Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival: Day One

March 22, 2024

Normally, if my alarm happens to go off at one in the morning, it’s because there was some sort of mistake. Not today.

My flight was scheduled to leave Boston at 5:45 in the morning, and I don’t like to arrive at an airport less than two hours before my flight leaves–especially at a busy airport like Logan (one time, I arrived two hours early for a flight out of Rhode Island’s T.F. Green airport–and the airport hadn’t opened yet. So not a necessary strategy for all terminals). And Boston was a two hour drive from my home, so I needed to get out the door by 1:30.

Interstate 95 is one of those roads you assume is always going to be busy, even in the middle of the night. Even if there aren’t a lot of cars, you imagine the trucks rumbling through the night, keeping those supply lines open. Not this night. I-95 was strangely quiet. Driving in the time of Covid quiet. As odd as it was, I was grateful because it meant a smooth trip to the parking lot wherein I had arranged to leave my car.

Unfortunately, the lot where I had parked informed me that their free 24 hour shuttle doesn’t run between midnight and 4 a.m. This fact was conspicuously missing from their website–I suppose “Twenty hour shuttle service” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. The parking attendant told me that if I waited until the 4 o’clock shuttle, I’d still arrive in time for my flight “as long as his driver shows up on time.” That didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Given I’d also be waiting in twenty degree weather, I decided to check my rideshare app, and find another option. I was dropped off at the airport, made my plane in plenty of time, and began my trip to New Orleans.

I was greeted at the airport by my friend Amanda, who offered to pick me up and take me to my Vrbo. Amanda and I took the Independent Film School mentorship program together, and until she greeted me near baggage claim, we had only known each other as faces on a Zoom screen. Amanda is even more delightful in person; it felt a bit like meeting an old friend for the very first time. She dropped me off at my rental, which was fortuitously very close to her home. On top of that, she told me she would be attending the play reading on Sunday.

My Vrbo was immaculately clean, and had snacks! In other words, just perfect. A shower, a change of clothes, and I was on my way to the French Quarter and the Hotel Monteleone, the headquarters of the Festival. I was enthusiastically greeted at the registration desk, presented with my VIP pass, my tote bag, and my prize money. With that, I headed to my very first session: Michael Cunningham on character.

Some authors are terrific at writing but not particular good as discussing their work. Others seem like natural born teachers. Michael falls into the latter category. He is energetic, charismatic and comfortable talking to a room full of people. He emphasized that when his students say “they aren’t very good at plot,” what they are really saying is that they haven’t developed their characters. He demonstrated that when you fully develop a character, the plots begin to arrive. He also pointed out three very important questions to ask about your character: what does the character want, what do they fear, and what is the one secret they don’t want anyone to know. I have had writing teachers express this in a variety of ways; I enjoyed the precision in how Michael conveyed this to us.

After my first dose of Michael, I got a bit more. He and Justin Torres were in conversation with NPR’s Maureen Corrigan, and even though I haven’t read Justin’s work, I enjoyed their discussion a great deal. Michael told a funny anecdote about the film adaptation of “The Hours.” He wasn’t seeing eye to eye on a plot point with screenwriter David Hare and director Stephen Daldry. Unable to persuade Hare and Daldry to change their approach, he enlisted the help of Julianne Moore. Once she took Michael’s side, the debate was over. The moral of the story? “If you are losing an argument, call a movie star. ” I also ran into Michael in the elevator. He was lovely, and congratulated me for winning the playwriting award.

After that, I had an omelet at a nearby café (and for dessert had the New Orleans donut–the beignet. Evidently, you are not permitted to purchase fewer than three at a time. What a shame. ) In the evening was the VIP reception, and I had a great time chatting with a couple from Omaha. She’s a creative nonfiction writer, and she came to the festival to reclaim her writing mojo; her husband was there to offer moral support. I found them to be so captivating, I ended up talking to them throughout the entire reception.

I had time to kill before a production of Tennessee Williams, “This is the Peaceable Kingdom” so I sat at a Bourbon street café sipping tea. There was a jazz band playing behind me, but out on the street was a group of young men drumming on plastic paint buckets, whilst at the other corner a DJ had set up his gear and on the other corner was a cowboy with a karaoke machine singing country ditties. It is a cliché, arguably the worst cliché, but I think there is no other way to put it:

Only in New Orleans.