It is very quiet. The most persistent noise is the sound of highway traffic. The interstate is outside my window, and the tops of passing cars are visible between the green triangle that is Ruby’s Restaurant Country Grill and the many gabled rooth of another hotel . The tops of Bradford pear trees sway madly beneath these fast-moving car tops, and the parking lot lights still glow bright white under a sky that is almost the same gray as the parking lot beneath. The parking lot glistens in places with puddles. It has been raining quite a bit since last night. At one point the water was flowing down my window in tiny rivers, but that was yesterday.

I have made myself at home here and I couldn’t help thinking of my mother as I did. She discouraged unpacking and “moving in” because it was simpler to live out of the suitcase and less likely that we would leave anything behind when we left. Of course she’s right. But I fully unpacked everything in my suitcase and hung it in the armoire—the one that is dark wood, with black plastic inset handles and a slanted top that hopefully has the television well bolted on top. No so easy to steal! Dead ahead of me is a small mirror that thankfully I am avoiding and beneath it a desk and chair where I spent most of last night posting May prompts to my website. I am sitting in my bed, propped against two pillows. It is a lovely king-sized bed with three pillows and I slept like that proverbial brick. Meaning of course that I was heavy with sleep and sat where I was placed when the body eased itself into unconscious repair mode. There is a night stand on either side of my bed, the one closest to me bearing the candles that I forgot to light like I was going to this morning and the other holding a clock that I can’t see and the phone. Beyond that to my right is a bar, it’s undefinable top gleaming in the soft light from the bathroom. My gardenia sparkle candle is in the center of it, with a sink to the left and the coffee maker—Yeah coffee!!—to the right. You can’t see the sofa and coffee table beyond the bar, but you can catch a glimpse of the back left corner of the small table for two as well as an understanding of why the TV is placed where it is.
I feel much like the sky. Heavy. The corners of my eyes prickle, and for a moment this morning I was afraid they were swollen because I have had the corners feel this way when they are swelling with some allergy or something. My head aches. I am torn between getting up and getting my shower done, or taking another few minutes to snooze. I knew trying to get that website done last night was going to leave me feeling this way. I hope the first speaker on the program is a dynamic one and didn’t stay up too late for a buzz session last night.

As I type this a thread of excitement started in my stomach and is starting to move the sluggish blood in my veins. This conference has lived up to its billing. Again. Well, well worth the money to come not only for the restoration of the center of me, but also because of what I learn. Yes some of it is similar to what I’ve heard before. But to be around editors and agents who obviously love their end of the publishing business and who are looking for their next good sale here is really thrilling. There are editors from Atria, Writer’s Digest, The Writer, Random House. Our keynote speaker last night was Eric Maisel, speaking about seven common things that hold writers back, and wow! was that information I’m glad I didn’t miss. William Bernhardt will be doing a workshop today that I’ll attend. Then there’s the regular familiar faces that at one time were just names. Doug Kelley (The Captain’s Wife), Dan Case (Writing for Dollars), and the never miss-able, always lovable Dusty Richards who challenged us all last night to have a book finished by this time next year.

Then there’s tonight’s banquet and my parents and sister are coming to share it with me. Yes, I think I’m ready to motivate now. Who can sleep? But the first thing I’m going to do is fire up that coffee maker….

This post comes from our writing session in today's workshop. (If you were there, you'll notice that in the interests of time I didn't post all of it when we were discussing what we wrote.)

I still see nothing special in this little piece, while everyone at the workshop seemed to enjoy it very much. I take it as a lesson that perhaps we shouldn't be judging what we write at all. At least not in terms of how people will receive it. We need to study the craft and improve technique, but when it comes to a finished, edited, proofread product, you just really have no idea who it may appeal to until you send it out and let it touch people. There is no way I would have readily shared this piece with others. I have a lot like it that never even make it here because they emerge in longhand and I deem them not worth the effort to type and post.

That's the thing about writing. The more you do it, the more you learn.

Love your writing!!

