On the cancellation of the Iowa Summer Writing Festival…
August 13, 2025
Dear Writers,
When I was teaching in an MFA program in Oklahoma, I had a student named R who wrote hardscrabble narratives of family conflict and attachment, stories he’d been holding for years. When I was about to leave the program and return to New York City, R confessed to the class that he was almost out of stories, didn’t know what was going to become of his writing after I left.
I said, “You know what’s going to happen then, R?”
“What?”
“You’re going to really start writing.”
I don’t use my mailing list very much. I don’t want to be a nuisance. But the news two days ago, that administrators have suddenly and without warning taken a chainsaw to the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, made me want to connect with you, my most recent students there.
For the record, the Festival was thriving and successful, due to the vision of Amy Margolis, the phenomenal staff, and the spirit, and love of writing, participants brought each year. The Festival was like a coral reef, supporting the lives of countless creatures, a source of rare medicine, boosting the Iowa City economy, seeding literary careers, far-reaching and lifelong connection, collaboration and friendship. The Festival budget was the best money a university could possibly allocate, elevating its name worldwide. The sickening decision on the part of the dean, who sent you that repugnant and saccharine email (while locking the staff out of their email accounts), had nothing to do with “funding issues.” I don’t have to tell you how much arts cancellation is going on in this country.
But as writers, I’d like you to at least feel lucky you got a taste of the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. I don’t think it’s coming back (though I'll hope against hope it somehow does), but do not let this deter your writing. The opposite needs to happen. We may not meet again, we may never be back in Iowa City, but sooner or later you’ll need to be alone, in the wilderness of your craft. In Buddhism there’s something called the lion’s roar, a roar of confidence and triumph over obstacles. Lions roar loudest when they’re alone.
It sucks they killed one of the great arts institutions in the country, for no good reason. But keep your own torch burning. That’s what we, faculty and staff of the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, dedicated ourselves to most: what you’ll do on your own. So get writing (and maybe remember us in the acknowledgments of your bestsellers).
All the best,
Diana