I have a request. I need you to pray.
My Uncle John is having quadruple bypass surgery today, and I haven't had a chance to talk to him since I got back from Dayton, OH.
Uncle John, my mother's brother, was the catalyst for my going to the Erma Bombeck Humor Writer's Conference, and I haven't had a chance to tell him about the trip. In fact, I doubt he's even had a chance to read my blog with the highlights of the weekend. And he's the entire reason I went in the first place.
He started the ball rolling in February when we were out to dinner at the Olive Garden. He's been reading my blog faithfully for months (he and my husband's Aunt Kathy are my biggest fans) and never hesitates to let me know what he's thinking.
"Your writing reminds me of Erma Bombeck," he said to me at dinner.
I've heard that some people are offended by that. I'm not sure why. I consider Erma Bombeck the ultimate humor writer. To have someone think that my mixed bag of humor and sappiness could in any way be compared with her is a high compliment. When I got home that night, I did a google search looking for something that might show me what he saw in my writing that reminded him of her.
The first thing that came up on the search was the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference. The conference was full so I put my name on the waiting list. Regular readers of this blog know the story of how I got into the conference (and if you don't, see what you miss by not being a faithful reader?), but what's clear is that I would never have even been looking for Erma on the web if my Uncle John hadn't made that comment.
So it's Uncle John's fault that I spent this past weekend with all of the fine folks at the conference. It's his doing that I came home and wrote one of the best essays of the year. It's completely on his shoulders that I even consider my writing worthy enough to pursue more fully after this weekend.
So I need to you pray that Uncle John has a speedy recovery so he can get back to reading my blog and advising me on my writing career.
Besides, I brought him back an Erma mousepad that I haven't given him yet.
Monday, March 29, 2004
WARNING: THIS BLOG CONTAINS RANDOM MUSINGS FROM THE ERMA BOMBECK HUMOR WRITING CONFERENCE. May appear incoherent and rambling, and likely includes typos and grammar errors. If it bothers you, drink more caffeine. I've had enough.
I am back from the conference. Yeah! I am on overload - emotional, spiritual and physical, but I wanted all of you to get a taste of my weekend, so here are some journal excerpts. Enjoy!
Thursday, March 25th
My flight was uneventful. My arrival more interesting. I was supposed to meet a woman named Laurie Copeland, who belongs to the same online writer's group as I do, so we could share a cab to the airport. The Marriott, believe it or not, did not have a shuttle service. Not the Marriott way, in my humble opinion, because a cab ride was $38.
I land about 1/2 hour early, go to baggage to claim my suitcase and look for a woman who might be Laurie. We've never met, but I figure that it can't be too difficult to find each other. Two hip, cool, Christian writers in the Dayton airport? No problem. I sit down and dial her cell phone. Next to me is a woman playing with her palm pilot, across from me travelers waiting for luggage or rides, and people milling all around. I get her voice mail and leave a message. I wait around about 10 minutes, and then walk to the end of the row of chairs, look around and decide to call again. This time she picks up, and I can hear the baggage alarm going off both in my ear and over the phone, so I know she's in the same room as I am, but she can't hear me. "Laurie! Laurie! Can you hear me?" I keep saying in the phone. A moment later a woman taps me on the shoulder. It's Laurie - the woman who was sitting next to me when I made the first call.
We look around for a cab and in the end meet up with Patricia Draznin from IA, with whom we share a charter van for $10 a piece. We're riding with two Texas missionary-type folks named Bill and Pacheco and a fossilized old poop named Wayne.
Check in. Want to check my email, but learn that my laptop, which I have lugged with me, will be useless, because the Marriott charges $10 a day for internet service. Again, Mr. Marriott, I am disappointed.
Laurie and I meet some other conference attendees and go to the hotel restaurant to eat: Jill from Nebraska, Kim from Georgia and Carrie from N. Dakota. Laurie's friend Cindy arrives. We have a salad (field greens & nuts drenched in balsamic vinegarette) and head back to the conference for a reception.
First speaker of the evening is Sophronia Scott. She talked about networking, and her information was invaluable. She's this beautiful woman with a Harvard degree who wrote for People Magazine and Time. Talk about eclectic. She's the one who gave me perhaps the most important information of the weekend: When chatting in a group, ask yourself "W.A.I.T." (Why Am I Talking?). Humbling.
Following Sophronia's speech is another reception, so we can practice what we just learned. I am in a group chatting with Laurie and another woman named Christine. Christine asks what we do, and when I tell her I'm a freelance writer, we get to talking about how much writers make. I tell her that my goal is to double what I made last year, and since I made $1000 that shouldn't be too hard. Christine bursts out laughing, doubled over because she thinks that's so funny. "Are you laughing because you think that's a lot, or pathetic, or what," Laurie asks. "That's pathetic!" Christine practically screams. Since I agree, I'm not sure if I should be laughing or offended, but when Christine explains that she can't understand how anyone can make a living on that, I get to clear up the whole thing by telling her that I don't. Make a living, I mean. I have a husband. He makes my living. Christine becomes my new best friend. She is also a Christian. I now have 2 new best friends, and am quite happily on my way to having one rocking good time.