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It's time to be still. I've read three different books this week in which there were segments touting the exercise of writing in the moment--about where you are, what you're feeling. It's a heavy day. The skys are full of clouds and it's impossible to tell where one starts and another stops. Still, they are thin, because it's bright. That white bright that hurts the eyes, not the gentle light of fireflies. Heh, poet go away. Those words are wanting to be used. The wind is an entity all it's own, making the cover on the stove vent bang and rattle, and the trees hiss as their leaves stir and brush each other. Things are shifting and changing and the humidity pressing down. It's prime ingredients for storms. My eyes are heavy too. My head feels foggy and my right wrist aches. I can't get myself in gear today. Yesterday was marvelous. I got more done yesterday than I get done in a week sometimes, but I think I'm paying the price. At any way--that was then. Here and now. George Shrinks is blaring on the Educational TV channel and my youngest is complaining because he wants a grilled cheese sandwhich but they're better when I make them. This translates into "better" because he can sit and watch George Shrinks while I make the sandwich. It has little to do with taste. I'm thirsty. I want a nice tall glass of water with ice, but I have a tooth that's going to need attention as soon as I get back from the writer's conference this weekend. It's aching today as well. Or maybe it's just sinus trouble affecting the tooth, but I have serious doubts. That's just hoping. I want to forget everything that needs to be done between now and then and just get everything together I want to take. I'm setting limits this year. I generally pack more gear and books and paper than I do clothes for these things. I am dying to crack open the laptop in a room that is completely still and just type until I'm ready to quit. No one needing my "expert" grilled cheese sandwiches or wondering if I know where their socks happen to have landed, or why the shirt that's on the floor in their bedroom didn't make it into the washing machine. The list of things to do around here is endless and intrusive if you're trying to get some creating done. It's nice not to have to fight them once in awhile. It's a real "out of sight, out of mind" slight of hand. (Is that the right "slight"? Doesn't seem like it.) Ah, George is over. The house has fallen rather silent except for hubby (cranky) and son (bored, but helpful. He's taking dishes to the dishwasher.) Everyone wonders why I'm just sitting here typing (forgot it's workshop day) and of course wants to talk. We got such a late start today that it feels more like noon than 2:00--and time to stop.

Well, I'm doing a dangerous thing I think and resting on success. Or maybe after a writing sprint, you need to catch your breath. I've not been driven to the page the past couple days. In fact yesterday I wasn't driven to do much at all. I was just tired. I had good intentions. But that was about it.

I'm also getting pumped about the Oklahoma Writer's Federation Conference this weekend. Two days of immersion in the craft and a hotel room to myself. Bliss!!! Did I mention a hotel room with a refrigerator and microwave! I know I'm a hermit, but after a day and an evening full of people it is so nice to be able to come "home" and regroup by myself. Or with my sister. Before she got married she used to come stay with me and I did enjoy not having to go to the Friday night banquet by myself. Being with her is almost like being alone, which doesn't sound like a compliment but it is. It simply means I am never, ever uneasy around her.

But I'm making all kinds of lists and plans for bubble baths with candles and chick flick DVDs, music, breakfast almost in bed, even some serious writing. And that's just after the day's writing excitement is over.

So given that there's so much activity ahead, and so much activity behind, I don't feel that bad about not wanting to tune in to prompts. And no day is completely without writing. I mean--what is a shopping list? I have been working on the material for my website in May, so if I had been keeping track of the time and words that would count too.

Oh, and did I mention that I've already passed my word goal for this month? Maybe that has something to do with my wanting to coast to the end of the month.....I do still have one more submission that needs to go out. That may happen Friday night too.

At any rate, I'll be writing in workshop tomorrow and will probably post that, but then you may not hear from me again until Friday night. Tune in then for all the news from Lake Wobeggon.

It's done! My 24-hour Spring Short Story Contest entry flew out of my outbox just after 11:00. I am so pleased. I don't care if anyone else is or not!

This was an interesting experiment. I'm happy to report that these weeks of writing practice paid off in a large way. This story went together so much easier than the last one did. Now of course it could be that the prompt and I were simply more compatible, but I really don't think that's true. I think my mind was more used to exploring ideas and possibilities. I got the starter prompt and within minutes I had it pulled apart and the ideas were flowing thick and fast. One took me by the hand and led me through the process. I didn't even play with the other ideas that I had listed.

I wrote straight through from beginning to end and wound up with a story of 1,700. Now it was time to trim it back to the word count limit. 950. Ugg.

By the time I gave up and went to bed I was down to 1,265, and which time I typed WAHOO! and decided to sleep on it. Actually my dh decided to have me sleep on it; he was rather irritated that I was still up past midnight. I didn't tell him I was doing this this time around for fear he'd want to "help." I never get anything done when he does that. :)

I woke a little after 6 and felt I should get up, but the bed was comfortable, and I didn't want to have to explain why I was getting up so early. I don't know why I have such a hard time telling my family how I'm driven to do this. I do try. They don't understand. It gets complicated and frustrating when it becomes "discretionary" time in their books and "vital" time in mine. So mostly I go about my business and pray they continue theirs.

I was going to take a walk and let things simmer. Decided to print a copy out first. I read the story and was completely tired of it. There was still so much to cut. Some of the really good stuff had to go. I decided instead to play Bejewelled for awhile. Did great. The cobwebs were dusted out of my mind, and I got busy around 9:00.

By 11 I had a satisfying revision of 949 words. Can't beat that! This is the earliest I've ever finished. No holding the breath to see if I squeaked in under the wire. If this one doesn't arrive....!!! It won't matter. I met my goal, finished my mission, and now I think I will take that walk.

1,700 to 950 words. 750 words chopped and the story is still intact. I just think that's amazing. But it makes me wonder what I need to be doing with all those other pieces I have in the files........Maybe I can get Angela to set me some word limits. :)