Aside for Newcomers: I should mention for newbies that the conference is heavily geared toward fiction. It's called the Surrey International Writers' Conference but it's really the Surrey International Mostly-Fiction-Writers' Conference, as far as I can tell from having attended only one. If you are a nonfiction writer, this conference is good. There are many sessions that can help you--sessions on research, pitching, self-publishing, and publishing contracts. These are of interest to all writers. If you are a fiction writer, however, this conference is more than good. It's a gold mine. There are so many enthusiastic fiction writers and good fiction tracks that conversations tend to default to fiction and even the most advanced fiction professional can get something out of the conference.

Oct. 23 Hotel Room Aside: Whew! I had planned to do an "almost live" blow-by-blow blog on this conference, but I'd have to clone myself to accomplish that. I arrived on Oct 21 and it was Oct 23 before I could even get on the Internet for a brief moment to check my email. I haven't surfed the Web since I left and I doubt if I'll have the opportunity until I get back. I barely found time to upload this Aside.

With social activities, personal discussions, fleshing out my notes, (bathroom breaks), and everything else this conference has to offer, I discovered it's impossible to report by the hour or even by the day, without missing a wonderful presentation or wonderful conversation with an interesting person. It's been go-go-go from about 7:00am to 2:00am each day, with hardly time to take a breath and close my eyes for five seconds between activities.

But I DID take lots of pictures. I WILL be uploading them and I'll share my thoughts about the workshops, the master classes, the keynotes and, of course, the food.

"Preconference" Sessions
The first activity - Master Class. After the Thursday afternoon session, and during the conference, many people asked what I thought of Maass's master class and workshops. (Few people asked me what I thought of the other presenters. They should have. There were a number of exceptional people speaking at this conference.) Either way, I have many impressions--some general, some specific.

For now, I'll just give a general overview of Donald Maass's Thursday "preconference" workshop.

My first "gut" reaction, within thirty seconds of entering the room, was that Maass is an intelligent man with a complex personality. He is a good speaker. He can be droll, dry, funny, serious, coaxing, sharp, and philosophical all in the space of a few minutes, without losing the audience or grandstanding. He balances and interweaves lecture, hands-on, and audience participation activities so that the time goes by quite quickly.

The level of the information struck me as being somewhere in the middle (others may feel differently, but as a published writer, that was how it felt to me), which is probably the best strategy in a room with more than a hundred people. Teaching to the middle, or the upper middle (in a class where people have already preselected themselves according to the "Advanced" billing of the class), generally reaches the largest number and is a technique used by many teachers. It's not a perfect system. Some beginners will feel lost and some advanced members will be hungry for more and not necessarily getting it, but compromises are inevitable--there's no way to individualize the experience as you could in a class of twelve or fewer students. Given the limitations of the large group, I feel he did a good job. I particularly benefited from the interactive portions, where Maass solicited ideas and experiences from the audience. There were some thoughtful, articulate people in the room who gave interesting responses to the leading questions.

The time went fast and before I knew it, Maass was encouraging us to take a break and get dinner.

Feed Me, Seymour. The master class was broken into two segments (so people could eat). This was a good idea. Not only did it provide time to organize notes and incubate ideas presented in the first half, but I was starving--I hadn't eaten since 6:00am. A helpful volunteer let me know about cheaper food options across the street, but I decided to stay in the hotel lounge so I could eat quickly and make the second session on time. My good intentions didn't work out.

I'm not sure what the hotel has against me. I gave them a real credit card, not one I stole off the Net. I wasn't planning to steal towels, either, or use the ironing board as a step stool. Still, they seemed determined to lock me in stairwells, charge me double, and keep me out of conference sessions. I could have eaten across the street for considerably less, but I chose the lounge and repeatedly waved at the waitress. She just nodded and smiled and nicked her head at the other attendees, sitting in a big circle, to indicate she was busy and she would get to me as soon as she could. I guess she wanted to wait on the "big group" first rather than a lone writer in the corner with a laptop cluttering her little round table--she probably expected the "big group" to leave a bigger tip.

May I Take Your Order? Eventually the waitress came and offered me a drink. I wanted food. Going hungry for twelve hours is not good for my metabolism or my concentration. I ordered a simple sandwich. I figured sandwiches might be premade or, at least, easy to make--I was wrong.

I waited a long time while they ground the wheat and baked the bread for that sandwich. I watched other people eat, pay, and leave while I sat, mournful, hungry, and alone, waiting for my sandwich. I thought they had forgotten me. When it came, it turned out they had baked the wrong kind of bread. I asked for rye--they gave me whole wheat. By this time, most of the workshop participants had already headed back to the room.

I didn't want to upstage Donald Maass by fainting from low blood sugar in his class, so I took one bite out of the sandwich (while trying to avoid poking out my eye with the speared-olive toothpick) and asked the waitress for a box. She gave me that look that said, "If you weren't going to eat it, why did you order it?" I didn't care. I wanted to get to my session on time. If I had known it would take fifteen minutes to get a box and the bill for the meal, I would have abandoned the sandwich.

Eventually I made it back to the workshop, laptop in one hand--styrofoam box with olive spear sticking out in the other. Donald Maass was up front, well into his presentation, as a hundred and sixty strangers turned to watch me come into the room late--again.

Never mind. It wasn't as bad as being trapped in a stairwell.

The Hour After
After the Presentation. After the class, people stood around chatting about the workshop, getting acquainted, or mobbing Donald Maass. This turned out to be the general way things happen after a master class or workshop. If you want to ask questions of the presenters, you have to be quick. They have limited time between presentations and their time is always in demand. You also have to exercise courtesy and good judgment. They need food and bathroom breaks too.

Not everyone who attends the conference stays at the hotel. Some live in neighboring communities and they head home after the classes or after the social activities begin to wind down. I was quite psyched after the workshop and I wanted to write. But I also wanted to meet some of those scary strangers who had watched me walk in late to the class--twice. At least, I convinced myself of that, so I wouldn't immediately run up to my room to avoid all social interactions.

So I screwed up my courage and walked into the lounge. Instead of sitting alone in the corner, this time, I joined the other writers (at least I assumed they were writers) in the "big group." But I have to say, two things were more important to me at that moment than talking to writers. Those two things were eating and writing. I pulled out my styrofoam "doggie box" with the toothpick poking through the top, opened my laptop on the little round table, and began working on the eighth chapter of my second novel.

I couldn't help myself. I know, I know. It's important to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to people--but after the class I was even more stoked about writing than usual, and I wanted to channel that extra creative energy while it lasted. I took two bites of the sandwich (enough to pacify my hunger for another hour or so), ordered a smoothie (the waitress took my order much more quickly now that I was with the "big group" and didn't have to rush off to a session) and dug into the keyboard.

Meeting the Writers. After a while, Donald Maass joined the "big group" next to a woman named Brenda Carre. I found Brenda to be fascinating. She works in the Lord Byng mini-school and she was familiar with the International Bacchalaureate program. In fact, she helped found the mini-school. My jaw dropped. Here was a kindred spirit. I was one of the first to establish the International Bacchalaureate program in British Columbia, in the days when not too many people had heard of it. My colleagues and I helped the principal of Mountain Secondary School get school board support for a pilot project. He was a very smart guy who immediately understood how the International Baccalaureate could benefit certain types of students and put a lot of effort into establishing one in his school. I'm trying to remember the names of some of the students involved (it was a while ago). Donna Price comes to mind (or was it her daughter?). I've been lobbying for other things since them, computers for schools, help for the homeless, enrichment programs, fair treatment for women athletes, the environment. I've also been traveling and I've moved about ten times, so when Brenda spoke about the success of the IB program, it made me so incredibly happy to know it had grown and flourished.

Work Session. During much of my time in the lounge, Donald Maass and Brenda were deep in conversation and I didn't want to disturb them because I had the impression they were talking about a work-in-progress or something else related to writing. I worked on my novel and intermittently talked to other writers including Jessica (who also has a blog on the Web--unfortunately I can't find the URL).

Buried in the Computer. Usually I need complete silence to write. I can't even listen to background music. Writing in a public place isn't easy for me. But it was dark and the voices blended into white noise and suddenly I was writing. After a few wonderful minutes during which I lost awareness of my surroundings, I heard a male voice behind me saying, "I like the hat--and she's got the right computer."

I turned around to see a gentleman wearing a suit and a smile, and a pretty woman with dark hair. They were standing side-by-side eyeing my little iBook. I glanced at their name tags, which said Ashley Grayson and Carolyn Grayson. They were from San Pedro, California.

Grayson, I thought. Grayson. That name is familiar. They explained that they were agents. I had this niggling feeling that the name was somehow connected to something else, some issue that I just couldn't remember at that particular moment. Never mind. We ended up talking about computers and all sorts of things. I didn't know if they were husband and wife or brother and sister or unrelated people with the same name, but they turned out to be genial, knowledgable and full of wonderful stories.

Usually I don't like being interrupted when I'm writing--I ignore doorbells and phone calls if I'm deeply involved in my work--but I found, after a few minutes, that I was really enjoying the conversations with the Graysons and came to the conclusion that at least some of the scary strangers at this conference were good company.