The evening speaker is Jill Conner Browne, one "big-a**ed sweet potato queen." She's funny, clever, a bit spicy and completely narcissistic. Laurie and I spend an hour waiting line for her to sign Laurie's book, which is a gift for her editor. We spend the entire wait trying to formulate one groovy line for the queen to write. Laurie tries on the crown. She is a goddess.
Friday, March 26th
I am up at 7:30. In the morning. I think they're trying to kill us. No writer worth her salt is up before 10.
Morning session: Patricia Wynn Brown, creator of the Hair Theater, and kindred spirit. She understands that when your hair ain't right, ain't nothin' going right that day. She was a good speaker, and cleaner than the previous performer. She honestly believed that no one would show up. "I'm just a local writer and performer," she tells me later. "I thought you all would sleep in and show up for the first workshop." When she comes out and the room is filled with hundreds of people, she's happy. She should be. She was worth getting up at 7:30 to see.
Morning session: Deb DiSandro. I don't find her that funny, but she definitely has some good pointers. It's here that I begin to realize that funny on paper is not always funny in person. And vice versa.
Sitting down for lunch, Laurie and I meet Wayne Holmes. He leans across me to introduce himself to Laurie, who responds with, "You rejected me for your book." At least she's smiling when she says it. Wayne is the compiler of The Heart of a Father and The Heart of a Mother. Indeed, he has rejected her stories, but we forgive him and make him our new best friend, #3.
Our lunch speaker is Karyl Miller, long-time Hollywood television writer. She's mildy amusing and the talk is very long, but she shares some neat stories about writing for the Mary Tyler Moore Show as well as dozens of others. I'd love to tell you about them, but they're long and I don't remember most of them anyway. Only the one about MTM and the episode with the letter.
Afternoon session: I got to see Dan Zevin, author of The Day I Turned Uncool: Confessions of a Reluctant Grown Up. Before coming to the conference, I went to the library and took out as many books as I could by authors who were speaking. I liked Dan's style and decided to hear him speak. I'm glad I read the book, because when he referenced stories he'd written, I could see the point he was making - "When you're writing a story about going to a wine tasting, you need to tell the reader that you're the kind of guy who brings a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon to a party so they can see the change." It's funnier because I've read the story. He reads us several articles by other writers that he thinks are good humor writing examples, including one called "Showering with your dog." It's supposed to be funny, but I take notes. I can never get the dog to stay in the bathtub.
Dinner at Panera's, where Laurie, Christine, Barbara (the lawyer & friend #4) and I enjoy great sandwiches and talk. Wayne is eating with the world famous greeting card writer, author, and flight attendant, Marsha Marks and they stop by our table on their way out. When Marsha hears that Laurie and I are Christians, and that Laurie reviews books for Christian Retailing and I write for Christian newspapers, she makes us her new best friends and we agree to add her to our list. We really didn't have a choice. She's a bit like a tornado - she whirls in, wraps herself around us, and leaves us breathless when she leaves. But she's so darned fun. She's friend #5.
Evening session: Don Novello, aka Father Guido Sarducci, aka Lazlo Toth. Don is one continuous SNL skit. They should just hire him back and make him the star of the show. If you haven't read the Lazlo Toth letters, do. For 30 years, Novello has been writing letters to companies, politicians, The queen of England, leaders of foreign countries and almost everyone else, making comments, writing songs, and offering suggestions on everything from world politics to advertising to product development - all with a wry, tongue-in-cheek absurdity that leaves you wondering whether he's serious, joking, or deranged. The funny part is the people write back. In all seriousness.
We go back to the hotel, and Laurie and I sit around in her room with her roomate and friend Cindy, chatting and reading each other's work. This is the first time I get to chat with Cindy at any length and realize she is certainly friend #6. We talk about high school, owing to the fact that Laurie and Cindy went to high school together - in Rochester, where I'm from.
Afterwards, we head to the bar for a Coke and to see what else is up. We chat, hang out, and pretty much snack on spiced peanut mix and decide to hit the hay. I am tired.
Saturday, March 27th
They are being kind to us. The first session begins at 9:30 so I can sleep in.
Morning speaker: Bruce Cameron, of 8 Simple Rules fame. He's funny. After the session, I want to tell him a funny story about my husband and reading the book, and I have a lifesaver in my mouth which breaks into pieces as I am about to speak, so it looks like I have a mouthful of food or something. Yes, I am embarassed.
First session: Dr. Mark Shatz, using the principles of stand up comedy in your writing. This session alone was worth the price of admission. No kidding.
Lunch, with speaker Craig Wilson, columnist for USA Today. I read his book It's The Little Things before the conference, and found it amusing and poignant, but not laugh out loud funny. But when he spoke, it was a riot. He read some of his work, and it was then that I realized that you can be amusing on paper and funny in person, and that you don't have to make people laugh out loud to make them happy.
