October 25th, 2010 / 10:38 am

Obituary: AWP (1967-2010)

AWP (The Association of Writers and Writing Programs) – (1967 to October 25, 2010) One of the longest standing and thereby most-oft-cited-like-prom-in-relation-to-the-space-where-act-is-not-act-but-goober-city events in the lexicon of rising and extending the social life of the author passed away just before someone’s lunch break this afternoon when a mangy maned and business suit clad middle aged man stormed into the AWP offices in Fairfax, Virginia and released an airborne toxin that immediately brought to their knees said officeholders and those in an outlying .5 mile radius of the building. Authorities are still working in their off hours of other atrocities to identify the corpse of the perpetrator despite his wearing a laminated ID tag suspended from a necklanyard relic of the 2010 convention of the AWP faculties and associates in Denver, Colorado, as they quickly found that the name printed on the tag, Alice Munro, was not the perp at all but someone authorities believe may purportedly be a “writer” herself, though not a “writer” capable of such will. A manifesto found on the perp’s body, which was mostly eaten alive by the angry bees attracted by the scent of writer toxin, like sandwich musk and want, while the numerable “highest level” AWP employees, whom no one has ever met, escaped through an unidentified aircraft toward the blinker of the sun never to return, stated the motive for the destruction as such: “I’M FUCKIN SICK O THIS SECRET HANDSHAKE HIPPIE WANKER ASS SHIT WHERE YOU HANDY DANDIES COME AROUND SELLIN YR POETRIES AND YR MAGASHITZINES TO EACH OTHER WHILE WHEN ANYTIME I BRING AROUND MY OWN REALER MAGAZINES AND TALK ABOUT TO TELL YOU WHERE MY LAUNCH PARTY IS AT TONIGHT YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M TREVOR MCDUNNAWAY, WHICH I AM, WHICH TO YOU MEANS SHITZIP AND I’M FUCKIN SICK OF TYPING AND I MISS MY DAD MOTHERFUCKER FUCK WRITING BITTCH YR SERVICES ARE VOID.” Eighteen copies of the remainder of the manifesto, which the perp, who has since been identified not as the aforementioned “TREVOR MCDUNNAWAY” carried on his person extended in one long armreach with a pricetag of $24.95 in softcover with “discount sale!” stickers reducing said price to $22.90, were still held tightly by the author’s corpse against his sternum so well infused that his remains will be cremated, along with the lanyards and programs and attendance roster of the previously planned 2011 convention of AWP to be held in Washington D.C., a fire that burned purple for six hours in the light of the other ashes in our special government atrocity cremation center before finally muttering out into another pile. Subsequent strains of the airborne toxin, briefly considered deadly to all nations, have been found to only affect those of the weakest temperament to sick, via skins of thin mettle and minds of weak acumen predetermined to attend panels on Life Poetics in the Work of Cracker Barrel Anthologies and Nature as Conduit for Metaphor, and even in those few sadly exposed bodies only inducing mild conditions of pasty foreskin/labia, heavy breathing, and sometimes a hunger for flamebroiled meat. Book objects and chapbooks remaining unsold and thereafter abandoned at AWP locations of the past 40 years will be donated to a new, more vital writing services program, where the corpus of such paper will be burned to heat the homes of indigent but still somehow willful writers. Anyone not already involved in publishing their own magazine had no comment on the logically pragmatic death, though remembrance services for Mr. “MCDUNNAWAY” will be held at Shortback Books in downtown Presererancese, Wisconsin featuring readings by Bob Hicok and Steve Almond. Remembrance services for AWP will take place over the next two to seven years as longtime members, attendants, would-that-I-were-not-married-I-could-have-gotten-out-there-cuz-I-hear-sometimes-there-are-people-there-who-both-like-books-and-will-fuck persons, and please-emblazon-my-name-on-your-paper-I’ll-do-anything-even-though-there’s-nothing-to-do-but-keep-pretending-I’m-listening-and-shake-some-hands-with-eyes-averted-and-keep-drinking hucksters spread the flame of memory from one to another via the age-old echo party celebration cue, “Are you going to you AWP?,” which regrettably this year must be answered by one and all, “I can’t.”



  1. Rebekah

      What does this mean?


  2. christopher.

      All who go to AWP 2011 are now necrophiliacs.

  3. Rebekah

      What does this mean?


  4. Blake Butler

      i bet you can figure it out

  5. Sean

      The only reason anything in the world is published by anyone is AWP.

      Prom is a verb and noun.

      Like fuck.

  6. Rebekah

      Clearly, I cannot. That’s why I asked.

  7. Jtchandl

      is this true?

  8. Kate

      Oh admit it, you’re super psyched for AWP this year – you’ll get there Wednesday and stay until the dance party on Saturday. But it’s become the thing to bitch and moan about it, but then you have to be there, because all the cool kids are going to be there. Much more respectable to actually abstain from it all because it has absolutely nothing to do with writing or literature.

  9. Blake Butler

      it’s my density. i mean, my destiny.

  10. Blake Butler

      maybe you should have been at the ‘Uncovering the meaning in the obscure ejaculationism’ panel at awp this past year instead of being out highfiving and talkin bout books and giving people shit for hugging, bekah.

  11. Kate

      who the fuck goes to that dance party anyway? it’s very prom, yes, with a bad theme involving the word destiny.

  12. mimi

      well, it’s not really true that all the cool kids are going to be there, because i won’t be there

  13. zusya

      this was aweirdsome

  14. Sean

      “Cows eating ground cow, and you ask why you’re all mad.”

      Bill Dance

  15. Tadd Adcox

      “To prom someone” sounds painful, but maybe in a fun way?

  16. Tadd Adcox

      I actually kind of love the incredibly-awkward dance party. I love all incredibly-awkward dance parties, really. The one at AWP just seems to be in a class by itself.

  17. christopher.

      All who go to AWP 2011 are now necrophiliacs.
      to be fair, everyone who went to 2010 probably were, too.

  18. Karl

      hah, i’ve never been. but i dream of going

  19. Tim Jones-Yelvington

      I prommed ur dad

  20. Tim Jones-Yelvington

      It’s a spectacle.

  21. Tim Jones-Yelvington

      That makes it sound more appealing.

  22. Tim Jones-Yelvington

      I find this piece delightful.

  23. Tadd Adcox

      I prommed ur last reading. In costume.

  24. Rebekah

      I’m over my personal space issues. Wanna hug? I’m all about hugging. I’ll give you one of those uncomfortable pelvisy hugs. Let’s go.

  25. Tim Jones-Yelvington

      I thought I felt something back there.

  26. Tadd Adcox

      Your face is a spectacle.

      In related news, I wonder if between the two of us we can derail mean week into being all about the “your dad” & poop jokes.

  27. Rebekah

      The answer to that is “No.” Nothing can derail mean week. Also: Tim’s face IS a spectacle. Duh.

  28. stephen

      lol i like the dialogue in all-caps

  29. Tadd Adcox

      I for one would like to see some mean week posts dealing explicitly with (or in) poop jokes.

  30. efferny jomes

      I’m going to AWP because I don’t have to pay anything.

      Just like necrophilia.

  31. Rebekah

      I stepped in poop earlier.

  32. christopher.


  33. stephen

      lol i like the dialogue in all-caps

  34. stephen

      i enjoy to dance

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