By this time, the crowd was thinning, but I did get a chance to chat with Celu, Teresa, Jessica, Dana, and a few of the others, before heading upstairs. Oh, I just remembered. We were talking about the meanings of different names. Celu didn't want to share the meaning of her name (I guess she gets asked that a lot), but Brenda said her name means "burnt one." I thought that was wonderfully poetic and a great conversation starter. We talked a while longer and, eventually, I realized I needed sleep and excused myself to go hide in my hotel room. This time I didn't take the stairs. Getting locked in a stairwell once in a day is quite enough.

On my way to my room, I was thinking about Maass's jam-packed schedule--not all agents get involved in the writing/editing process. Their job is to evaluate manuscripts (thousands of them), to sell books to publishers, to assist in "running block" and negotiating contracts. That's a full-time job in itself. If you add writing, editing, and teaching to the mix, where's the free time, the personal quality time? It's probably pretty scarce. I suppose that's what they call "the price of success" though Maass did comment at one point that there hadn't been a day when he didn't enjoy going to work. It's pretty inspiring to hear that from someone who probably lives out of a suitcase, eats a lot of institutional food, and spends the majority of his time with scary strangers--away from loved ones.

Home Away from Home. Upstairs, in my hotel room, I took stock of my "downgraded" room. There was a huge dresser, a desk, two comfy chairs, a television and computer keyboard, a hair dryer, twelve towels, an ironing board, and two queen-sized beds. This place was bigger than a studio suite. It was about the size of six Tokyo hotel rooms. I was beginning to wonder what the "upgraded" room looked like. Perhaps it had two huge dressers, two desks, two ironing boards, four queen-sized beds, and a bunch of other extra stuff I didn't need.

The problem with extra "stuff" is you have more decisions to make. I didn't want to make decisions, I wanted to sleep and now I had to decide which bed to sleep on before I could get some shut-eye. Should I choose the left bed or the right? Or switch back and forth on Thursday and Friday? Should I push them together and sprawl across both big beds (that sounded appealing) or put the mattresses on the floor so the housekeeping staff would have something to gossip about in the morning? In the end, I decided to sleep on the one nearest the computer. Don't ask.

Before turning in, I washed and looked at the conference schedule to refresh my memory about Friday sessions, and then, when I should have been climbing under the covers, I wrote for a couple of hours. I was also planning to surf the Net and check my email, but there's a $15.95/day extra charge for wired access and I was too tired to make it worthwhile, so I bagged the idea and finally hit the sack at 2:00am.

Friday, Oct. 22, 2004 - Registration, Keynote, and Workshops
Friday morning, I was up early to wash and dress. I wrote for an hour, then skipped breakfast so I would have extra time to find the different conference rooms, including the main ballroom with the keynote speech. I don't know if the conference is always held at the Sheraton Guildford, but I wasn't yet familiar with the hotel layout and I didn't want to end up in any more stairwells. I also needed time to register for the conference (which officially started Friday).

Registration was a snap. They tag you and hand you a packet of information and a nice canvas bag to hold all your goodies. I figured the easiest thing to do was to look at my packet while I was listening to Anne Perry, the keynote speaker. Anne Perry writes historical mysteries (you might be familiar with the Monk series) and is described as a prolific author.

After braving a gauntlet of dealer tables, I found the keynote room on the main floor. It's actually a series of rooms that can be made into one big room by rolling back the temporary walls. I was suprised at the turnout--there were hundreds of people and many were already seated at big round tables (round tables are popular at this hotel), deep in conversation.

Front Row Seat. I made a beeline for the tables near the podium (to be near the guest speaker) and discovered they were reserved for agents, editors, and other guests of honor. I guess they wanted the poor beleaguered pros to get a few minutes of peace from the "madding crowd," but where was I going to sit? Eventually I found a seat, got to know some of the people at the table, and heard the news that Anne Perry had been delayed and wouldn't be speaking until later in the conference. The organizers swapped speakers and everything turned out all right. I was so intent on the keynote, I completely forgot to open my conference goodies folder.

Since this was the first keynote of the conference, there were a lot of opening speeches and introductions to the people who put together the conference. On the right are Don McQuinn, Bruce Hayne (Chamber of Commerce), and ... sigh. I'm so terrible with names. I found out SIWC has been running for about a dozen years. I was surprised I had never heard of it before, but I've been so busy writing and communicating with readers, I haven't kept up on what is going on for other writers.

Conference attendees were introduced to a number of local politicians and conference organizers. I can't remember all of their names, but a successful conference doesn't happen without a lot of community support and effort on the part of organizers and volunteers. It was becoming apparent to me that I had picked a very good conference. Many people in the audience were nodding at the comments from the podium and saying, "This is the best one in Canada."

Tell Me a Story. As I mentioned, Anne Perry was delayed and Bruce Hale was asked to take her place (he was originally scheduled for the Sunday morning keynote). Bruce apparently writes and illustrates children's books. He has a big gold gekko on his lapel. No, it doesn't bite--it's very well behaved.

Bruce is a wonderful storyteller. It was a delightful keynote. He supplements his stories with hand gestures that help you visualize the story without distracting you from the words. He has a gentle, smooth, soothing delivery with a wonderfully modulated voice. I could listen to him all day. My parents weren't into storytelling. My Dad wasn't even into reading. I missed those moments in childhood when you get to hear stories. I'm glad I had a chance to hear him speak. When I looked around, I noticed I wasn't the only one listening in rapt attention.

Friday Morning Sessions
Post-Keynote Workshops. After the opening keynote, I hustled off to my first workshop. There were nine tracks. I wanted to go to three of them: the Author/Agent Relationship, Pitch to Impress, and Advanced Fiction Track: Plot. I decided to narrow it down to two. Since I have already worked with publishers and have a pretty good understanding of contracts and editor/writer relationships, I decided to eliminate Author/Agent Relationship. That still left me with two choices: pitching or writing. Hmmmmm. Hard choice.

Punchy Pitches. In the end, I chose the pitching session because I already have plenty of writing experience, but I don't have any experience with pitching. Seriously. Now you think I'm lying again. I'm not. I've never had to pitch a book. I've never had a rejection slip. I've written many nonfiction articles, manuals, and product information guides (to put money in the bank to support my goal of being a novelist) and my magazine articles were all accepted on spec. Similarly, my book publishers approached me (not the other way around)--based upon my previous writing. So, I'm a pitching virgin. I chose Frances McGuckin's workshop (wouldn't that be a great name for children's book author?) and found a seat in front, in the Green Timbers room (there weren't any green timbers, but there was an overhead projector and a table full of felled timbers, I mean, books).

Wrong Session? When I first looked at the books on the table, I thought, Oh, oh, big mistake. Wrong choice. I was mainly interested in fiction and the table was covered with self-published, nonfiction business books. I thought about leaving and joining the fiction workshop, but decided to stay and make the best of it.

I needn't have worried. Frances McGuckin is a smart, successful woman with a full plate that she juggles with enviable aplomb. She's caring for a 95-year-old mother, raising a 15-year-old teen (World War III, she calls it), self-publishing her books, and traveling to conferences to speak and sell those books. How old is she? I don't know. She looks fit and healthier than many people in her general age group. My hat is off to her. She's amazing.

McGuckin didn't disappoint me in terms of focus or content. She described general concepts that apply to almost any kind of writing. She talked about the business side of writing, which every writer must come to terms with to get published, and she did a really great thing that I think everyone in the room appreciated--she simulated a pitch session with a fellow who was actually going to pitch a book to an agent at the conference. This was an invaluable experience for him and for others in the room. She also solicited ideas from people in the audience, which were wonderful. Trishia (or Tricia?) sitting beside me was lightning fast in suggesting quips, jingles, and catch phrases to help the fellow who was pitching his book. That's inspiring. I gained both knowledge and motivation from this session. I also met more interesting people, including Melinda and Jaz (who took the picture of me with Frances McGuckin).

I was about to rush off to the next advanced fiction workshop when I saw everyone heading back to the main ballroom. It was lunch time and lunch was included in the conference fee. Since I hadn't had breakfast, I was hungry and cold (from lack of food and sitting in the chilly workshop rooms--more about that later). I was very happy to go to lunch.

Genre Lunch. When I walked into the ballroom-turned-mess-hall, many people were already seated (I guess they were hungry too) and I noticed there were little signs on the big round tables. Each sign had a topic, or writing genre. I cruised the aisles and eventually found one that said "Advanced Writers." Well, I'm a published writer; I'm attending the advanced classes; I'm looking for opportunities to talk to other advanced writers, so what the heck. I sat down. In retrospect, I think it could just as easily have said, "Advanced Egos." No, I'm kidding. The people were very nice, but I don't remember much talk about the process of writing. I was so hungry and focused on my food that whatever was said, went over my head.

Teresa was sitting across from me at the table and I remembered her as one of the people I met in Maass's master class and in the lounge. She struck me as very genuine and interesting and she wore these wonderful skeleton earrings. I forgot to tell her the earrings were cool--maybe because the hotel staff came around to our table and told people they could get their buffet meals.

