2008 Erma Bombeck Writers Conference - The Low Down

Just back from the 2008 Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference in Dayton, my old stomping grounds. It was cold and gray when I arrived but the dirt was brown, as earth is supposed to be (not this red clay stuff forced upon us in North Carolina). Laughed a lot, made new friends, and even managed to learn a thing or two despite my best intentions to only drink wine, eat free desserts, and take guilt free long, hot showers.  A non-writer friend once asked me what goes on at these writer workshops, so here's my attempt at a summary:

• Lunch and dinner speakers. Among others, Garrison Keillor from A Prairie Home Companion, Pulitzer Prize winner Connie Schultz, Martha Bolton who wrote for Bob Hope and Phyllis Diller, and Mike Peters who writes/draws the comic strip Mother Goose and Grimm. My impressions of these people: Garrison looks like a homeless man but he opens his mouth and a golden glow comes out and you realize you're in the presence of a writing/storytelling god; Simply put, I want to BE Connie Schultz when I grow up; I suspect Martha Bolton to be a Republican but she is so charming in every other aspect, I'm willing to overlook it; and Mike Peters seriously needs to consider Ridlin, but then again maybe not, as he's friggin' hysterical as is.
• Workshops: Lot of attention paid to U-Tube this year. Will making bad videos sell books? We're writers... we're desperate... it's worth a shot.
• American Greetings was there and my new goal in life is to have a greeting card published. If I do, be prepared to receive this card, and only this card, from me on every card-giving occasion for the rest of your life.
• Got a good writing tip for essays. Instead of trying to dive in, write, "This is a story about..." and repeat for 10 minutes. The second part of the sentence should include sensory detail. So instead of "This is a story about animal shelters," it would be, "This is a story about cement cages with no beds and cold floors. This is a story about fur matted with lice, fleas, and the burns and scars of neglect. This is a story about a 10-month old Labrador puppy whose tail creates minor earthquakes as it thumps the floor in greeting."  You take a couple of statements that stand out for you and expand on them. It's a way of tricking your brain into getting started writing while starting to compile story details.

There's more, but tiredness just caught me.  I think I hear bad TV calling my name. Only I'm a writer, so it's not bad TV. It's "cultural research." I can probably even deduct the cable bill.

Cheers.

Well THAT Was An Ugly 24 Hours...

I have been through the storm.  Yesterday about 9 pm I came down with some sort of stomach/flu virus. Miserable does not begin to describe the last 24 hours. I have not done this much praying to the porcelain god since college.  Add in fever, aches, chills, headache... Today was one of those days where I just prayed for death.  And yet, as suddenly as it hit, it seems to have gone. I realized about an hour ago that the thought of food was not stomach-turning and actually kept down some applesauce. (Much love to my sister who called and told me the "BRAT" secret to eating when sick: Bananas, Rice, Applause, Toast.  That, and she suggested sipping Gatorade for nutrients, which helped as well.)

I'm still shaky, but about 90% better than four hours ago. Which is good, because I'm supposed to get in a car and drive 8 hours to Dayton tomorrow for a writer's conference. I'd all but written the conference off, earlier today, but now I'm thinking I might just pull through and make it. If so, probably no blogging for a few days as I don't plan on taking my laptop with me.

Off to bed for what I hope is a good night's sleep.

What's Your Word?

I'm re-reading Elizabeth Gilbert's brilliant book, Eat, Pray, Love.  I just read it at the end of last year but I fell in love with her writing and humor and decided to indulge my urge to read it again.

I read a section last night that I thought would be interesting to blog about. When Liz is in Italy, she has a conversation with an Italian friend who tells her that every place has its own word. Rome's word, for example, is SEX. Sex is what everyone there is thinking about and influences daily how people eat, dress, shop, talk, walk, and make friends. Liz declares New York City's word to be ACHIEVE and Los Angeles's word to be SUCCEED.

She then moved into contemplating what her own personal word might be and that got me thinking about what my own word would be. It's easy of course to come up with words I wish described me: PEACE, LOVE, HOPE, JOYFUL, ENCOURAGING...  But I think my actual word would be something closer to: EXPLORE, WISH, ADMIRE, ACHIEVE, EGO, or LAUGH.  Not bad words, but perhaps not quite the Zen-master word list one might hope for.

The good thing is your word can change as you change. But how 'bout it? If you had to pick one word today to encapsulate who you are, what would that word be?

Weekend Update

It's a cold, rainy Saturday which suits my mood just fine. Not that I'm in a bad mood. It's just that if it were sunny and clear I'd convince myself I should be out clearing the yard, or planting flowers, or taking a walk. Instead, the dreary weather is the perfect excuse to huddle inside and read books and watch TV all day long.

I'm thinking of driving into GSO to see a movie. Blair isn't feeling well (possible reaction to medication for his cat bite) and again, my mood is one of those where it sounds quite fun to sit in a darkened theatre by myself and enjoy a movie. I've yet to see Juno and it's playing at 1:20--I'm contemplating it.

Updates:

• The Camry lost a hubcap but luckily Blair saw it fall off so we could retrieve it. We can't get it back on though, and for the moment I'm too embarrassed to drive to a repair shop and ask for help.
• The killer squirrels are for the moment respecting the cease and desist order I sent them. This is good, as Critter Control never called me back.
• I cleaned out my closet and filled a bag and a half with clothes. I ran across a straw hat I bought 8 years ago in Williamsburg. All the ladies were wearing them and Blair and I spent an hour shopping for the perfect hat for me. I wore it one day and it hasn't been on my head since. Blair saw it in the "to go" pile and said, "Oh, you're getting rid of the hat?" I put it on and he declared it cute. It kind of is, but I can't imagine anyplace I would wear it, and told him so. He started chanting, "One more year. One more year," so I laughingly gave in and the hat is now back in place on the back of my closet door.

Tomorrow is a 14-mile run. Apparently the weather gods dislike us as we've had sunny 65 degree days during the week and it drops to 41 on weekends. That's okay. I just think "coffee and a bagel" during my last three miles and that pulls me through.