An Evening of Literature

Iowa City is a UNESCO City of Literature. What that means as UNESCO defines it, is “The panel of experts that evaluated the application of Iowa City recognized this University town’s unique profile as a creative writing and reading centre with impressive history of literary accomplishments. The community’s strategic commitment to literary culture through the diversity of grassroots initiatives, such as the Iowa’s Writers Workshop and the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, was highly regarded as an instructional model and inspiration for other small cities to promote local economic and socio-cultural development through creative industries."

What that means as I define it, is this city is chock-full of opportunity to feed the small voice inside you that’s always wondered what your name would look like on a best-seller list.

One of these rich opportunities happens several times each week at Prairie Lights, the local independent bookstore. The downtown store hosts authors – many of whom graduated from the university’s highly respected Writer’s Workshop. I’ve been meaning to attend one of these book talks and finally went for the first time tonight.

John Reimringer was there presenting Vestments, his novel about a young priest’s struggle between faith and flesh. I mean Mr. Reimringer no disrespect, but I showed up because I’m working on follow through in my life and Prairie Lights was a neglected goal. I hoped Vestments would surprise me and add further value to my evening of goal accomplishment.

I arrived five minutes late and slid into a forest green plastic chair in the back row, far left side, after a thickset man in overalls vacated the chair by placing his heavy brown work jacket in his lap. I smiled gratefully and focused in on the story.

The surface level summary of this experience is: Iowa City is a wonderfully creative town and author talks like this are a delightful way to celebrate and explore that facet of the city. Also, John Reimringer seems to be a good writer, although I may not pursue reading Vestments. Priestly turmoil isn’t an immediate draw.

The more vulnerable layer to all this is: My fairly regular battle with loneliness was hanging out on the fringes of the evening. While I sat next to my overall-ed friend, Loneliness flipped through the latest Barefoot Contessa cookbook. I struggled to remain present. Then, I began to silently pray for the author. Things I don’t think I would have thought of on my own flowed into my prayers. He kept making eye contact with me and I thought, “I wonder if he can sense what I’m doing? Is God telling him, ‘John. I love you and I’m having that girl in the back row do some interceding for you. Yes, her. Next to the overalls.’” It’s also possible that making eye contact with your audience makes for a good author sharing. After praying, I began thinking about the people in the room, why they were there. I thought about how I love making up stories about random strangers’ lives and how someday I should write a book. Then, I was inspired to dedicate more time to writing and consider what God would do with that. Suddenly, I looked at the cookbooks section and Loneliness was nowhere to be found. I glanced at the Sci-Fi section too, just for good measure. No sign of him.

The talk finished, I chatted a bit with Mr. Overalls, and walked home in the sharply cold Iowa air. I walked and I sang. I told the Lord that He is good. He is good. He is good. I thanked Him for bringing me here to this UNESCO City of Literature, where He has good plans – for John Reimringer and for me.

Icy IC

Last night, a snowstorm blew into Iowa City. Since it was the most severe storm I’ve experienced, I am going to go ahead and call it a blizzard. Walking outside, I could imagine how a snow globe town feels when a hyper five year old shakes it up. With the wind howling and snow whipping at our faces, Jeremie, his roommate Dan, and I did what any rational people would do in such a storm – we walked to our favorite pub for a beer.

Akin to the tortoise of “The Tortoise and the Hare” fame, I plodded one step at a time, while Jeremie and Dan energetically dove into deep drifts and helped push struggling cars to safety. About one block from the pub, we turned down a street and were met with a full stream of blowing snow. Jeremie ran ahead to shelter, Dan turned around and walked backwards, and I turned around and stood still. Honestly, who knows what my logic was? Did I think I could wait it out, there in the middle of the street? Like, the storm would sense my stubborn resolve and give up? Jeremie called out to me from the corner, urging me to put my head down and keep moving. I did so, and soon was inside our aptly named hang out, “Sanctuary”, brushing myself off and shedding layers. It seems melodramatic now, but I also went to the bathroom mirror to check my face for signs of frostbite. Turns out, I’m just fine.

The three of us warmed up with pizza and beer and good talk. From time to time, one of us would look out the window, and comment in amazement: “Man, sideways snow!” “It’s coating the windows!” “I’m sure glad I’m not out there!” , ever cognizant of the reality that we indeed had to go back out, unless Sanctuary was open to overnight boarders. Jeremie was ever-joyful at the prospect of re-entering the snowy madness. When it was time to go, he helped me wrap my scarf around my face and tuck it into my hood so only my eyes were showing, and just barely. Jeremie’s black scarf made him look like a ninja. Dan, showing his Alaskan roots, went sans-scarf. As we approached the door, Dan reminded me that it’s all about your attitude. “Yeah!”, Jeremie chimed in. So, I pumped myself up for “an awesome walk home” and “an experience to tell stories about later.” Off we went.

The conditions were just as bad on the way home, if not worse, as the wind was in our faces most of the time, but it was actually pretty awesome. I walked through Iowa City’s Blizzard of 2011 and now you know the story. The End.