The Bread Line. I hate institutional food. There's nothing like homemade bread, homemade tomato sauce, and homemade moussaka to do a body (and soul) good. So, I was prepared to endure the food at the conference rather than enjoy it. I was pleasantly surprised. Over the course of the conference, there were lots of salads, sandwiches, lightly steamed vegetables, and vegetable entrées. I know the picture makes it look like a real bread line, with all those French breads sticking out of the basket like porcupine quills, but trust me--beyond the bread were lots of other options. I made a point of mentioning to the hotel staff in the dining room and also at the desk that I appreciated that the food wasn't overcooked and that there were lots of fresh and steamed vegetables. I even went back for seconds.

After eating, we listened to the presentation, eagerly put our tickets in the basket for door prizes and, after prizes were awarded, headed for our afternoon workshops.

Oh now, wait a minute. I can't believe it--only a few days and already my memory is scrambled. The first lunch wasn't the "Genre Lunch," it was the "Who, What, Where, When, How" lunch. We had five meals in total in the ballroom, three lunches and two dinners, and already my mind has shuffled the deck and put the titles in a different order.

Friday Afternoon Sessions
Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine... Next on the agenda were the workshops. Once again there were nine choices. I'm not sure why they chose nine.

In Norse mythology, the witch Groa grants nine charms to her son Svipdag when he calls her back from the dead to aid him in a quest. In the Talmadic Shekhinah, which represents the dwelling of God in the created world, the nine upper sefirot (attributes of God) are sometimes symbolized as the bridegroom Tiferet, who strives to become one with the Shekhinah and manifest as the human soul. In Christian symbology, nine can be seen as the union of three trinities. Cats have nine lives. My cat has already used six of his (five when he was abandoned and I had to rescue from four months of starvation and neglect). And let's not forget love potion #9 . . .

This time Donald Maass wasn't one of the nine workshop choices. It didn't matter. There was a session called "Advanced Fiction Track: Landscape." In fact, it was workshop #9. I hightailed it to Tynehead 1, on the second floor, and grabbed a seat. While I was waiting for the workshop to begin, I thought about the fact that each conference participant can choose different topics from different tracks and end up with a unique experience. Elizabeth George looked up and began to speak. Time to stop daydreaming and pay attention.

Workshop #9. Elizabeth George has a quality I later observed in some of the other guest speakers. I won't tell you what it is, yet, but I noticed it within the first few minutes and even moreso later, when she participated on a panel with other writers. I'm not familiar with Elizabeth George's books. I didn't know she was a commercially successful author before attending the conference--I only knew she was giving an advanced fiction workshop and that was important to me. It's strange in a way. I read constantly and omnivorously (my current read is "The Unbearable Lightness of Being") and yet I hadn't read any fiction by any of the guest speakers at this conference. I don't know whether to be worried or excited--worried because I'm missing out on something or excited because there are so many more books in store for me to read. I'll have to look up their books when I get home. For the moment I was focused on the workshop.

Elizabeth has an easy, pleasant manner with that "something" I alluded to that I'll describe when I get to the part about the Bestselling Authors panel. She talked about the importance of "setting" in a fiction writer's repertoire--how setting can reveal character. She encouraged writers to write about settings that aren't too familiar, because familiarity causes you to miss those details that are intriguing, details that can enrich your writing. She suggested "Tijuana Straits" as an example of writing that uses setting to good effect and also mentioned "Dogs of Winter."

Elizabeth George then described "landscape of person" (both interior and exterior) and how a writer can use landscape, in its different forms, to bridge a connection between the reader and the characters.

Then she gave us some insight into her writing and editing process. I won't go into details--you can attend one of her workshops and read her book "Write Away." All-in-all I thought the session was very good. It went fast, held my interest, and provided practical advice from an interesting perspective.

After the session, Elizabeth answered questions and signed autographs.

The Real Deal - The Bestseller Panel. I glanced quickly at my program (I still hadn't had time to look at the entire conference packet), to make sure I wasn't going to miss anything important. I noticed there was a short break and then a panel titled "Aim for the Bestsellers List" with Catherine Coulter, Elizabeth George, and Michael Slade as speakers. That's going to be full, I said to myself as I hurried to the Tynehead room to find a seat.

My instincts were right. They had pulled back the temporary walls to make the room bigger and it was filling fast. I had sympathy for other presenters in the same time slot. A panel of three bestselling authors is tough competition.

As the panelists seated themselves behind a long table, Maass took a position nearby. I checked my program and discovered Maass was the moderator. After hearing the panel, I think it would be more accurate to call Maass a facilitator. That's a compliment. I've seen many panels. They weren't writing panels--they were "everything else" panels--but, no matter what the topic, they all had one thing in common--they tended to degrade about halfway through--either the subject drifted or one or two people would take over the panel. In fact, I saw that happen later in the conference in an unmoderated panel. It didn't happen this time. The panelists were sharp and insightful--powerful speakers--and Maass kept up the momentum and interjected in appropriate places.

Meet the Panelists. The panel was like an Oreo cookie, with the two slender women seated on either side of the thicker, softer (well, in terms of mass) Michael Slade. Not that Slade's personality is soft--wait till you hear about his books--but his relatively larger mass caused him to joke later in a keynote that "Me, naked, is not a pretty sight." He was joking, of course and he is, in fact, an attractive man. These people are all attractive in their own ways. They have a certain vibrant electric quality that you notice even when they're not in front of the room, speaking. Charisma is not about a certain feature, a certain body type, or a certain hair color. It's an inner quality that transcends physique. I mentioned earlier in my conference blog that I noticed in her workshop that Elizabeth George had a certain something that I would describe later. Well, when I walked into that panel, I noticed right away that Catherine Coulter and Michael Slade had that certain something too. Let me digress for a moment so I can explain it better.

A few years ago Calista Flockhart, star of the popular Ally McBeal television series, was looking mighty thin and the media and her friends were expressing concern that she might be anorexic. I remember one reporter saying something about her being frail. I remember Calista's response was something like, "I'm not frail; I'm fierce." And she meant it. This tiny little thing had this ferocious self-concept and approach to life. I thought about that. Was Calista fooling herself? Then I realized she was probably telling the truth. You have to be fierce to survive in the dog-eat-dog television and film industries. Being smart and pretty simply aren't enough--there are thousands of smart and pretty wannabees looking for a break. You have to be fierce to wrestle through that wall of talented hopefuls and hold your place on the podium.

I listened to the panelists with interest. When I heard them speak, one after another, I saw three different personalities, three different styles of delivery, three different viewpoints about fans, and three different responses to being on the bestseller list, but one quality that shone through the professionality, the insecurities, the bombast, the confidence, and the overall complex personalities of these successful writers. It was a kind of steely determination and focus I can only describe as "fierceness." I don't know if these individuals had it before they succeeded (I suspect they did), or if it's something you develop as a result of achieving and holding on to success, but it was interesting to instinctively sense it in three otherwise very different individuals. I have to say, the panel was great--I really enjoyed it. I won't give a blow-by-blow report, but I'll mention some of the highlights.

Catherine Coulter is a romance novelist. Romance is a very popular genre. In spite of its popularity, I have to confess--I've never read any romance novels. My tastes lean toward literary, mainstream, and historical fiction (and biographies). I also like a good mystery once in a while and sometimes, for variety, I read science fiction and fantasy. Since I'll try almost anything once, I'm not sure why I've never picked up a romance novel--maybe it's because I tend to seek out real romances when I'm that kind of mood. Sometimes this gets me into trouble. Maybe romance novels are safer. But to get back to Catherine Coulter--she's a prolific writer, with a long list of credits, and a wonderful attitude toward her fans. She takes the time to respond to them, even though it's an extremely time-consuming, tiring task to go through mountains of fan mail or email. She must have incredible stamina. I can't even answer all the email I get now and I'm not a bestselling author (yet). Since I'm not a romance reader, it's hard for me to comment on her books, but I linked her name to her Web site. If you are among the many people who enjoy reading romances, check out her books.

Michael Slade was next on the agenda. Michael Slade is a pen name for a team of writers, of whom the foremost representative (in terms of mass, I mean visibility) is Jay Clarke. Jay says he now answers to "Michael" and prefers to use Michael when discussing his horror/suspense novels. The Michael Slade team had a blockbuster right out of the starting gate with "Headhunter." Jay is a lawyer by profession and he explained in the panel that when the business was less busy, he made a deal with his partners to give him a year to write the first book. It was a hit and the rest is history. Why horror? Well, part of the reason may have been Jay's rocky childhood. It's not uncommon for people who write comedy and horror to talk about having come through difficult circumstances.

Jay is a powerful speaker. He unravels a story like a bullet train blasting through a brick wall. You'd better get out of the way or he'll bury you. He talks full steam without so much as an um or an er and holds the audience at such an emotional pitch that you have to take a breath and settle back in your seat after he stops. I said earlier that Bruce Hale is a great storyteller. So is Jay Clarke. But they're yin and yang, so strikingly different in their delivery that the contrast is staggering.

