Certainly, all of the following encounters did not occur in a dimly lit bathroom on the second floor of the Baker Center (as two of the esteemed authors at this year’s Literary Festival were male), but one did. That benign, everyday women's room gab made me realize what was so special, and surreal, and perfect about this year’s festival: the authors were friendly, encouraging, enthusiastic… accessible. They were genuinely nice people; regular people, with shining talent and a wealth of personality.

Like Padgett Powell, who was so gracious to autograph my copy of his The Interrogative Mood for me, and when he asked for the dedication, peered at me, head cocked, and said, “Kacy? That’s not a name that I’m familiar with.” To which I was prompted to reply, “Yes, there were 30 babies per 1 million born in 1982 with the name Kacy; the only year that name is found in such fashion.” He cocked his head to the other side, gave me a bemused look and said, “Well, good luck with that.”

Or Debra Marquart, who was both interested in telling Olivia and I about the M.F.A. program at Iowa State and in learning about what we were writing. She graciously posed for pictures with us, and exclaimed “Wow, your tall!” when she looked at the shot, worried that she had not taken a good photo. She asked us to tag her in the pictures when we posted them and was quite excited to check in on our literary blog. What wowed me the most was when she spoke of a new, short piece that she had shared in her reading the night before. She told us how nerve-wracking it was to share a new piece, to know when it was ready to present to the world; she said eventually, “You just have to go for it.”

We encountered Tobias Wolff near the book sale, and he enthusiastically dropped his belongings on the nearest table and took our books to sign. “What graduate programs are you interested in?” he asked while he wrote, and he talked about the merits of the program that I mentioned and complimented several of the professors there that he was friends with. “Just keep writing” was his advice. He too was more than happy to pose for pictures, but asked that we not post them on the internet, because he hated “seeing his mug everywhere.”

Rita Dove patted the seat next to her and her husband when I asked for her autograph, and the first thing that I noticed were her beautiful finger nails as she signed my book. Each was half gilded accompanied by teal, fuchsia, or royal purple. She told us how much she had enjoyed the literary festival: the theater, the audience, and the English department who put the festival together. She was warm and receptive and so approachable.

Which brings me to the bathroom conversation that occurred before the final readings: The second floor bathroom in Baker is decidedly cramped: three stalls and two sinks that create an assembly-line effect for the patrons as the soap and paper towels mirror one another on opposite sides of the sink, and woman are constantly reaching over each other in an attempt to wash and dry. All three stalls opened at once, and there were three women in line, until Debra Marquart and another woman walked in, and Rita Dove stood at the sink, forced to reach over the girl next to her for soap as the other girl tangled her arms over to grab paper towels.

Dove announced that she would move to the corner of the bathroom to apply her lipstick, as more patrons filtered in and it struck me just how selfless the offer was as she was about to read in front of hundreds. She attempted to balance her purse to keep it from falling in the trash can, apply her lipstick, and keep the door from hitting her back each time a new woman entered the restroom, rushed because it was almost time for the night’s readings and the theater (and bathroom) was teeming with bodies. Dove said, “This is excessive. Someone didn’t think this bathroom through.” Marquart replied, “A man must have planned it.”

We all laughed, and the tension broke, and the conversation turned to the mundane, but I realized right then that this year’s lit fest was different; each author was down-to-earth and accessible. They were inspiring and genuine. They were humorous and engaging. They were all willing to autograph, to share, and to advise, but most importantly, they were interested in interacting in a positive, meaningful way.