I forgot to bring the book that I want Bruce Cameron to sign, so I hop the bus back to the hotel and hurry back, and there's no line at his table when I get back. I chat with Bruce Cameron for a minute, and walk away, but remember that a woman on my writing list told me that she told him to look for me. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to both network and make an ass of myself, I go back a few minutes later and tell him "Betty Winslow says hi." I explain that apparently she told him to watch for me. He says that he remembers that, and we talk a bit about Betty Winslow.
It's about 15 minutes later when I see Laurie taking a picture with Cameron and realize that I want a picture as well to go with my Don Novello picture, so I go back. "Are you going to sit here and sign books with me," Cameron asks. Ha ha. "No, I want a picture," and as we stand there we begin to talk about Betty Winslow. "I'm not sure how I know her," he says. I tell him that she said they correspond occassionally, and he wonders if she's a friend of his mother's. I tell him probably not, since I don't know his mother, but that Betty is a member of one of two writer's lists I'm on. "She told me to look for you," he says. "She said you were cute." I think he's making that up, but I explain that I'm not looking for a date and am embarassed once again that maybe he thinks I am trying to pick him up and using Betty Winslow as a go-between. Again, I look like an ass, but at least I have a good story to tell.
Afternoon session: panel discussion on syndication. Interesting, learned that self-syndication might be the way to go. Not a great session but a good one.
Laurie, Wayne, Patricia (from the charter van ride & friend #7) decide not to go back to the hotel, but instead to Panera's to sit with Marsha Marks while she eats and then go across the street to Dewey's pizza where we want to eat. For an hour, we are treated to The Adventure Of Marcia Marks - not her adventures so much as the adventure of her, a whirlwind of amazing stories and ideas. When she leaves, we are silent for a moment, and Wayne says, "I'm out of breath." We go to eat.
Evening session, Nancy Cartwright, voice of Bart Simpson (and Maggie and Nelson). She's humble, and sweet and funny.
Afterwards, Christine, Wayne and I wait for Laurie in the bar, and Wayne and Christine read my losing Erma entry. It's nice to get feedback. Wayne uses his red pen and puts more hearts than suggestions on the page, so I'm happy.
Wayne and Christine, who both live in nearby towns, go home, and Laurie and I join Cindy, where a group of people are reading their pieces. After we're moved from the pool area to a meeting room, Laurie and I decide to read. The man before her strips to his Bugs Bunny boxers and has his wife read his story, which describes in fairly graphic detail how he lost his virginity. Laurie goes next, opening with "I'm a Christian writer", which gets the biggest laugh of the night. I get some chuckles from my piece, one person says it's well written. Whatever. I think I'm hilarious.
I am exhausted. We have all agreed that Tim Bete has done an excellent job pulling this conference together. Two thumbs up for him. We were entertained, fed, and instructed - and we made some great friends.
Sunday, March 28th
This has been a fun weekend, and I am upbeat and laughing.
I catch a ride to the airport with Patricia and 5 other women. Patrica and I are joined by a woman named Deb from Brooklyn, and we go thru security together and decide to get coffee and sit for a bit before we go to our gates. As we're in the security line, I see a young man saying goodbye to his family, who are clearly sad to see him go. There are smiles, but also tears, and when he moves into the line, his family follows his every move. "Where are you going that your family is going to miss you so much?" I ask him with a smile. "The DMZ in South Korea," he replies. It takes a moment for it to sink in that he's going the demilitarized zone, and suddenly I'm not laughing. He looks like a college kid heading back from spring break. A moment later, I ask his name. "Kyle," he says. "I'm going to pray for you," I reply. And I am.
We go through security, and I pass Kyle putting his belongings back into his bag. I want to stop but I'm with two other people and we head to the coffee shop. I don't know what I would say to him anyway.
In the coffee shop, I recognize a guy who was on Average Joe and realize there is a whole group of reality TV "celebs" there. I get my picture taken. We watch tons of reality TV, and I thought David would get a kick out of that.
I am left pondering my encounters with Kyle and the pseudo-celebs, and realize there is a story here. I am working on it, but I am humbled as I muse. The tv "starts" might be celebs, but Kyle is a hero.
Long story short, my plane is late (they don't have anyone to fly it, if you can believe that) and I get home an hour late. I go to my mom's for pizza and get to see Cassie before she goes back to college (for some reason, she and her friend Mia spent the weekend with my mom). I'm happy to see my dh, happy to be home and seriously missing my new friends. I want to call Laurie and tell her about my airport delays, and I could use a dose of Marcia's energy right now.
I'm still processing all of the information I gleaned from the weekend. At first, I thought I didn't get much "nuts and bolts" but as I begin to sort thru it all, I realize I learned a lot. Mostly I made tons of new friends, did some networking, and really laughed.
Which is exactly what I needed.
I am back from the conference. Yeah! I am on overload - emotional, spiritual and physical, but I wanted all of you to get a taste of my weekend, so here are some journal excerpts. Enjoy!