Sometimes good speakers are not good listeners. I noticed at this conference that the good speakers were often the best listeners. I wasn't actively following the movements or activities of any particular person at this conference--the agenda was just too full--but I noticed a few times that many of the workshop and panel presenters were also the best "audience" members in subsequent presentations. More than once I saw them intently focused on the words of others.

Elizabeth George was next in the lineup and she was as interesting on the panel as she was in the workshop. During the conference, I heard many writers asking the question, "If they're so successful--if they're making that much money--why do they bother coming here--why would they want to?" I heard similar questions being asked lately of Michael Moore, filmmaker. A detractor was saying, "Now that he's rich, how come he's still wearing those slobby clothes? Why does he drive that beat-up old car? What's the matter with him?" Personally I thought they were strange questions. What do Michael Moore's clothes have to do with his filmmaking? Is there some unspoken rule that once you have money, you're supposed to change your personality? Are you supposed to start spending money on things you don't need? Are you supposed to suddenly conform to people's image of what you should look like rather than using your own common sense? Are you supposed to put yourself on a pedestal and become inaccessible or miserly? Why do people expect these things? Perhaps it's because it happens. I saw it happen myself.

Celebrities. In the days when the Amiga computer was popular, a group of people founded and built a successful company by developing and marketing a unique piece of computer hardware. I became friends with quite a few Amiga developers, many of whom were both programmers and artists. I found them to be exceptionally talented and fun and many are still close friends--except the guys who founded this hardware company. What a bunch of snobs. It was so strange. I would meet people like Lee S. (sorry to use you as the poster boy, Lee, but it's true) who would be wonderful, smart, and friendly, and then they would get involved with this company (which had connections to people in the entertainment industry like Penn and Teller) and they would turn into zombies. Lee especially surprised me. I had known him and his wife for over a year. Suddenly he was turning his back on me and anyone else who said hi, refusing to even acknowledge them.

I'm not saying Penn and Teller are snobs. I met Penn Gilette in the Seattle airport once when he was waiting for a connection. He was willing to talk to people even though he had been on the road for a while and looked travel-weary. In contrast, I saw people in this hardware company being openly rude to former "friends" and even people who had bought their products. I don't have time for people like that.

So, maybe other people have had similar experiences that foster a jaded impression of celebrities. Maybe Coulter, George, and Clarke are exceptions. Maybe their attendance at these conferences isn't just to maintain their visibility in front of fans, maybe it isn't all marketing. Maybe there's still some humanity in them and we should give them the benefit of the doubt. The point I'm getting to is that maybe Elizabeth George is telling the truth when she says she doesn't care about making the New York Times Bestseller list.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words. Catherine Coulter still answers all her fan mail. Elizabeth George still teaches and "comes to these things," even though she's an admitted introvert.

There are times when I think the world is divided into two kinds of people: those who prefer to give and those who prefer to take. Elizabeth George struck me as the kind of person who prefers to give. She also clearly has a strong desire to "get things straight," to be understood and taken at her word, a quality that came through in the way she presented her keynote later in the conference. She was responding to Donald Maass's reaction to her bestseller status in the panel. I'll tell you more about that when I describe the keynote.

To be a really good writer, to offer something new that hasn't already been written, you have to dig deep. You have to seek truth. You have to learn to articulate the things that bother you and that people misunderstand. I haven't read Elizabeth George's books, but she is clearly introspective and I wouldn't be surprised if that introspection comes out in her characters or her storylines.

As I said before, the panel was great. I felt excited and energized even though it was almost 6:00pm and I was hungry for dinner. So were others--the "throng" was heading downstairs.

Friday Evening Banquet
Paris in the Fall. A wonderful thing happened at dinner. I walked in, sought out a table and found myself transported back to Paris in the early 20th century. How did this happen? Well, they dimmed the lights and I ended up at a table with younger writers, some of whom were still in university. I didn't notice this at first. I have this attitude that people from 17 to 107 are basically the same age, some are just slightly older versions. I'm comfortable with any age group--I have no burning desire to seek out my own. Once they started talking, however, I noticed a difference between this group and the previous groups I had joined at the big round tables. They were poets--or, at least, they were talking about poetry. There was a distinct "bohemian" quality to the conversation. It was lively and refreshing. The problem with getting published is you have to devote so much time and mental effort to the "business" of writing that you start to forget about the joy of writing. The nice thing about conversation at this table was that it was about the content and form of writing, about the things that got me excited about writing in the first place.

The company was congenial and the food was good. Dinner included eggplant lasagne, vegetables, and salad. I should have eaten more, but I had no idea what was in store for me later that evening.

Keynote, Awards, and Door Prizes. The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur. I had been going on five hours sleep every night for the last week and the extra effort of networking, attending every workshop, and trying to absorb as much as I could, was starting to wear on me. I didn't want to admit it, but I was tired and I was chilled. I thought I was chilled because I was tired. As it turned out, that wasn't the only reason.

Jay Clarke, aka Michael Slade, was the keynote speaker. Once again, he gave a powerful speech with a strong delivery. Jay has the gift of spearing a story's essence and punching the key points in rapid succession. The time, again, went quickly. The keynote was rounded out by door prizes (you had to be present to win) and writing awards.

We Have a Winner. Ours was one of the "lucky" tables, with a door prize being awarded to, hmmm, now what was her name, Sarah? She had just finished telling us about serving heaping plates of "toxic macaroni" to her kids and making them eat it because they had been grumbling about her "healthy" meals. This hard-working mom needed a way to make her kids understand the effort she put into cooking for them every day and toxic macaroni (with everything including the kitchen sink blended into the sauce) was the solution. After that, they never complained. I commend her for finding a way to communicate an idea that children (and sometimes spouses) don't readily understand--it's not easy to prepare healthful meals three times a day, seven days a week, year-after-year-after-year-after-year. What did she win as her door prize? A cookbook.

Hippo Hilarity. The next thing the organizers cooked up was a rousing rendition of the "Hippopotamus Song," led by Jack Whyte in his resonant highland baritone. Jack filled the room with the verses (he actually had to stand back from the microphone so as not to overwhelm it) and the audience chimed in with the chorus. He also promised (threatened?) to wear his kilt next year (I might sign up for SIWC 2005 just to hear Jack sing the song in a kilt). The song was great fun and earned Jack a standing ovation. Singing was just the thing to work off a few calories and stir up the blood so we would have the energy to make it through the night owls session.

After dinner, we had about an hour to socialize before the night owl showing of "Scribes" by Rusty Nixon who, I believe, was the 2003 conference coordinator.

Scribes. Scribes is a documentary film based upon last year's SIWC. It's footage of a series of events and interviews that encapsulate the tone and tenor of the writers' conference. Scribes is a thoughtful, interesting film. It had to be interesting--after a long day and a warm meal, it's hard not to fall asleep in a dark room. But rather than falling asleep, I felt myself drawn into the film as though I were actually transported back to 2003, into the workshops I missed last year.

Some writers express themselves best on paper. Paper is forgiving. It gives you time to think, to change your mind, to shuffle things around. Oratory isn't so forgiving. I was inspired by the way the "scribes" could speak so well, without prompting, without a script. Donald Maass asked me at the end what I thought of the film and I answered, honestly, that I felt it was well done.

(No, that's not a glow-in-the-dark Scribes T-shirt on the left. Someone just happened to step in front of the projector after the show and I was able to capture the image on her back with my little point-and-shoot camera.)

Running on Empty. By the time the film ended, I realized I hadn't eaten enough and that I was cold and very tired. I had planned to join in some of the after-film conversations, but I was also eager to get to my room and work on my novel. My laptop was sitting, alone and unused, on my "downgraded" desk, and I hadn't read my email for three days, so I said my goodbyes and headed upstairs. (Oh, by the way. If you've never attended a writers' conference and you're thinking of trying one out, don't feel you have to bring a computer. I take my laptop everywhere--I think better and write better through computer keys, but all the other writers at this conference used pen and paper. There may have been a few laptops in people's hotel rooms but, in general, electronic devices aren't needed--just bring your enthusiasm and willingness to listen and learn.)

Jacking In. Back in my room, I unraveled my Internet umbilical--the Ethernet cable--and plugged it into a little black hub shaped like a ladybug that was hanging under the desk. I wasn't sure how to sign on through the hotel Internet system, but it turned out to be easy. As soon as I fired up the browser, I got a Web page asking me for money--what could be more straightforward than that? The cost is $15.95 per accounting period. They're sneaky. The accounting period for wireless access in the lounge and other public areas runs from midnight to midnight. The period for wired access runs from checkin to checkout (3:00pm). It was already nearing midnight by the time I started using the computer and I would have to be out of the room early in the morning for conversations and the keynote, which meant I would only be able to use a couple of hours of access time out of the fifteen hours that I was technically buying. Oh well. I checked my email and gave up the idea of surfing the Web--I was tired and cold and wanted to use my remaining hour of "awake time" for writing. I dug into the keyboard until 2:00am and then crawled under the covers. I had hoped to sleep until seven or eight, but the hotel had other ideas about that.

