It just doesn’t have a ring to it–hey, I’m going to Bread Loaf! I’m going to be a waiter!
Usual Response: Uh, cool. You’re waiting tables at a bakery?
Me: That’s the name of the mountain! It’s a writers’ conference!
Usual Response: Weren’t you a waiter, like years ago? Aren’t you over being a waiter?
Me: But this is cool! It’s the oldest, 
best writers’ conference! It was founded by Robert Frost!
Usual Response: And you’re going to wait tables? Wait on a bunch of writers? They don’t tip well, I bet.
Me: It’s an honor!
Usual Response: An honor. Is cleaning the toilet an even bigger honor?
Me: Really, it’s an honor!
Usual Response: Whatever man….
Me: Really! I swear! It’s a work-study fellowship for fiction!
Never a prophet in your own country. Antonya Nelson was a waiter. Langston Hughes was a waiter.
Bet they got the same shit, too.
An insider’s account on what it’s like to be a waiter at Bread Loaf, from Slate
Another insider’s account, but from the point of view of the social staff
What Rebecca Mead of The New Yorker had to say about it
A short film about Bread Loaf, on what it’s like on the mountaintop
The New Yorker piece was really unfair to the creative spirit that drives the fiction writer. Of course, it’s written by a journalist. What do they know?
The New Yorker piece was really unfair to the creative spirit that drives the fiction writer. Of course, it’s written by a journalist. What do they know?
That New Yorker piece is really bad: badly written, badly reported, and a disaster. It’s a piece written by an idiot.
That New Yorker piece is really bad: badly written, badly reported, and a disaster. It’s a piece written by an idiot.
hey david…lost touch with you…its jeffery weigand…drop me a line at cash@surfglobal.net would love to hear how things are going…i am fine….get back…regards, jeff
hey david…lost touch with you…its jeffery weigand…drop me a line at cash@surfglobal.net would love to hear how things are going…i am fine….get back…regards, jeff