On belonging: Stan Hieronymus has the last word (for now) about craft writing.

Maybe the time has come for me let go of the Craft Writing symposium, and so I will, reserving the final recap slot for Stan Hieronymus.

Now, cue the valedictory.

It's true that I have strong opinions about pretty much any topic. After all, you are entitled to them. My contrarian instincts can be a daily annoyance, even to me. Controversy and outspokenness ... well, my childhood baseball hero was Reggie Jackson, and my favorite writer remains HL Mencken. It is an undisputed highlight of my life that Michael "Beer Hunter" Jackson commended me for skill in polemics.

None of these comments are to be construed as self-congratulatory. They merely are intended to illustrate that whatever else might happen, I know myself fairly well in terms of strengths and weaknesses. Usually this recognition is enough, but at times, when work is a grind and play is fleeting, one needs a bit of reaffirmation.

Jeff Rice provided such by inviting me to participate in the symposium, and I cannot thank him enough. I'm 53, and I've been doing "this" -- good beer for a living; writing because it scratches an itch -- for a very long time, and yet there are moments when I'm James Stockdale incarnate, asking "Who am I? Why am I here?"

The symposium made me feel like I belong somewhere, perhaps not so far away in remote left field as sometimes seems the case. Thanks again, Jeff. It was a priceless experience for me.

How many brewers does it take to open a bottle of beer?, by Stan Hieronymus (Appellation Beer)

... As I said at the outset of my presentation, when I get up in front of a bunch of hung over faces on a Saturday morning, a screen loaded with charts at my back, I’m usually talking to homebrewers about the length of a ferulic acid rest and resulting production of 4-vinyl guaicol. But, with full credit to Jeff Rice, I think this conference was unique beyond giving me something different to ramble on about. The discussion about beer and writing began at 10 in the morning, continued officially for seven hours and, not surprisingly, beyond. Yet somehow it didn’t spiral into navel gazing. Hallelujah (I have already used my quota for exclamation points in a post, that being one, or I would place one here).