Saturday Morning - 23 Oct 2004
The Big Chill. So much for getting a good night's sleep--I woke before 6:00am because I was freezing to death. I tried sitting on the heat vent but there wasn't enough heat to warm a gerbil. I'm not sure what the housekeeping staff would have thought if they had come in at that moment, but I didn't care. The room was glacial--I was shivering so violently, I couldn't even use my hands.

After a few unproductive moments of warming the heat vent (since it wasn't warming me), I turned the thermostat up higher than normal. Still, no heat came out--only luke-warm air. I tried dressing, but I was so cold, I couldn't close my buttons and snaps. Maybe this is what the Sheraton means by a "downgraded" room, I thought. Maybe the difference in price isn't in the furnishings but in the furnace. I tried running around in the room to no avail. Jumping jacks might have helped if it weren't for the wind chill factor. I thought of undressing and jumping into a hot shower, but I was afraid it might suddenly turn cold too.

By the time I was ready to run downstairs to my sessions, heat was coming out of the radiator, but it was too late to help me. Outside my room, I discovered the halls were cold, the elevator was cold, and the area around the check-in desk was cold. No one else seemed to notice--yet. Later that day an extra blanket mysteriously appeared on my queen-sized bed, a lot of people started complaining, and the hotel finally admitted they were having trouble with the air conditioning. With my luck, it seems to have hit my room and my floor first. To their credit, they were working hard to try to correct the problem.

Keynote and Saturday Morning Workshops. George Bowering was the next scheduled keynote. George has a remarkable vitae as teacher, writer, editor, and Canada's Poet Laureate. He's a past winner of the Governor General's medal and current professor at Simon Fraser University.

After the keynote there was, once again, a choice of nine workshops. The choice was easy. I picked "Building Fire: Using the Passion in Your Fiction" with Donald Maass.

Maass's session started at 10:30am. I was still shivering. I had been shivering for close to five hours now, so, instead of taking a chair, I chose a corner of the room, on the floor, up against the wall. I was hoping the stripey beige wallpaper would reflect back some of my body heat. It worked. I finally started to warm up enough to hold a pen and take notes.

I have to say (I don't think he'd mind me saying this), that Donald Maass was juiced, revved up. His energy level was in high gear. I don't know if it was the topic, or personal connections to the topic (well, maybe I do know, but it might not be polite to say), but he was more animated and teasing than he had been in previous sessions. To his surprise (and mine), many audience members didn't seem to share his mood. I was beginning to wonder why they had chosen this session. It was, after all, about passion. Passion in human endeavors is almost always connected with love and intimacy in one way or another. Despite this, quite a few audience members seemed reluctant to respond to the interactive portions of the workshop. Maass even stopped for a moment and said, "Come on, folks. We're writers. We have to be able to talk about these things."

And it's true. I agree with Maass. If you can't discuss or think about the more intimate aspects of people's lives, how are you going to write about them with honesty and conviction? "Did you give into temptation?" he said at one point. I think this was a rhetorical question, but the room was very still after that question and nobody answered. He asked the question again. Still silence, except for the scratching of a few pens. I made a joke--it was cheeky of me--but I was having a good time. A few people got the joke, and then a few more, but even so, the conservative nature of the responses, for a group of writers, surprised me.

Right Brain, Left Brain. At that point I stopped writing and started drawing. I realized I had been taking a steady stream of notes for almost three days. It was time to stop taking notes and start listening. I listen better when I draw. It seems to quiet my brain so that I can retain verbal information better. I don't know if other people experience this, but it works for me. I also was inspired. Some presenters become stale after one or two sessions, but this wasn't the case with Maass. In each workshop, he takes a slightly different tack. I was grateful for the inspiration.

Afterward, I noticed Melinda, who I met on Friday, waiting her turn to talk to Maass. I left before I had a chance to hear what she had to say, but I was to find out later that she had some interesting news.

Genre Lunch. Next on the agenda was lunch. I was hoping it was something warm. I was still chilled, but it was mainly sandwiches and vegetables--a good lunch, but not a warming lunch. I heard people talking about problems with the air conditioning and I was hoping I wasn't going to have to spend the night sleeping on the (very small) heat vent.

This lunch was the Genre Lunch. I saw little signs on the big round tables announcing various genres, including children's books, fantasy, etc. I chose the one that said Comedy. I was quite excited to find out the fellow who wrote Sleepless in Seattle was at the same table. Unfortunately, he was on the opposite side of the table and had a soft voice, so I completely missed out on the conversation. Ah well, maybe next year.

I have a number of friends working in the comedy genre. Some are standup comedians, but many of them are writers in the Dave Barry vein. Speaking of Dave Barry, the night owl session for Saturday night was a preview of a Dave Barry film. More on that later. My comments aren't necessarily going to be complimentary even though I enjoy most of Dave Barry's columns and books.

Saturday Afternoon Workshops
The Producers. After the genre lunch, there were nine scheduled workshops. Ah, choices, choices. Earlier in the conference, I couldn't decide whether to go to the advanced fiction or screenwriting sessions. I decided to focus on fiction, but after many fiction sessions, I was itching for a change. It was a choice between "Advanced Fiction Track: Conflict" or a panel of real live producers. Since writing about conflict isn't too much of a problem for me, I chose the panel. I was particularly interested in hearing Nancy Hardin, producer of the acclaimed film Frida (the life of Frida Kahlo--mexican artist). I hadn't yet seen the film, but I had heard that it was a "labor of love" and it was on my DVD wish list. I wanted to hear what this producer and others had to say about getting films made--especially those that fall outside the mainstream of popular culture.

It was quite a lineup. There were four panelists (seated left to right):

• Ilene Kahn Power, an Emmy award winner and executive producer for the Golden Globe-winning show "Gia" and producer for the mini-series "Traffic."
• Nancy Hardin, producer of "Frida," "Noriega: God's Favorite," and "Texas Justice." Hardin also has experience as a literary agent and book editor, so she's seen this business from a number of perspectives.
• John Russo, multitalented novelist, teacher, and co-creator of "Night of the Living Dead" is an instructor at the John Russo Movie Academy in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.
• Robert French, Canadian producer of cable movies and creative producer-for-hire has credits that include "Noroc" and "See Grace Fly." He's currently producing "The Hamster Cage."

Renée Missel, producer of the Jody Foster film "Nell," was also listed on the agenda. I'm not sure if the woman on the left wearing the blue shirt (who also participated and who had given previous workshops) is Renée. In the SIWC program, she's shown with short hair and no glasses. This woman's hair was shoulder length and she wore glasses and I couldn't quite read the name tag from where I was seated. If anyone can confirm her identity, I'd appreciate hearing from you so I can get the record straight and give credit where it's due.

There was one more name I didn't catch. A tall, blonde woman involved with the production of "Traffic" sat in the audience just in front of me and added her perspective, as well.

Screenplay Writers. I had the impression that most of the people in the audience were writing or had written screenplays. They asked questions about getting scripts accepted or about getting them into the hands of the right people. I chose this panel for two reasons: 1. I love film as an artform (when it's at its best), and 2. I'm working on a screenplay adaptation of my novel.

I'm not sure how useful the panel was for beginners. The panelists were all experienced filmmakers. Most of their involvement with a project occurs after a script has been written and accepted (or at least tentatively accepted, since rewrites are common in this industry). I think the panel was probably of most value to those who had already done their homework in terms of learning the ins and outs of screenplay writing, agenting, and book optioning.

I enjoyed the panel. There were a few places where I think the conversation could have been directed toward more questions from the audience but, for me, it was enlightening and even hopeful. The odds of getting a screenplay made into a movie are very low. These producers talked about actually making movies, not trying to make movies, and it was heartening to hear that successes do occur in this competitive and fickle business.

Good Intentions. When I signed up for the SIWC, I was determined to go to every panel, every workshop, every night owl session I could manage, but by Saturday afternoon, I was tired--I needed rest. During the break, instead of chatting with other writers in the lounge or the registration area, I went up to my room. And then I did something I swore I wouldn't do--I skipped a session. I had circled Elizabeth George's "Advanced Fiction: Point of View/Voice" workshop--I sincerely wanted to hear it--but with only four or five hours sleep per night for more than a week, I could barely keep my eyes open. I lay down on my queen-sized bed, in my chilly room with the mysterious "extra blanket" at 3:30pm and didn't wake up until 5:00--just in time for dinner. I'm sorry I missed the workshop, but that nap did me a lot of good--it gave me the energy I needed to get through the rest of the day. If you plan to attend one of these three/four day conferences, make sure you're well rested before you pack your bags!

Saturday Evening - Dinner and a Movie
Food, Fermented Drinks, and Funny Speeches. The evening banquet included a no-host bar and a keynote by Catherine Coulter. I never could figure out what "no-host bar" means. I have this vision of people walking up to a well-stocked counter and mixing their own drinks, but there always seems to be a bartender doing a pretty good job of mixing drinks and playing host at the same time. The last time I ordered a drink at a no-host bar was at a high school reunion. I ordered plain juice, no alcohol, and watched as the bartender filled the glass to the brim with ice shavings and then added 1/4 teaspoon of juice to pretty up the ice. Then he handed me the "drink" and said, "Three-fifty, please." I guess by "no-host" they mean there's no host picking up the tab. I have to admit, I don't like paying almost four dollars for a glass of ice. Since then, I've shied away from no-host bars.

