Avert your eyes

I run a pretty PG-rated blog here. If you don't count mammograms, I write pretty clean stuff, and truly, having your girls molded like Silly Putty before being flattened in a George Foreman Grill is not exactly stimulating, if you know what I mean. I don't want to put one of those "Are you 18?" filters on my blog because that's not what I'm about.

So I'm going to tell you a story today, but I'm going to use a few word substitutions in order to keep it clean. Think of it as the same way TV blurs certain body parts.

Back in February, I went to the Southern California Writer's Conference and had a whale of a good time. I hung out with friends, I learned a lot in workshops, and I even got an idea for a new book.

I also took a field trip. My friend, Tameri Etherton, has described this trip in her blog, but she left out a few things that I need to mention. Because the whole story is funny - but I'll keep it clean, I promise. Wink, wink, nod, nod.

Tameri writes fantasy. On Friday evening, she was talking about this evil character she is writing, one who is a Lipizzan but might be Bi-Coastal. This character uses Socks as a weapon, and is into Bandaids and Shadow Mannequins. Since Tameri is not a Bi-Coastal woman into Bandaids and Shadow Mannequins, she thought maybe she should visit a prone shop to get some information on the subject.

The bookseller  at the conference was happy to provide us with the name of a shop and general directions, so Tameri and I, along with our friend Linda made plans. As we left, Michael asked if we'd be at the bar later.

"Yes, we just have to visit the prone shop first," I told him.

"Can you pick me up some of those things that do this and that and play a little song?" he asked.

"Sure." I'm always happy to do a favor for a friend.

We spent a little time driving around blocks, looking for the shop. At one point, Tameri asked me to use my SmartPhone to find it. I tried, but finally had to admit my phone does not have a category for what we were looking for.

Finally we found it, then found a parking space, then entered The Store. I noticed on the way in, how jaunty and well-lit it looked from the street, and how covered and shady it was up close. Once inside, the lights were harshly bright. I guess they did not want any dark corners for anyone to do anything, um, unseemly.

As we first walked in, there was an entire wall to our right of DVDs for happy men. Very. Happy. Men. We were, thankfully, the only ones in the store, although I suppose the entire staff can now watch us on the security tapes and laugh at the three middle-aged gals with wide, Bambi-eyes, wandering around.

Tameri went immediately to the clerk, who was trying out for the role of Lisbeth Salamander's younger sister, and explained exactly what she wanted and exactly why she wanted it. ("I'm a writer. I'm doing research" - yeah, like they haven't heard that one before.)

Linda and I wandered, separately. I'm not certain what Linda was shopping for, but I was trying to read labels to figure out what things were used for, without looking like I was reading labels to figure out... Oh, well, you know. I don't know why I would want to appear hip and knowledgable in a prone shop, but there you go.

Sooner or later, Lisbeth Junior found a couple of Lipizzan DVDs for Tameri. As Tameri turned around to go to the counter and pay, she came face to face with an entire wall of the largest Waldos she (or I and possibly Linda) had ever seen. Her face looked just like this:



Of course, she screamed like a girl.

We had decided earlier that we must also get something for Michael, but what? It had to be funny without being crude. Not easy in this store. Tameri spotted the perfect thing at the counter. A box of Gummi candy, in the shape of... Globes, yes, that's it. Gummi Globes.

As the clerk processed Tameri's purchases, she asked, "Need lube?"

Tameri, of course, did not need her oil changed, so she declined. After one more query about a small pink octopus on the counter ("It's Very Vibrant," explained the clerk), we left.

Michael enjoyed his Globes, more than Tameri enjoyed her DVDs. But at least she learned something.

We all did. So many people wanted to come with us, next year, we're getting a bus.

The final impression that lingers

I'm just back from the San Diego edition of the Southern California Writer's Conference. I'm dog tired, exhiliarated, spent, excited, exuberant and perhaps too slightly hung over to adequately discuss what I did there, who I met, and what new dreams they gave me.

But this is how I feel.



More later.

San Diego, here I come!

This weekend is the Southern California Writer's Conference in San Diego, and I'm going. It will be my, oh, two hundredth year of attending, and I'm as excited (and slightly nervous) as the first time.

SCWC has two conferences a year, one in September in Newport Beach and one over the President's Day weekend in San Diego. They've also had one in Palm Springs a few times, but it has turned out to be a difficult location, and the directors cannot do three conferences a year without suffering nervous breakdowns.

I'm only in charge of one Author's Luncheon, and I can feel their pain.

My first conference with them was in Palm Springs in 2006. I was told about the February conference in San Diego, but thought I'd skip that one - until I saw who was going to be teaching workshops. So I went in February, thinking I'd skip the September one - until I saw the workshops being taught. At some point, I resigned myself to two conferences a year because it might kill me to miss one.

I've posted before on what a great, working conference this is, but now I'm going to show you some examples. First, let's see a clip of the kind of speakers we get to hear, and what they have to say:



One of my favorite workshops is where you read your query or synopsis and Marla Miller identifies the problems with it. This is an online version of what she does at SCWC:



Lastly, the conference directors are dedicated to making this conference a good value for everyone's money, however, they are an irreverent crew and like to lighten things up. They've put out a series of videos highlighting the conference and the writer's life. Here's one of my favorites:



This conference began as a curiosity, but it is now my community. I know I can count on these people to give me strong feedback, critique, and advice on my writing, from creation through promotion.

Writers, artists, creative types - do you have a community, or are you a lone wolf?

Flotsam and jetsam

I so love that phrase, I used it two or three times in HIT OR MISSUS and had to go through and rip out all but one occurrence. Damn.

Yesterday, as I was getting ready to drive to Santa Barbara to be Marla Miller's guest panelist at the SB Writer's Conference, I had a Really Big AHA Moment about being an Indie author (which makes me want to wear a fedora and buy a bullwhip, BTW). I drove home thinking, gee, what an excellent blog post that will make - I'm gonna write that as soon as I get home!

Except that I got home after two-and-a-half hours on the freeway and thought, well, nothing, because my brain had turned to oatmeal. Instead, I watched last week's episodes of So You Think You Can Dance with my hubby and tried to point out where my friend, Megan, and I had been in the audience. We were waaaayyyyy off-camera, but when Cat Deeley is in the upper aisle behind the judges, there's a lady's hands in the lower left corner of the screen.

We're in her row.

So the Indie-AHA will wait for another day, while I turn my attentions to writing my weekly column. I usually write it on Tuesday nights, but we're going to see Les Miserables at the Ahmanson tonight, so I will probably NOT want to write about the spider in my shower when I get home from being thrilled. I also need to wash a few clothes. Like, all of them.

In the meantime, I'm going to post a video of my dog chasing the water spraying from the hose. Just because.






Later, Peeps.