Rugby Writing Workshop - 2014

Last weekend's writing workshop in istoric Rugby was a delight. We met in the (partially) restored Uffington House that was built for Madame Hughes -- the elderly mother of the founder of Rugby who travelled from England to lend her support to this utopian venture, spending the rest of her life in the Tennessee 'wilderness.'

It was a diverse and talented group -- about half were repeat offenders  returnees from previous classes and it was a pleasure to see where they had taken their work during the past year. One woman, who had begun her novel at the weeklong workshop I led at John C. Campbell last year, had even completed her novel.  I was thrilled! 

We worked long and hard. Each participant had submitted around twenty pages and each received an hour's in depth critique from the rest of us. It was exciting to hear the suggestions and ideas for  plot twists that emerged and to see the fledgling writers beginning to find a shape for their work;

At least three of the participants had set their novels in Rugby -- one modern day, the other two in the past. One of these dealt with Emily Hughes, who had lived here in Uffington House with her grandmother Madame Hughes. 

I think all of us had the feeling that Madame Hughes's spirit was looking on in approval that her literary son's endeavor was now nuturing other writers.

In and Out at Rugby

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ending the Weekend with a Bang

It was a great weekend in Rugby. But on my way home, I was severely sideswiped and, according to Jordan the wrecker guy, my little car is totaled.  Well, at least I don't have to worry about that leaky tire any more...

I had a small bump on my head and nothing else -- lots of nice folks stopped and offered assistance till the law got there. The guy who hit me apologized. And after a very long wait on the side of I-40 with huge trucks roaring by and making my poor wrecked car sway, the wrecker came to take my car to the wrecker place and me to a motel in Newport, TN. 

I'm writing this Sunday night -- John will pick me up in the morning and life will go on.

And tomorrow I'll post more pictures from the weekend. Right now I'm going to bed, happy not to have been totaled along with the car.

 

In Rugby

I'm in Rugby, Tennessee  -- that charming little Victorian community -- doing a very fast-paced weekend writing workshop.

 

This is pre-posted with pictures from my visit last year as I don't know if I'll have Internet access...

But I'll be back home tomorrow night and catch up with you all then

 

The Founder's House

Though Thomas Hughes spent quite a lot of money on founding his Tennessee colony, he didn't spend very much time there -- possibly because of poor health but speculation is that his wife didn't want to leave England. 

Nonetheless, this is his house. A felt-topped writing desk . . .

A washstand, trunk, and a grand pot de chambre . . .

An up-to-date kitchen . . .

With all modern convienences . . .

Charming . . .

Spices . . .

And a piano in the parlor . . .

Popular tunes . . .

A fan for when the entertainment got too lively . . .

 
And a bit of Burns for those missing the homeland . . .

This will be the last of my Rugby posts. 
If you want to know more, you can visit their  website --
or better yet, visit Historic Ruugby itself.

 

In the Laurel Dale Cemetery at Rugby

Like the rest of Rugby, the grave yard remembers the past while serving the present. 

There are recent graves here but I was interested in the older ones.

I don't know the stories of the folks buried here --

Some are victims of a typhoid epidemic that swept through the colony . . .

 

My hosts told me that there is a  wonderful night time lantern tour where costumed characters stand by 'their' graves and tell their stories . . .

One story is told  in the character of a woman whose returning fiance was shot dead as he stepped off the train . . .

 

Benjamin Thomas Bensted was Rugby's first priest.

Margaret Hughes, the mother of the founder and the matriarch of the colony, lies here.

 

 

Little Grace lived a year and four days . . .

So many stories . . .