Outside the dining hall, while I was suspiciously eyeing the no-host bar, I suddenly realized this was the last evening banquet of the conference. The conference wasn't over yet, there were still many activities scheduled for Sunday, but I was already getting that "Darn, it's almost over," feeling. Despite the stairwell imprisonment, the cold, the massive onslaught of strangers and the lack of sleep, I was enjoying myself. I didn't want it to end. So I paused outside to take a picture of one of the hard-working volunteers before entering the dining hall. (Unfortunately, I couldn't get pictures of all the volunteers, but I know the conference wouldn't have happened without them. Volunteers are the life-blood of most good events, including this one.)

Of Ice and Men (and Women Too). Once I entered the dimly-lit room, I noticed an alien glow near the podium. No, it wasn't Jack in his kilt--he's not wearing that until next year--it was an ice sculpture lit by a fireside glow. Now I understood why a picture of an ice sculpture graced the opening of the movie "Scribes." The sculpture was a theme of the conference. It looked like a stack of "books" holding up an open book with the words "SIWC 2004" chiseled in relief. It must take a lot of work to carve an ice sculpture and, unlike a book, it doesn't last for hundreds of years--it starts to melt as soon as you turn on the flood light. Like a live musical performance, a play, or an act of intimacy, you have to be there to get the full experience--anything else is second-hand. But perhaps that's why we enjoy books--so we can revisit or enjoy vicariously something we missed the first time around.

Musical Chairs. There weren't many seats left when I entered the banquet hall, but I found one on the west side next to Ida Welland and Teresa's table. Teresa had her little point-and-shoot camera and I had mine, so we had a shoot-em-up contest of sorts where we took each other's pictures and traded cameras in the process. I'm so glad I have these pictures. Teresa was such a delightful person to get to know and Ida entered into the spirit of things with such gusto, not just for her age, but for any age, that I will never forget them. Then it was time to eat, so I sat down behind Ida and Teresa with a new batch of strangers. To my surprise, it turned out to be another "winning" table.

Upping the Odds. Much of the discussion at our table was about the odds of getting published, especially of getting fiction published. As I mentioned earlier, I've been very fortunate--I haven't had to go through the dreary cycle of queries and rejections. All my nonfiction books and articles have been accepted without rejections as have the short stories and poems I've submitted to literary publications. But--novels are a whole new ball game. I know the odds are long. I've been studying the statistics for over ten years and, while they may be better than winning a lottery, they're not good. Getting a novel published by a major publisher is a long shot. Getting a screenplay made into a feature film is even longer. When I started writing novels, I did so with the understanding that I was going to have to do a lot of research and networking to put my novels in the hands of the right people in order to get them published. It's part of the reason I signed up for this conference.

Skeptics. Some of the people at my table thought I was exaggerating when I quoted odds of 30,000 to 1 and 40,000 to 1. But the statistics I heard from Donald Maass at the conference who, I believe, said he accepted about six a year out of a total of about 1,000 submissions, and Jennifer Jackson, one of Maass's agents (she wasn't at the conference), who might select two queries for followup, out of a week's boxload of sixty-five, seem to bear this out. Consider this: even if an agent likes the query and requests a partial or a full manuscript, there's no guarantee the book will be accepted for representation. Most partials don't make the cut--they fail to deliver. A common statement in rejections is, "I'm sorry, but this didn't hold my interest." or "I'm sorry, but the manuscript didn't live up to its promise." I know this because I signed onto three online writers' forums this summer and it's one of the most common stories I've heard since then. Many of these ambitious writers can craft a good query letter. Then they upload it to the forum for comment and use the feedback to turn it into a dynamite query letter. After that, they submit it to agents, get requests for partials and--the next thing you hear is, "Oh well, another rejection. The agent said such-and-such (or nothing at all)."

The impression I get is that very few partials lead to requests for full manuscripts and very few fulls end up being signed. Of those that are, how many get published? That's harder to discern. I'm guessing that good agents might place two-thirds of the manuscripts, top agents might have a higher rate, but how many writers are accepted by the top agents? And--of those that are published--only a tiny fraction make six- or seven-figure advances. Agents work very hard to earn their 10-15% of your 8-15%.

Hope. If you look at the photo of our table above, you'll see a woman with dark hair and a pink scarf on the far left. I'm sorry I didn't catch her name. She shook her head repeatedly as I was talking, and challenged my figures. I stick by them. I've been asking agents and writers these questions for years. However, she did say something that made a lot of sense. She said, "But don't you think your odds are much better if you come to these conferences?" My answer is a resounding "Yes." She made a good point. I agree with her completely. I think it makes a huge difference if a writer makes the time and effort to attend, to learn, to talk to other writers and agents in person and to make him- or herself known. The odds are long, but there are some things you can do to shorten them. You still have to write good books--but conferences like this can help.

Just Desserts. As I mentioined earlier, the catering at this conference was pretty good. There were many healthy options and those were the ones I chose, but, since I rarely eat desserts at home, this evening I decided to indulge. There was a big round dessert table in the corner and I helped myself to a lot of fresh fruit and several decadent desserts, including marzipan squares and trifle (which I've only had once before).

A Bazillion Calories. The fellow in the blue shirt on the right (in the picture above) was behind me in the dinner line. As we were spooning up entrées and salads, he talked about how he exercises every day and keeps fit. I used to do that too, until a serious injury laid me up for a long time. I'm still recovering and I was jealous of his active lifestyle. I really miss hiking, biking, and swimming. Usually if you're injured, you can swim, but my injury was serious enough that even swimming was impossible. Hopefully, in the next year or so, I'll be able to get back in the swing of things. At least I can walk again. But, to get back to my story, when I sat down with several desserts (including cantaloupe and honeydew melon), his eyes zeroed in on my little round plate and he leaned over, pointed at an innocuous little rum-ball and said, "THAT, is about a thousand calories."

He's right. It is. What he didn't know is that I only indulge in evil desserts about two or three times a year and I didn't take the rum-ball for myself. A rum-ball is small and easy to conceal. I was saving it for someone else.

I must have been getting tired because the keynote speech, presentations, and awards are mostly a blur. Catherine Coulter was the keynote speaker and there were a number of writing awards. A fellow at our table won one of the "silly" writing awards. I found out about the conference too late to enter any of the contests, but maybe, if I have time, I'll participate next year, just for fun.

Sneaky Surprises. I do remember one presentation. It took me (and probably many other people) by surprise. Someone came up with the crazy idea of cloning Jack Whyte. Why they would want two Jack Whytes roaming the planet, I don't know. Ida Welland told me the day before, "He's a RASCAL." Maybe they wanted a version that wouldn't threaten to show up in a kilt (Jack2 was missing a few body parts from the shoulders down), but all-in-all it was a rather good likeness.

I'm sorry I don't have a better picture, but if you look closely at the photo on the left, next to Jack, you'll see a woman with dark hair wearing a shawl. That's Diana Gabaldon. At one point in the conference, Jack Whyte turned his head toward Diana and said to the crowd, "Look at her! She's the high priestess of . . . " I can't remember what he said she was the high priestess of, because I couldn't stop looking at her. I'm almost at a loss for words to describe her. Diane Gabaldon looks like she inhabits another plane and simply comes to call on the rest of us once in a while. She has long black hair that glints like the steel of a fine sword. She has a smile that draws you in so far, you almost forget there are other people in the room.

Diana glows. She glows with intelligence and a rare quality that is both ethereal and earthy. She has a beautiful face and an unusual voice--at first it almost seems to quaver, but if you listen closely, you hear all these complex overtones, as you might hear in the sound of a cello or bassoon. Diana has a remarkable presence and I was curious to find out what kind of books she writes. Eventually I was able to tear my eyes away from Diana and pay attention the rest of the presentations.

Later, when they trundled Jack2 out of the banquet room through the gauntlet of dealer tables, I discovered he wasn't carved of wood but was fashioned from clay. I wonder which Jack we'll see next year--Jack1 in a kilt or Jack2 on his little trundle cart? I guess I'll just have to register for SIWC 2005 to find out.

Night Owls and Mechanical Turtles. After dinner, I intended to hustle up to the night owls preview screening of the Dave Barry movie. I'm a huge cinemaphile and they mentioned an opportunity to give feedback on the movie. I'ved always wanted to do that. On the way to the coliseum (I mean the Tynehead room), however, I bumped into Carolyn and Ashley Grayson. Well, I had hardly seen them since the first evening and they still stood out as some of the most genial people I had met at the conference, so I put the Graysons ahead of Dave Barry and hung around and talked. I'm so glad I did. I discovered a few things about the Graysons (and about James B. who was also in on the conversation) that really surprised me. I also, finally, remembered where I had heard the name before. It had been niggling at me the whole conference. It wasn't just the name Grayson that I recognized, it was specifically Ashley Grayson. And then I remembered.

