Adventures in Writerland

I spent this weekend past communing with the muse, so to speak, in the form of attending my first ever writers’ conference, Write On The Sound in Edmonds. It was quite a positive experience, as evidenced by the fact that at least once during each session I found myself torn between the desire to stay and hear more and the need to get someplace quiet where I could start applying some of what I had learned. For me, this is the best form of cognitive dissonance and I enjoyed it even as it threatened to drive me bonkers. I felt like the kid at Halloween who has stumbled upon the house hidden at the end of the cul-de-sac where the lady lets you take as much as you want – should I cherry pick or go for volume?

I will be some time processing the writerly lessons I’ve learned and so will refrain from an attempt to enumerate them here and now. But as you might surmise, the weekend was chock full of opportunities for noticing, of which I shamelessly availed myself.

Do you detect a list in the making? Good, because here for your reading enjoyment, I offer my (incomplete – sorry I didn’t write everything down) list of things I noticed over two days in Writerland.

Trees in the central courtyard, observed while waiting for a session to start:

·         The maple with leaves just turning – I could spend my writing life describing them and ultimately prove unequal to the task.

·         Another deciduous tree, windblown so that over time all the growth has been to one side, in profile suggesting the classic banshee with arms extended in the chase or perhaps a young child reaching for the solace of mother or even a timid or superstitious person fleeing (what?)

·         Folks arriving for the conference, representing both individuals and archetypes but each and all sort of writerly in affect (or was this just a projection on my part?), and many seeming to carry questions: Do I belong in the company of REAL writers? Will I be found wanting by myself or others? Will they understand my work? Will they even take an interest?

·         Or, in some cases: Are they worthy of me? Are they teachable?

·         But mostly, probably: These are my people? Yes? Please!?!

Folks aggregating in the rooms and halls: old friends catching up; rounds and rounds of from-where-do-I-know-yous; newbies casting furtive glances or sometimes studying in frank appraisal; the greeters; the leave-me-alone-I’m-just-here-to-listeners. And thankfully, mostly just people being friendly and reassuring each other we were in the right place and running with the right crowd.

The view of the Sound while realizing I showed up wa-a-a-ay too early on the first day:

·         Clouds spanning the passage between two distant land masses (Point No Point and Whidbey Island, methinks?)

·         Auto traffic heading for the ferry dock while beyond, the ferry heads in to meet them

·         People walking on the sidewalk below, never stopping but never scurrying

·         Overcast with breaks of pale blue – it will pour rain later but just now, tranquil skies

·         Brilliant white chalk cliffs which I will realize later were just sun glare on landslid (Slid land? Landslided?)  bluffs – I like the  white chalk imagery better and may use it sometime, who’s gonna know?

Writer/presenters generously stumbling over themselves to engage and bring us the best advice because in the end, they are readers, too and so desperately want us, each and all, to write well and often.

A young presenter who starts out in ‘deliver the paper’ mode, even rebuffs a couple of audience questions (nerves?), heading for a crash-and-burn, then seems to just sort of unlock, hits her stride (perhaps buoyed by the positive vibe in a room in which every person is rooting for her to be comfortable and interesting) and ends up providing quite a bit of usable advice.

Questions from the audience reveal that this truly is a gathering of writers, not just wish-we-were writers or want-to-be-seen-as writers. Writers. People who write. And I’m one (Really? Yes! Well... Oh, shut up!)

One  should never be the guy who volunteers to read your final two paragraphs out loud because the silence at the end seems to confirm worst fears but then, wait, here comes a woman to tell you it resonated (RESONATED! THE SECRET TALISMAN!) so maybe you’ve found an audience and if it’s only one, still, it’s one. (Yahoo!)

One should always be the guy who volunteers to read…

Stop to talk to the guy who corrals you after the last session when you’re mostly desperate to find a restroom because it will turn out to be a truly nice conversation with someone who is also a writer.

Did I say, ‘also?’

Wow! Imagine that!