And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I went to see The Decemberists perform last night at the IMU. Interspersed between songs, Colin Meloy had an ongoing joke about the creativity of the name of Iowa City, the city being next to the Iowa River, et cetera. And then this happened.
Colin: Anyone here from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop?
Me: WOO-HOO! (I was the only one who made any noise at all.)
Colin: It’s always nice to hear from other people whose professions are dying out.
Be still, my unemployable heart.