By Garret Miller

I’ve been tasked with capturing the spirit and experience of Winter Wheat 2024. I’ll offer first a series of images and momentarily shift responsibility to you, earnest reader: imagine the Education Building, in all its eastern bloc nobility; a gaggle of impassioned writers, buzzing in disquiet; dark, fall evenings with winds a shade warmer than we deserve; and a smooth Saturday morning where hope sprinkles in tease of snow. There was coffee. There were snacks. Writing was done. Some learning, too.

But it’s all best stated by our presenters, guests, and organizers.

Nathan Fako, poetry MFA student and co-presenter of the Elegies for Disappearing Nature workshop, finds that Winter Wheat “was fine, wonderful. It was warm. Gatherings of writers… I feel like we’re all kind of awkward people. We wanna keep to ourselves. We like to be alone to think. There’s an apprehension, generally, when we get together, but the warm atmosphere assuaged that feeling. It was fun.” He felt that the “workshops were accessible. There was clear work put in to make the content accessible to someone with no experience with writing, but also to make it interesting to those who are experienced.” His concluding thoughts, which should be remembered: “I’ve never been to a literary festival before, and I really enjoyed it. I thought it was great. It was nice to see so many people passionate about the same thing. I find that heartwarming. Or terrifying. I don’t know which.”

Liz Barnett, fiction MFA student who presented on adaptation, found that Winter Wheat “went really well.” They stated, “In the end, I had a lot of people tell me it was fun. [The workshops] I went to were accommodating; they provided materials, it never felt like I wasn’t prepared, and it didn’t feel like I was being excluded from any activities.” Liz said finally that they’re “looking forward to running a workshop again next year” that will explore revenge stories.

Michelle, an attendee, offered similar sentiments on the warmness: “I had concerns that Winter Wheat would be workshops where the presenters sort of droned on about things they didn’t seem to really care about, but I was happy to find that the presenters had interesting topics that I didn’t know much about. They seemed excited to be there but also relaxed. It felt like nobody was going to make fun of me for my lack of poetry knowledge.” She thought “people were going to be stuffy and have very specific and intense rules for writing,” but stated, “Thankfully, I was wrong. I feel like everyone there was open-minded and interested in exploring many different styles of writing.”

Abigail Cloud, Editor-in-Chief of Mid-American Review, thought “it went really well. People really needed it this year in a big way. There was a lot of worry going on, particularly among our population. People needed to be together and create together. [Attendees] wanted that opportunity to work in inspiring circumstances that are safe, where they can create and not be worried about anything else besides new work and new ideas.” Cloud spoke at length about the generative importance of Winter Wheat, how it “puts focus back on creation, the generation of new ideas and work,” an attitude shared by Haley Souders, Winter Wheat Coordinator. Souders stated, “I always come out of [Winter Wheat] wanting to write more. This year I left wanting to take a look at my thesis project. I feel like I’ve been in a little bit of a gray area with it, where I’m not feeling as much joy writing it, but after spending a few days talking to people who are interested in writing, I feel inspired.”

Cloud also highlights regionality, the “quintessential midwestern aspects of comfort and value of togetherness.” For Cloud, Winter Wheat fosters a sort of camaraderie: “The region, as much as it is here, it is a place, it is more about the attitude and knowledge that we are coming to a place that represents some level of comfort to people.” Souders also touched on the importance of place, stating, “I feel like the words “literary community” have gotten thrown around a lot when talking about Winter Wheat, but having events that are free to attend is important because people from all over can come together to talk about art and writing. Who knows in five years if we will be able to do these things? Humanities are being defunded across the board. It’s important to have [Winter Wheat] and maintain it.”

Finally, Cloud defines Winter Wheat: “The word I’m going to pick is fervent. There’s a real desire to put new work together and take advantage of seeing friends. That’s how I felt. I had some friends there that I haven’t seen in a really long time. I wanted to fervently soak time up with them while they were there with me. I think that’s the best energy that we can hope for and create, just having an immediate connection and desire to what we were doing.”

And here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately, pre and post Winter Wheat: among a few other pesky things, John the Savage tells us to find poetry, God, freedom, sin, and goodness. His distant cousin Alexander Supertramp tells us to honor Ahab, but advises we not forget the dominant primordial beast. Locate ambition, but do not forget hubris. Writers are strange; sometimes we are arrogant, sometimes self-dismissive. Maybe we have ethereal jobs, biblical duties, and great importance – maybe not. It does not matter. Find a warm atmosphere with gentle souls like Winter Wheat, sit awhile, and play toward peace.