Thursday, March 25th
My flight was uneventful. My arrival more interesting. I was supposed to meet a woman named Laurie Copeland, who belongs to the same online writer's group as I do, so we could share a cab to the airport. The Marriott, believe it or not, did not have a shuttle service. Not the Marriott way, in my humble opinion, because a cab ride was $38.
I land about 1/2 hour early, go to baggage to claim my suitcase and look for a woman who might be Laurie. We've never met, but I figure that it can't be too difficult to find each other. Two hip, cool, Christian writers in the Dayton airport? No problem. I sit down and dial her cell phone. Next to me is a woman playing with her palm pilot, across from me travelers waiting for luggage or rides, and people milling all around. I get her voice mail and leave a message. I wait around about 10 minutes, and then walk to the end of the row of chairs, look around and decide to call again. This time she picks up, and I can hear the baggage alarm going off both in my ear and over the phone, so I know she's in the same room as I am, but she can't hear me. "Laurie! Laurie! Can you hear me?" I keep saying in the phone. A moment later a woman taps me on the shoulder. It's Laurie - the woman who was sitting next to me when I made the first call.
We look around for a cab and in the end meet up with Patricia Draznin from IA, with whom we share a charter van for $10 a piece. We're riding with two Texas missionary-type folks named Bill and Pacheco and a fossilized old poop named Wayne.
Check in. Want to check my email, but learn that my laptop, which I have lugged with me, will be useless, because the Marriott charges $10 a day for internet service. Again, Mr. Marriott, I am disappointed.
Laurie and I meet some other conference attendees and go to the hotel restaurant to eat: Jill from Nebraska, Kim from Georgia and Carrie from N. Dakota. Laurie's friend Cindy arrives. We have a salad (field greens & nuts drenched in balsamic vinegarette) and head back to the conference for a reception.
First speaker of the evening is Sophronia Scott. She talked about networking, and her information was invaluable. She's this beautiful woman with a Harvard degree who wrote for People Magazine and Time. Talk about eclectic. She's the one who gave me perhaps the most important information of the weekend: When chatting in a group, ask yourself "W.A.I.T." (Why Am I Talking?). Humbling.
Following Sophronia's speech is another reception, so we can practice what we just learned. I am in a group chatting with Laurie and another woman named Christine. Christine asks what we do, and when I tell her I'm a freelance writer, we get to talking about how much writers make. I tell her that my goal is to double what I made last year, and since I made $1000 that shouldn't be too hard. Christine bursts out laughing, doubled over because she thinks that's so funny. "Are you laughing because you think that's a lot, or pathetic, or what," Laurie asks. "That's pathetic!" Christine practically screams. Since I agree, I'm not sure if I should be laughing or offended, but when Christine explains that she can't understand how anyone can make a living on that, I get to clear up the whole thing by telling her that I don't. Make a living, I mean. I have a husband. He makes my living. Christine becomes my new best friend. She is also a Christian. I now have 2 new best friends, and am quite happily on my way to having one rocking good time.
The evening speaker is Jill Conner Browne, one "big-a**ed sweet potato queen." She's funny, clever, a bit spicy and completely narcissistic. Laurie and I spend an hour waiting line for her to sign Laurie's book, which is a gift for her editor. We spend the entire wait trying to formulate one groovy line for the queen to write. Laurie tries on the crown. She is a goddess.
Friday, March 26th
I am up at 7:30. In the morning. I think they're trying to kill us. No writer worth her salt is up before 10.
Morning session: Patricia Wynn Brown, creator of the Hair Theater, and kindred spirit. She understands that when your hair ain't right, ain't nothin' going right that day. She was a good speaker, and cleaner than the previous performer. She honestly believed that no one would show up. "I'm just a local writer and performer," she tells me later. "I thought you all would sleep in and show up for the first workshop." When she comes out and the room is filled with hundreds of people, she's happy. She should be. She was worth getting up at 7:30 to see.
Morning session: Deb DiSandro. I don't find her that funny, but she definitely has some good pointers. It's here that I begin to realize that funny on paper is not always funny in person. And vice versa.
Sitting down for lunch, Laurie and I meet Wayne Holmes. He leans across me to introduce himself to Laurie, who responds with, "You rejected me for your book." At least she's smiling when she says it. Wayne is the compiler of The Heart of a Father and The Heart of a Mother. Indeed, he has rejected her stories, but we forgive him and make him our new best friend, #3.
Our lunch speaker is Karyl Miller, long-time Hollywood television writer. She's mildy amusing and the talk is very long, but she shares some neat stories about writing for the Mary Tyler Moore Show as well as dozens of others. I'd love to tell you about them, but they're long and I don't remember most of them anyway. Only the one about MTM and the episode with the letter.
Afternoon session: I got to see Dan Zevin, author of The Day I Turned Uncool: Confessions of a Reluctant Grown Up. Before coming to the conference, I went to the library and took out as many books as I could by authors who were speaking. I liked Dan's style and decided to hear him speak. I'm glad I read the book, because when he referenced stories he'd written, I could see the point he was making - "When you're writing a story about going to a wine tasting, you need to tell the reader that you're the kind of guy who brings a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon to a party so they can see the change." It's funnier because I've read the story. He reads us several articles by other writers that he thinks are good humor writing examples, including one called "Showering with your dog." It's supposed to be funny, but I take notes. I can never get the dog to stay in the bathtub.