It had something to do with privacy issues and children using the Web. I have a fourteen-year-old niece and I had been concerned about her and her brother getting access to good materials on the Net without putting themselves (or their friends) at risk. Their mom knows almost nothing about computers and doesn't know how to direct them. The Graysons, being agents, represent a number of authors who write children's books and some of them have Web sites. I remembered a letter written by an Ashley Grayson to the Federal Trade Commission? and I remember thinking that the ones who are most careful are often the ones who end up being criticized for their presence on the Web. I mentioned this to the Graysons and Ashley filled in my incomplete memory of the issues. As it turns out, the author's Web site became, in a sense, the model for other sites, a "Poster Child" in Ashley's words. It was interesting to hear about the controversy (and its resolution) from the horse's mouth, and to meet the people involved.

The Birth of Computer Graphics. Then the conversation turned to other topics. Ashley has a large storehouse of wonderful stories about the history of personal computers. So does James B. Between them, I relived some of the exciting times I experienced when I was first learning about computers. Then, to my complete surprise, James started talking about Negroponte, Papert, and Logo--the programming language that Papert used with a small round robotic "turtle" to teach programming concepts to the young and young at heart. Why was I surprised? Because I introduced Logo to the Vancouver community at a time when there was a lot of resistance to computers. I'm a crusader, I suppose. I was determined to get something going, even if people thought I was weird to say computers could be used to produce art and illustrations, so I talked to the continuing education folks at UBC and, with the support of two very astute pioneers, Tom Berryhill and Jane Hutton, I put together the curriculum for a course in computer graphics as explored through the Logo programming language. It was a synthesis of art and science for people with an interest in both. It was also one of the only ways you could do computer graphics in those days--we didn't have Photoshop, Pagemaker, and Freehand to make our lives easier. So James described how Papert and Negroponte had been looking for funding to start a lab--a lot of funding. James pointed them in the direction of a number of sponsors, and the result is history. Tthe MIT Media Lab has become one of the most prominent and vibrant research and development labs in the world. Wow. What a great conversation. I missed the opening of the Dave Barry movie, but so what--I had a chance to hear the inside story on how the MIT lab was born.

Here's Dave. Eventually the conversation wound down--the others were looking as tired as I felt, but I still wanted to see the movie, so I headed upstairs. Well, what can I say. I like Dave Barry's columns. His books make me laugh. But I thought the movie was a bit of a dud, even though John Cleese, who I really like, was somewhat involved. I'm not going to explain every little thing that was wrong--at least from my point of view. It wasn't that I didn't laugh--there were funny moments, there were some good actors (some), but there was something wrong with the pacing in the middle of the film. It was as though the "cuts" where one scene or camera angle transitions to another, were a half dozen frames too long. There would be a joke, then a pause, then another joke, with dead space in between--something wrong in the editing. This problem went away after the "caveman melon" jokes. The pacing was natural and unobtrusive after that. But there was still another problem, which is less of a technical problem and more of a concept problem. The movie was basically a bunch of talking heads. That's where it went wrong.

Congruity. If you didn't see it, I'll try to explain. The movie had all these great location shots: beautiful rivers, interesting scenes, funny interior shots, nice shots by the wharf, but the dialog and the action were placed against these great scenes as if they were backdrops. They might as well have been painted in behind the actors. The storyline didn't make the scenes an integral part of the action. There was always a suggestion of action, but it didn't deliver. The camera follows Dave Barry as he walks around and talks. This sometimes works. In Ferris Bueller's Day Off, there are many scenes where Matthew Broderick (as Ferris) talks to the audience. But there's action too. There's a storyline that is interlinked with the scene. You don't need a big budget to integrate the scene and the actors, so it's not an issue of money (or shouldn't be, with a little imagination). I thought I would get a chance to offer comments at the end of the film, but the input that was alluded to earlier in the conference wasn't solicited after the showing. So, I'm writing it here. With some work, perhaps it can be improved. But the movie was like a lot of books that don't quite make it. There has to be a cohesiveness, a relationship between the characters and the setting or the story becomes disjointed and unbelievable and doesn't fully engage the audience.

After the film, I hurried upstairs. I wanted to write. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to see if my room had warmed up. Fortunately, there was enough heat for me to work on the laptop without freezing my fingers to the keys.

At 2:00am I finally closed up the iBook, put my little thousand-calorie rum-ball by the window (to keep it cool), and snuggled into bed.

Sunday Morning - Anne Perry
Sunday morning I slept in (if you can call it sleeping in) until 6:30am. Doesn't sound like sleeping in, but it felt like sleeping in after my chilly awakening the previous morning. I checked to make sure my little rum-ball was safe by the window and, once again, skipped breakfast so I could write for an hour or two.

Night Owls and Morning Mice. Morning is my most productive time for writing. I can write more [good] pages in the three hours between 7:00am and 10:00am than I can in the eight hours between noon and 8:00pm, simply because I'm a morning person. I know, you night owls are quivering at the thought and shaking your heads. All my friends are night owls. Many of them are computer programmers. They start to wake up around 7:00pm and they are quite happy to read or do video gaming until 4:00am. I can't do that. Well, maybe I can read or listen to music, but I certainly can't do anything productive like writing. That's okay. Writing early in the morning leaves me free to do other things for the rest of the day--in this case, attending the last day of the SIWC conference.

Anne Perry Keynote. Originally the Sunday keynote speaker was Bruce Hale, but Bruce delighted us with his stories on Friday morning, so it was time to hear Anne Perry. As I mentioned earlier, Anne writes historical mysteries. I'm a big fan of all kinds of historical fiction. I loved the Brother Cadfael series (I have it on DVD) and Umberto Eco is one of my favorite writers. I've never read Anne Perry, but I have seen a couple of episodes of the Monk series. I don't have cable, in fact I don't even have a TV, but I occasionally encounter the world of television when visiting friends. It's hard to judge, based upon two episodes, but I thought the Monk series was kind of wacky and fun.

Sunday Afternoon Workshops. The rest of the morning is a bit of a blur. The time went fast. The workshops were as good as ever. I attended the Advanced Fiction Tracks with Donald Maass and Don McQuinn and then it was time for our last meal together as a group.

Final Banquet. At lunch, I was sitting next to the fellow who used to have the Great Explorations company. I remember seeing the ads in magazines for many years and I was always tempted to go on one of those Great Explorations trips, but I always seemed to have something more urgent to do (like finishing university and getting my writing career off the ground). Lawrence was very interesting company. I also spotted Ida Welland at a table on the far side of the room and ran over to give her a copy of the pictures we had taken with her, Teresa, and I the previous day. I told her I was going to have to try hard to remember her name, that I wasn't good with names. She immediately sang a little rhyme so I could remember hers. It worked. Her name is one of the few that I remember "well--and."

After lunch, as I was heading to my hotel room to pack, I ran into Melinda outside the elevators. She had a big smile on her face. It was great to see her happy, but even better when I heard why she was happy. Apparently she had talked to Donald Maass after the workshop in which I had been drawing with my back against the wall (so I could get warm). After the workshop, I gave the drawing to Maass because I wanted to thank him for all the great workshops and inspiration I gained from his presentations. Melinda apparently had talked to him immediately afterwards. He gave her the go-ahead to send a partial. This is great news for any writer. If you get past the query stage, you are already ahead of the field. I was so happy for her and so pleased that she wanted to share the good news--it made my day.

Goodbyes and More Goodbyes. And then it was over. People were saying goodbye at the registration desk, checking out of the hotel, rushing off to planes and trains (and the families many of them hadn't seen for several days). I made a point of telling Nancy Hardin that I was going to buy "Frida" on DVD as soon as I got home (as it turned out, they didn't have it in stock, but I ordered it). She said, "You should. I think you'll enjoy it." I replied, "I think I will too."

I said goodbye and "Thank you," to Bonnie Deren and I had a brief opportunity to say goodbye to the Graysons. Ashley Grayson gets my vote for the coolest tie at the conference. I won't tell you the wording (maybe he'll let you read it the next time the Graysons are at a conference), but it was gold lettering on a black background and was very funny. Then I realized it was almost checkout time. With my luck the hotel would charge me "club rate" for an extra day if I didn't get out by 3:00pm.

Packing. In my hotel room, I stuffed everything into my bags as fast as I could, double-checked all the drawers in that huge dresser, stuck my head under the bed, and finally, when I was sure I had everything ready to go, collected my little rum-ball (which I had carefully wrapped in cellophane the day I brought it up to the room), and slipped it into the top of my bag so it wouldn't get squished.

Finally, I lugged my suitcases to the elevator and, downstairs, spotted Ida in the foyer as she was leaving. She was wearing a jaunty black fedora with a wide band that I could have sworn I had seen on one of the male guests earlier in the conference (or maybe I saw it in the movie "Scribes"). I don't know if the hat originally belonged to Ida or if she "inherited" it along the way. As before, she was wearing a huge smile. We exchanged a hug and said we hoped we would see each other at next year's conference.

