was a horticulture major! Another is giving me advice on wines for my novel! All are very nice, and sometimes give me my Pepsi on the house.
3) The trip to Colorado/San Francisco fever. While on our annual trip west I had my parents read the seven Tales of the City books. We talked a lot about California, the seventies, squeezing the Charmin, AIDS, womanizers, adjusted expectations, and gardening. Nice.
4) Return to Midwestern Town and reunion with high school friends. I saw everyone I wanted to see and got done everything I wanted to do.
5) Labor Day visit to the SoCal branch of the family, which included cousin bonding time, a swim in the ocean, a whiffle ball victory, and last but not least a wonderful family dinner at the Four Seasons.