Dinner at Panera's, where Laurie, Christine, Barbara (the lawyer & friend #4) and I enjoy great sandwiches and talk. Wayne is eating with the world famous greeting card writer, author, and flight attendant, Marsha Marks and they stop by our table on their way out. When Marsha hears that Laurie and I are Christians, and that Laurie reviews books for Christian Retailing and I write for Christian newspapers, she makes us her new best friends and we agree to add her to our list. We really didn't have a choice. She's a bit like a tornado - she whirls in, wraps herself around us, and leaves us breathless when she leaves. But she's so darned fun. She's friend #5.
Evening session: Don Novello, aka Father Guido Sarducci, aka Lazlo Toth. Don is one continuous SNL skit. They should just hire him back and make him the star of the show. If you haven't read the Lazlo Toth letters, do. For 30 years, Novello has been writing letters to companies, politicians, The queen of England, leaders of foreign countries and almost everyone else, making comments, writing songs, and offering suggestions on everything from world politics to advertising to product development - all with a wry, tongue-in-cheek absurdity that leaves you wondering whether he's serious, joking, or deranged. The funny part is the people write back. In all seriousness.
We go back to the hotel, and Laurie and I sit around in her room with her roomate and friend Cindy, chatting and reading each other's work. This is the first time I get to chat with Cindy at any length and realize she is certainly friend #6. We talk about high school, owing to the fact that Laurie and Cindy went to high school together - in Rochester, where I'm from.
Afterwards, we head to the bar for a Coke and to see what else is up. We chat, hang out, and pretty much snack on spiced peanut mix and decide to hit the hay. I am tired.
Saturday, March 27th
They are being kind to us. The first session begins at 9:30 so I can sleep in.
Morning speaker: Bruce Cameron, of 8 Simple Rules fame. He's funny. After the session, I want to tell him a funny story about my husband and reading the book, and I have a lifesaver in my mouth which breaks into pieces as I am about to speak, so it looks like I have a mouthful of food or something. Yes, I am embarassed.
First session: Dr. Mark Shatz, using the principles of stand up comedy in your writing. This session alone was worth the price of admission. No kidding.
Lunch, with speaker Craig Wilson, columnist for USA Today. I read his book It's The Little Things before the conference, and found it amusing and poignant, but not laugh out loud funny. But when he spoke, it was a riot. He read some of his work, and it was then that I realized that you can be amusing on paper and funny in person, and that you don't have to make people laugh out loud to make them happy.
I forgot to bring the book that I want Bruce Cameron to sign, so I hop the bus back to the hotel and hurry back, and there's no line at his table when I get back. I chat with Bruce Cameron for a minute, and walk away, but remember that a woman on my writing list told me that she told him to look for me. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to both network and make an ass of myself, I go back a few minutes later and tell him "Betty Winslow says hi." I explain that apparently she told him to watch for me. He says that he remembers that, and we talk a bit about Betty Winslow.
It's about 15 minutes later when I see Laurie taking a picture with Cameron and realize that I want a picture as well to go with my Don Novello picture, so I go back. "Are you going to sit here and sign books with me," Cameron asks. Ha ha. "No, I want a picture," and as we stand there we begin to talk about Betty Winslow. "I'm not sure how I know her," he says. I tell him that she said they correspond occassionally, and he wonders if she's a friend of his mother's. I tell him probably not, since I don't know his mother, but that Betty is a member of one of two writer's lists I'm on. "She told me to look for you," he says. "She said you were cute." I think he's making that up, but I explain that I'm not looking for a date and am embarassed once again that maybe he thinks I am trying to pick him up and using Betty Winslow as a go-between. Again, I look like an ass, but at least I have a good story to tell.
Afternoon session: panel discussion on syndication. Interesting, learned that self-syndication might be the way to go. Not a great session but a good one.
Laurie, Wayne, Patricia (from the charter van ride & friend #7) decide not to go back to the hotel, but instead to Panera's to sit with Marsha Marks while she eats and then go across the street to Dewey's pizza where we want to eat. For an hour, we are treated to The Adventure Of Marcia Marks - not her adventures so much as the adventure of her, a whirlwind of amazing stories and ideas. When she leaves, we are silent for a moment, and Wayne says, "I'm out of breath." We go to eat.
Evening session, Nancy Cartwright, voice of Bart Simpson (and Maggie and Nelson). She's humble, and sweet and funny.
Afterwards, Christine, Wayne and I wait for Laurie in the bar, and Wayne and Christine read my losing Erma entry. It's nice to get feedback. Wayne uses his red pen and puts more hearts than suggestions on the page, so I'm happy.