That's when I saw the nasty note on my windshield. I had forgotten to give the hotel my license plate number. Normally, I have the number memorized, but I just renewed the tabs and, for reasons I can't fathom, they insisted the plate had to be renewed, as well.

I don't know why the state forces you to renew a plate that isn't very old and isn't very worn. Job security, I guess, for whoever gets the government license-plate-making contract. The other problem with the new plate was that I hadn't yet memorized the new number. That's my excuse. That's why I never gave the number to the desk and I was just too busy at the conference to make an extra trip to the parkade. So, I took the parking ticket upstairs and offered it to the woman at the desk along with my lame excuse. She gave me that, "Yeah, right, not another one," look, put my ticket on top of a pile of other unpaid tickets, and shook her head as I hustled away.

Back at the car, I looked at the plate and said, "Might as well memorize it now." Then I laughed. Ashley Grayson would love this plate. It goes with his tie. For those who aren't into technology, the numbers might not mean anything to you, but to me, it was funny, considering the conversations I had had with James B. and the Graysons the night before. The plate is A (for Apple) 6502 and then R plus a revision number. Ha. I won't quickly forget that one. It's almost as good as a vanity plate, without having to pay the extra cost.

Headin' Down the Highway. As much as I enjoyed the conference, I wanted to get home. This time I was careful not to miss my exit and cross the bridge into Coquitlam. Instead, I pointed the car in the direction of the lineups at the Canadian/U.S. border.

When I reached the border, I was happy to see there was only about a ten-minute wait. But something was amiss. I frequently cross the border because I have relatives in both British Columbia and Washington. I'm familiar with it--it doesn't usually make me nervous. But today the border officials looked different. They formerly had a security guard sort of look to them. Now they were dressed like policemen. I don't know if it was the guard's stance or a new style of uniform, but they looked more intimidating than usual.

It made me sad. Canada and the U.S. have the longest "friendly" border in the world. Now we have tighter security, more stringent car checks, and longer lines. It made me think about rats in a cage--about the six billion people who inhabit our planet and continue to breed like rabbits when the Earth's resources can only sustain a population of two billion over the long haul. It's important to think about these things once in a while, and waiting at a border certainly gives you time to think. When there are too many rats in a cage, they become aggressive, they start killing each other. Instinct takes over and solves the over-population problem. I hate to see people, who should know better, falling into the same pattern. Well, never mind. I decided to think happy thoughts instead. I turned on the radio, hoping Mozart would cheer me up while I was waiting.

Increased Security. Instead of playing Mozart, the station broadcast the news that border officials were going to search every car at the Canada/U.S. border because of the upcoming U.S. Presidential election. Darn. I looked back at my bags. On the way to the conference my luggage had been neat and tidy--now it cluttered the car in a haphazard pile. What a mess. The border official must have thought so too, as I drove up to his freshly-painted yellow kiosk--he gave my car a second once-over. Then he leaned in the window, took my ID and, in his freshly starched uniform, said, "And where have you been?"
"At a four-day writers' conference," I said.
He flipped open my passport and stared at the picture.
Oh, oh, I thought. My passport picture doesn't look like me. It's true. In my passport picture I'm not wearing any makeup and my hair is pulled back. At the conference I was wearing makeup and wore my hair down around my shoulders. To try to improve upon my answer (and my credibility) I said, "Ah, in Surrey."
"A writers' conference?" he replied as he snapped the passport shut and paced back and forth to peer at the bundles in the car.
I sat mute. As I said, I don't usually get nervous at the border--unless I'm tired. If I'm tired, my reptilian brain takes over and makes me do strange things, like forgetting my own name and where I live.
"Just exactly who did you go to see at this writers' conference?" he said as he tapped my passport against his palm.
Urg. He would ask that. He instantly found my Achille's heel.

I have trouble remembering names at the best of times. It's especially difficult when I'm tired--and impossible when I'm tired and I'm being interrogated by a border official in a shiny new uniform. I couldn't very well tell him I went to the conference to see Ida Welland because it wasn't true and I was likely to stutter or dilate my pupils or do even stranger things. So, I said the only other name my scattered mind could dig up under the pressure of the moment.
"Er, uh, I went to see Donald Maass. He's a New York agent."

So, when the border guard leaned toward me and gave me that sharp look they learn in Border Guard Training School, I could only think of one name--Donald Maass. Fortunately, he seemed to think that was a perfectly good answer and nodded and gave me back my documents. Maybe he's heard of Donald Maass. Maybe, between searching cars, he sits in his booth and works on his novel "My Life as a Border Guard." Then again, maybe he just figured Donald Maass was a better name than John Doe and decided to believe me. But, he wasn't ready to let me go--yet.

"If this was a writers' conference," he said. "What are all those extra bags and boxes?"
I looked in the back. It was still a mess. Nothing had changed while he was interrogating me. How was I going to explain all the extra stuff?
"Er, uh, I'm a writer," I said. "I write."
Not a good answer. He raised an eyebrow. He wanted a better explanation.
Then I finally wrestled my reptilian brain into the background and said, "I brought my writing materials to the conference--my laptop, my printer, Internet cable, USB cable, my graphics tablet input device, blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah . . .
When I started describing my writing paraphernalia in excruciating detail, he nodded and decided he didn't want to hear a long-winded story, handed me back my passport, and wished me a good day.
I was free and back on the road. I was on my way home to a warm bed and home-cooked meals. They didn't do a strip-search or even a full car search (which would have delayed me another half hour). Yay.

On the last leg of my trip, I finally found a station that was playing Mozart and I thought about the qualities I was looking for in an agent. I didn't use an agent for my previous books. I'm not shy about asking for a higher advance or changing the terms of a contract and convincing the publisher that the changes are mutually advantageous. Neither am I shy about talking to editors or dealing directly with publishing execs. I understand the publishing industry fairly well. I'm a writer first and foremost, but I've done editing and I'm an experienced typesetter, as well.

So why am I thinking about using an agent now? Because I'm planning a long-term career in fiction and fiction on the big playing field is different. It's harder to negotiate a contract when the stakes are higher. Some publishers have pro bono lawyers advising them to go for "all rights" because "it makes the contract simpler." How many individual writers have pro bono lawyers assisting them with negotiating separate rights for different markets?

There are other issues, as well. Most of the big publishers will no longer take unagented novels and it's my understanding that only an agent can put up a book for auction. Few authors have enough clout to say "THIS is a great book" directly to a publisher. An agent with a good reputation can say, "THIS is a great book." So, I'm scouting agents to see if I can find one with integrity, good negotiation skills, and a solid reputation with publishers--one who's in it for the long haul. As far as I can tell from my research, some agents have the integrity, experience, and good reputations I'm seeking, but I'm still researching their negotiation skills. It's an important decision--if publishers like your first book, they will sometimes want to option the subsequent books in the same contract. As an author, you have to be very sure you are happy with the agent, the publisher, and the terms, before committing to a three-book deal.

Sunday Evening - Home Sweet Home
Home Again, Home Again. Back home, I pulled into my driveway, stripped on my way up the stairs, and jumped into my "writer's clothes"--a comfy sweatshirt and sweatpants. I couldn't wait to tell my sweetheart about the conference and hold my cat in my arms. I wanted to bury my face in his fur and let him know he didn't have to be grumpy any more (my cat, that is, not my sweetheart).

But the house was empty. I had just spent a noisy four days with 799 other conference attendees and my quiet haven suddenly seemed preternaturally quiet. As I waited, I figured I might as well start putting things away. I know it might sound strange, but I really wanted to write, not rest. I wanted to record my experiences while they were still fresh in my mind, but I knew if I wrote first and unpacked second, I'd never get the unpacking done. As I yanked things out of bags, I kept looking around for the cat, hoping he was okay. Then I heard a click at the door and my sweetheart came in holding the cat. I was so excited to see him (my sweetheart, not the cat, though I was happy to see the cat too). I had so much to show and tell.

After my first gush of words (he's very patient and lets me run on until I run out), we sat on the couch and I pulled out my contraband--the little round rum-ball. My sweetheart loves chocolate--especially thousand-calorie dark chocolate with liqueur filling. He looked at the rum-ball and said, "Mmmmm, this looks evil!" I smiled as he untangled the rum-ball from its cellophane cocoon and then was puzzled when he broke it in two without biting into it. As the cat curled up in his lap, he handed me the other half. "No, it's for you," I said. "I had lots at the conference. I brought it for you."

He insisted that I have some. So we enjoyed the rum-ball together (it was really good) and then hugged each other and I felt a sensation, a vibration, running from my stomach to my chest. "He's purring!" said my sweetheart. It was Nabokov, humming like a well-oiled sewing machine. Like most cats, he hates to be confined, especially between two bodies. He runs and keeps his distance for hours if we try to wrap our arms around him. This time he didn't run. His head was squashed between our ribs, his leg stuck out at a bad angle, yet he was purring--at full volume. It was so good to be home again. --- Mya Bell

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you are welcome to do so on the Fiction Forum.

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