sky high: reading the new memoirs of 135.302 '14

Memoir. There are no rules. There are only the books that we learn from, the writing that shapes us, the mistakes we are willing to make, the unmasking. Each semester, I teach memoir new because it is always new, because there is always more to read, to try, to consider.

And then I sit, as my students head off for their spring break, their memoirs in my lap. And I am stunned by the hard work, the right risks, the bold tangents, the questions raised and sometimes answered. They are off. I am here. Their lives on paper.



How they have walked deep among the trees. How they have honored the form, themselves, one another. How deeply privileged I am. Always.

This rare teaching life.

These vast and lovely spring semesters.

Them.