Wayne and Christine, who both live in nearby towns, go home, and Laurie and I join Cindy, where a group of people are reading their pieces. After we're moved from the pool area to a meeting room, Laurie and I decide to read. The man before her strips to his Bugs Bunny boxers and has his wife read his story, which describes in fairly graphic detail how he lost his virginity. Laurie goes next, opening with "I'm a Christian writer", which gets the biggest laugh of the night. I get some chuckles from my piece, one person says it's well written. Whatever. I think I'm hilarious.
I am exhausted. We have all agreed that Tim Bete has done an excellent job pulling this conference together. Two thumbs up for him. We were entertained, fed, and instructed - and we made some great friends.
Sunday, March 28th
This has been a fun weekend, and I am upbeat and laughing.
I catch a ride to the airport with Patricia and 5 other women. Patrica and I are joined by a woman named Deb from Brooklyn, and we go thru security together and decide to get coffee and sit for a bit before we go to our gates. As we're in the security line, I see a young man saying goodbye to his family, who are clearly sad to see him go. There are smiles, but also tears, and when he moves into the line, his family follows his every move. "Where are you going that your family is going to miss you so much?" I ask him with a smile. "The DMZ in South Korea," he replies. It takes a moment for it to sink in that he's going the demilitarized zone, and suddenly I'm not laughing. He looks like a college kid heading back from spring break. A moment later, I ask his name. "Kyle," he says. "I'm going to pray for you," I reply. And I am.
We go through security, and I pass Kyle putting his belongings back into his bag. I want to stop but I'm with two other people and we head to the coffee shop. I don't know what I would say to him anyway.
In the coffee shop, I recognize a guy who was on Average Joe and realize there is a whole group of reality TV "celebs" there. I get my picture taken. We watch tons of reality TV, and I thought David would get a kick out of that.
I am left pondering my encounters with Kyle and the pseudo-celebs, and realize there is a story here. I am working on it, but I am humbled as I muse. The tv "starts" might be celebs, but Kyle is a hero.
Long story short, my plane is late (they don't have anyone to fly it, if you can believe that) and I get home an hour late. I go to my mom's for pizza and get to see Cassie before she goes back to college (for some reason, she and her friend Mia spent the weekend with my mom). I'm happy to see my dh, happy to be home and seriously missing my new friends. I want to call Laurie and tell her about my airport delays, and I could use a dose of Marcia's energy right now.
I'm still processing all of the information I gleaned from the weekend. At first, I thought I didn't get much "nuts and bolts" but as I begin to sort thru it all, I realize I learned a lot. Mostly I made tons of new friends, did some networking, and really laughed.
Which is exactly what I needed.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Erma Conference or Bust
“When was the last time you bought a new bra?” my darling husband asked as I was packing for my trip to the Erma conference and lamenting my impending three days of undergarment suffocation.
I confess that for the most part, I am sans support. The Creator endowed me with brains and beauty (or so my husband says), but bosoms? Not so much. I spend most of my day in pajamas or sweats anyway, slaving over the keyboard, so it’s not like I venture into public often, and when I do, I strap on a Wal-Mart special and endure an hour or two trying to breathe with a tourniquet strapped to my chest.
“It's been a few years or so,” I reply.
“Don’t you think it’s time to go shopping?” He paused. “I hear Victoria’s Secret makes some nice bras.”
“Do you know how much a bra at Victoria’s Secret costs?” I asked. “About $40. For underwear.”
He paled slightly. “But they look so good on the models on TV.”
So I decided to call his bluff, and yesterday, I visited Victoria’s Secret. My plan was to prove that the high priced mall lingerie was no better than my discount store unmentionables and then head to Wal-Mart to restock. Then I got into the store and saw all the choices. You could fence in Perdue Farms with all the chicken wire in those bras.
Clearly I needed help, so I asked the sales clerk, Lynnette, to make sense of the abundance of brassieres. She showed me their three most popular bras, promised me that the wires didn’t hurt, and showed me to the dressing room, where she waited outside in case I needed help. (Which, of course, I did.) But right away, I came to a startling conclusion: my breasts looked fantastic. Really. I mean, who cares that I’m less than generously blessed when I can buy a push-up bra? That fits and is comfortable? I bought three.
I left the store $117 poorer, but in a much better state of mind. Who knew that a simple undergarment could be so uplifting? Figuratively speaking, of course.
-----------------
I leave for the Erma Bombeck Writing Conference tomorrow morning. Watch for updates. And by the way, I didn't win the contest. My April column will be my losing entry. You can check out the winners here.
“When was the last time you bought a new bra?” my darling husband asked as I was packing for my trip to the Erma conference and lamenting my impending three days of undergarment suffocation.
I confess that for the most part, I am sans support. The Creator endowed me with brains and beauty (or so my husband says), but bosoms? Not so much. I spend most of my day in pajamas or sweats anyway, slaving over the keyboard, so it’s not like I venture into public often, and when I do, I strap on a Wal-Mart special and endure an hour or two trying to breathe with a tourniquet strapped to my chest.
“It's been a few years or so,” I reply.
“Don’t you think it’s time to go shopping?” He paused. “I hear Victoria’s Secret makes some nice bras.”
