Fine Lines Summer Camp 2012
This is our thirteenth year sponsoring Fine Lines creative writing summer camps for students of all ages. Join writers who add clarity and passion to their lives with the written word.
We will have fun with sentences, learn to play while developing poems-stories-essays, and discover creative corners of our minds that we did not know existed. Metaphorically, we will take our journal under a “shade tree” and talk together about issues that matter. We will swim around important “buoys” in our educational journeys. We will row a boat to a “lighthouse” that shows us our path through the fog. We will take our minds for a “jog” to the library. We will learn to write more, write faster, and write better. More than anything, though, we will create time to dream about our ideas and celebrate the power and beauty of words.
Where: Beveridge Magnet Middle School
1616 South 120 st, Omaha
When: June 11-15, 8:30 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Contact the school office if you have questions (402) 557-4000.
Use PayPal (button below) or make checks out to Fine Lines ($150/person). The registration fee includes a notebook, a camp t-shirt, frequent snacks, daily guest speakers, editing help for your writing, and a yearly subscription to the Fine Lines Journal.
Click Here to Download the Flier: 2012CampApp
Dear David Martin,
I’m looking at my bookshelf right now and I still have the orange journal you handed me the summer before I went to Westside Middle School. That was back in 2002. Now, I am completing a BA in creative writing from UNL, assembling a creative thesis, and applying to graduate schools. Looking back, I think your camp was the first time someone told me that I could be a writer. It wasn’t a place where teachers told me I couldn’t or that someone was better than me at something. We just wrote, and that was just the best feeling. Something as simple as a summer camp helped me feel like I could become the writer I am now, and even the writer I want to become later.
I am currently the editor of a regional magazine run through the Center for Great Plains Studies at UNL called “Plains Song Review.” I served on the review board two years prior, and I’ve been having a great time organizing the work of other writers and giving people a chance to be published. One of my missions since going to UNL has been to give back to writers any way I can. I also work at the UNL writing center and am one of the senior staff members there. Every day I work with writers one-on-one. I really can’t imagine any more fulfilling work I could be doing for other students while I’m at UNL.
If you need any help this summer with Fine Lines, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’d love to hear from you and talk writing.
Thanks again for my first writing journal and everything that followed.
Sleepless in Omaha: The Poetic Insomnia
David Prinz Hufford
I was sleepless one night in Omaha, but that was weeks ago. I also spent a week one night in Omaha, but I lived there many years. Unless you are a writer, you may not understand these time shifts.
Often it happens, but not often enough; the tireless incubus which drives the poet comes out, many times at night, and will not let him sleep. Some do not believe in inspiration; perhaps, they have never been inspired. But I have, and sometimes, it is a longing anguish, not just to say what needs to be said, but to say what cannot be said.
I have had the opportunity at writers’ conferences, workshops, and retreats to observe others with this malady: the creature which comes out at night and will not let you sleep. I understand that de Maupassant had it, to the point of insomnia. This creature wants out and can have life only in inspiration or invention. Normal people may have it, but they go back to sleep. The inventor of the vacuum sweeper had it, so he got out of bed and drew the first design of what is now your modern convenience.
It is winter, and the creature in me needs the warmth of human association, from the waking souls who will not sleep, but who arise from a warm bed to let the emotional dog out, to what Camus called the “invincible summer,” and the excited creature acts like hope, acts like perpetual morning, and acts like love.