Back to It

Today I began wading through the muck of my writing that was workshopped these past two weeks. I have four stories that need rewrites. And although it’s a wonderful problem to have—so much feedback on so many stories!—the task is as daunting as escaping quicksand. The only thing I felt capable of beginning to struggle out of was a short-short that was critiqued at Squaw’s afternoon’s open workshop.

Overheard at Starbucks: One woman telling another about rude, middle-of-the-night phone calls she’s been receiving. The account involved multiple continents, the FBI, identify theft, and a scorned lover.

Somewhere in the thick of it, woman #2 says, “This is, like, a whole story.”

Woman #1: “It is a whole story.”

How jealous I was of #1 and her endorsing friend, #2. My only consolation is that she took far more words than those in my short-short to spin her yarn.

Love Letter

It is with sweaty palms and a fluttering heart that I profess my love for my Napa and Squaw workshop mates.

We commuted in winery rush hour, we conspired to get me the vegetarian lunch option, we got you your much-beloved fig pizza, and we listened to (and learned from!) poetry craft talks.

We read our work aloud to each other one night, and listened to a published author stumble through her own book on another night. We ate overpriced seafood and found we had friends in common. We tried breaking into a pool. We succeeded in breaking down stories to see how they work.

In lieu of a promise ring, we exchanged manuscripts scribbled with notes of affection and solid criticism. We got to know each other over a very intense week, and while our relationships must continue long-distance I know we'll be very happy together.

Masquerade

After two weeks of writing boot camp, I arrived home expecting some sort of reprieve from stories. But Bryan's mom generously treated us to The Phantom of the Opera last night, and before I could help myself I was analyzing plot, looking for motive, seeing where the line between inner and outer story blurred. I was a Phantom virgin, and confess to not having known anything about the story (other than what can be inferred from its title).

I thoroughly enjoyed the entire show. My favorite part was the curtain call, when this building of thousands, people who'd sat so politely silent during the play, were able to tell the performers how much they'd enjoyed watching them do what they love to do. And the performers seemed truly grateful. It was wonderfully symbiotic, It felt like a community, and the fact that this type of exchange isn't available to but a small coterie of fiction writers wasn't lost on me. It makes me want to don a mask and tell all the struggling writers whom I admire that their words do matter.

Without a disguise, I'd like to thank Marc and Veronika for an awesome Saturday run on a Sunday. I can't wait for Pain Day, otherwise known as Tuesday.

Finis

Coincidence is tough to pull off in fiction. Readers just don't buy a character meeting their long-lost, separated-at-birth twin late one night in the supermarket. But after these two weeks of writer's conferences, in which my path crossed in so many weird ways with other people's, I have to throw up my hands and say, "I believe!" Not that you'll find long-lost twins reuniting over a produce pyramid in any of my stories.

Then We Came to the End

It's almost time to leave Squaw Valley. I know because the last pen I brought is almost out of ink.

Writing Conference Take-aways

What I've learned thus far:
-Never deadbolt the lock on the pass-through door of your bedroom.
-Locksmiths are magicians.
-Rollerball pens don't travel well up to altitude.
-People coming together, to help each other in their solitary writing pursuits, isn't a contradiction at all.

Napa Valley

What an intense, friendly, serious, funny week. Every single day of my workshop proved enormously helpful to my writing. It was all so good, and I was beginning to worry that the advice would get muddled together. But then Carlson let us in on the secret to writing a successful vampire romance story. The secret? Well, there are two. One: lots of virgins. And two: vampires who just want to snuggle. If only I weren't at Squaw Valley this week, and unable to carve out time to write my version.