“Do you know how much a bra at Victoria’s Secret costs?” I asked. “About $40. For underwear.”
He paled slightly. “But they look so good on the models on TV.”
So I decided to call his bluff, and yesterday, I visited Victoria’s Secret. My plan was to prove that the high priced mall lingerie was no better than my discount store unmentionables and then head to Wal-Mart to restock. Then I got into the store and saw all the choices. You could fence in Perdue Farms with all the chicken wire in those bras.
Clearly I needed help, so I asked the sales clerk, Lynnette, to make sense of the abundance of brassieres. She showed me their three most popular bras, promised me that the wires didn’t hurt, and showed me to the dressing room, where she waited outside in case I needed help. (Which, of course, I did.) But right away, I came to a startling conclusion: my breasts looked fantastic. Really. I mean, who cares that I’m less than generously blessed when I can buy a push-up bra? That fits and is comfortable? I bought three.
I left the store $117 poorer, but in a much better state of mind. Who knew that a simple undergarment could be so uplifting? Figuratively speaking, of course.
-----------------
I leave for the Erma Bombeck Writing Conference tomorrow morning. Watch for updates. And by the way, I didn't win the contest. My April column will be my losing entry. You can check out the winners here.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
The irony, of course, is that my tooth didn't hurt before I went to the dentist.
About four months ago, I went to have my teeth cleaned, and the dentist said I had a cavity that definitely needed filling. The tooth didn't hurt, and I didn't see any cavity using my expert x-ray mom vision (which has been proven more powerful than Superman’s vision), but I trust the dentist, so I let him fill it.
That's when my tooth began to hurt.
Every time I bit down on anything remotely solid. When I drank something hot or cold. When I breathed on it.
I called the dentist's office, and the receptionist told me that it's not unusual for the tooth to hurt after all those nerves are stirred up, or when the Novocain wears off. She couldn't give me any Novocain for at-home use, but said to bear with it a few weeks and it would get better once the nerves calmed down. Yes, you read correctly - a few weeks.
So a few weeks went by, and sure enough, the tooth hurt less. It actually started getting better within a few days, so that breathing wasn't painful, but it still hurt when I bit down on one spot on the tooth. I was mostly pain-free, but when I hit that one spot, ouch. So I called again, and they had me come in for an "adjustment".
Basically, an adjustment involves grinding off just a smidge of the filling that might be hitting when you bite, irritating the nerves and keeping the tooth in a generally ticked-off state. The adjustment didn't hurt, but now my tooth did again. "Give it a few weeks for the nerves to calm down," they told me.
Again, within a few days, it was almost pain free. I still had pain when I bit in that one spot, but I agreed to give it a few weeks. In fact, I went even farther and waited more than a month. And sure enough, the general pain went away and the tooth was almost as good as new. But that one spot was still painful if something hit it just right.
Knowing what I know now, I probably would have decided to just live with the pain. It wasn't excruciating, and it wasn't constant. It was irritating and inconvenient, and when it did hurt, it hurt - but it was manageable. But silly me, I figured that when you don’t have pain in a tooth that has a cavity, surely you shouldn’t have pain in a tooth that doesn’t have a cavity.
So yesterday I went back to the dentist. He decided to put some sort of coating over the tooth to protect the sensitive layer of the something or other that might be irritated. He shot me up with Novocain, did something fairly vigorous to my tooth requiring whirring machines and the aid of an assistant, and sent me home with the notice that if this didn't help, the next step was a temporary medicated filling and then a replacement.
So here I am today, with a tooth that hurts when I breathe on it, when I drink anything hot or cold, and when I bit down on it eating anything harder than applesauce and the advice to wait a few weeks to see if it feels better.
But at least I don't have a cavity.
About four months ago, I went to have my teeth cleaned, and the dentist said I had a cavity that definitely needed filling. The tooth didn't hurt, and I didn't see any cavity using my expert x-ray mom vision (which has been proven more powerful than Superman’s vision), but I trust the dentist, so I let him fill it.
That's when my tooth began to hurt.
Every time I bit down on anything remotely solid. When I drank something hot or cold. When I breathed on it.
I called the dentist's office, and the receptionist told me that it's not unusual for the tooth to hurt after all those nerves are stirred up, or when the Novocain wears off. She couldn't give me any Novocain for at-home use, but said to bear with it a few weeks and it would get better once the nerves calmed down. Yes, you read correctly - a few weeks.
So a few weeks went by, and sure enough, the tooth hurt less. It actually started getting better within a few days, so that breathing wasn't painful, but it still hurt when I bit down on one spot on the tooth. I was mostly pain-free, but when I hit that one spot, ouch. So I called again, and they had me come in for an "adjustment".
Basically, an adjustment involves grinding off just a smidge of the filling that might be hitting when you bite, irritating the nerves and keeping the tooth in a generally ticked-off state. The adjustment didn't hurt, but now my tooth did again. "Give it a few weeks for the nerves to calm down," they told me.
