Apparently, there’s an upsurge in people and organizations offering urban writers’ residencies, from those tied to community service projects to individuals offering up office space in their own homes.
Of course, here in the Fickle household, any Writers in Residence would soon be buried in a sea of laundry, comic books, and mailers we haven’t thrown out yet. Little Fickle would insist that you play games with him such as List the Arctic Animals You Know in Alphabetical Order and Which Marvel Superhero Would Like This Beatles Song, and Why? Husband and father of the household, whom I’ll call Inspector Spacetime, would spend your tenure avoiding your gaze and grumbling if you try to start a conversation during his TV viewing. (Trust me, Writers in Residence, you do NOT want to say ANYTHING during a new run of Doctor Who episodes. Grammy Fickle tried this once and nearly got snapped in two.)
Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be joining this wave of writerly opportunities anytime soon.