A few years ago I found myself stuck writing the same poem over and over again like a glitch in a video game where your character walks in place at the edge of the screen, unable to turn, the front body disappeared and the back half marching relentlessly in place. I needed a fresh angle and new work. Wallson Glass got me out of the rut, opened me to the poems I needed to finish my third book, and set me off on the trail of future writing. It was the people―my fellow attendees have included accomplished poets, award-winning essayists, students, filmmakers, administrators, and baristas. It was the books―laid out in front of us were tomes of occult magic, encyclopedias of weeds, dictionaries of symbols, and on seemingly into infinity. And it was Geoffrey―his mage-like spirit of insight and curiosity and astonishment. We all come to the table at Wallson Glass with a chance to surprise ourselves and each other. It’s why we write.