Xposted from eljayland.
I'm sitting in the lobby of the Red Lion in Portland waiting for Caroline to rise and shine---the wifi reception in the room sucks dog weiner. Despite being a decent conference, full of fun film workshops (the comedy, the horror), I'm blowing off the last day of Willamette WC to spend some time with my girl.
Here's the rundown...
Friday was the first full day, Thursday being primarily for registration and pitch practices (which were so beyond painful to watch). So after meeting some great people at Friday breakfast, I get a call from Caroline, her train has been canceled (this wouldn't normally be an issue, she could have driven down from Olympia (about two hours) but the Volvo is leaking oil like a weepy zit. So half that day was spent driving up to pick her up and coming back. Fuck you Amtrak!
Saturday's workshops were awesome, Hollywood guy Luke Ryan did this mini series on deconstructing film genre that was entertaining and surprisingly pertinent to my stuff, and Liz Engstrom, horror and erotica writer, led a fun group through the construction of a "hot" sex scene.
The best part? Why all the soul-stealing, of course.
I'm talking about behavior snapshots. It's a holdover from my career as a psychotherapist, observing, taking notes. "You" may not recognize yourself in my fiction, but I will.
So the big question I asked myself: Why did I even go to this thing? It turns out my answer is a little flimsy. I was hoping to put the cap on this crazy year, sort of a pilgrimage to the spot where it all started. What I got out of it was something entirely different: a recharge. In fact, the outline of the book is done, the plot and comedy bits are solid. I'm happy.
Now we can just spend the rest of today shopping in Portland's awesome Nob Hill, and hitting Powell's one last time, WITHOUT the dread of not knowing where this book is going.