Again, within a few days, it was almost pain free. I still had pain when I bit in that one spot, but I agreed to give it a few weeks. In fact, I went even farther and waited more than a month. And sure enough, the general pain went away and the tooth was almost as good as new. But that one spot was still painful if something hit it just right.
Knowing what I know now, I probably would have decided to just live with the pain. It wasn't excruciating, and it wasn't constant. It was irritating and inconvenient, and when it did hurt, it hurt - but it was manageable. But silly me, I figured that when you don’t have pain in a tooth that has a cavity, surely you shouldn’t have pain in a tooth that doesn’t have a cavity.
So yesterday I went back to the dentist. He decided to put some sort of coating over the tooth to protect the sensitive layer of the something or other that might be irritated. He shot me up with Novocain, did something fairly vigorous to my tooth requiring whirring machines and the aid of an assistant, and sent me home with the notice that if this didn't help, the next step was a temporary medicated filling and then a replacement.
So here I am today, with a tooth that hurts when I breathe on it, when I drink anything hot or cold, and when I bit down on it eating anything harder than applesauce and the advice to wait a few weeks to see if it feels better.
But at least I don't have a cavity.
Monday, March 15, 2004
The frenzy is heating up, and the pressure's on. It's almost time for GMA.
Sure, the event is more than a month away, but for several weeks now I've been getting emails about scheduling interviews with artists. I've been dragging my feet quite a bit, because the girl that was going with me had to back out, so I wasn't sure that I'd be able to afford to go. But it looks now like I may have a roommate, so the game's on.
This year, I'm less star-struck, being more careful about who I set up interviews with, and scheduling less of them. Last year, I had more than enough interviews with artists who didn't have much to say, and only a few that I really ended up using. Some were just good introductions - like my interview with Relient K - that helped later when I had to review their CD. Others - like my Out of Eden interview - were the backbone for some serious writing (and selling).
So I'm jumping in cautiously this year, and making time for friends I met last year and want to catch up with again, like Tinman Jones. And of course, I can't wait to see Paula and Mike Parker again.
But before GMA ... it's the writing conference in OH. Booked the flight last weekend, am gathering some column ideas, and getting ready to see what God has in store for me there. I hope it's lots of laughs.
Sure, the event is more than a month away, but for several weeks now I've been getting emails about scheduling interviews with artists. I've been dragging my feet quite a bit, because the girl that was going with me had to back out, so I wasn't sure that I'd be able to afford to go. But it looks now like I may have a roommate, so the game's on.
This year, I'm less star-struck, being more careful about who I set up interviews with, and scheduling less of them. Last year, I had more than enough interviews with artists who didn't have much to say, and only a few that I really ended up using. Some were just good introductions - like my interview with Relient K - that helped later when I had to review their CD. Others - like my Out of Eden interview - were the backbone for some serious writing (and selling).
So I'm jumping in cautiously this year, and making time for friends I met last year and want to catch up with again, like Tinman Jones. And of course, I can't wait to see Paula and Mike Parker again.
But before GMA ... it's the writing conference in OH. Booked the flight last weekend, am gathering some column ideas, and getting ready to see what God has in store for me there. I hope it's lots of laughs.
Friday, March 12, 2004
So I was the gym today ...
It sounds funny to say that, considering that until a few days ago I had never considered the possibility of joining a gym. But today I did my little round of exercises that Toni, my trainer, gave me (ok, so she was my trainer for only an hour orientation, but it just sounds good to say it) and I feel pretty good.
But I have a question: what did people do for exercise before the creation of fitness clubs? I mean, how did the pioneers get their cardio training without treadmills? How did the pilgrims become strong enough to do all of that physical labor in the new world without the availability of nautilus equipment?
It sounds funny to say that, considering that until a few days ago I had never considered the possibility of joining a gym. But today I did my little round of exercises that Toni, my trainer, gave me (ok, so she was my trainer for only an hour orientation, but it just sounds good to say it) and I feel pretty good.
But I have a question: what did people do for exercise before the creation of fitness clubs? I mean, how did the pioneers get their cardio training without treadmills? How did the pilgrims become strong enough to do all of that physical labor in the new world without the availability of nautilus equipment?
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
On the way to the grocery store this afternoon, I stopped in at the health club here in the village. The club is giving all village residents a free month membership and hour of personal training to celebrate their new ownership.
Let's be honest. I'm not a health club kind of gal. But ever since I had to go to physical therapy for pain in my back and hip, I've been considering joining a club to get into shape. My physical therapist had given me some warm up stretches to do before I spent hours at the PC, which helped with the pain, but let's face it. I spend 90% of my time sitting on my rear, and while I'm happy with my size right now, it's only a matter of time before all that sitting catches up with me.
My concern with going to the gym, of course, is that I don't want to embarrass myself in front of the muscle heads who know what they're doing with all those weights and bikes. Everybody in the gym knows what to do except me. Even the senior citizen who walked in with me just signed in at the desk and headed right for the bikes, despite the fact that he probably didn't even remember his name. I could barely open the front door.
So I spent a few minutes with Sara, who showed me around the gym and pointed out all the space age technological equipment that she assumed I knew how to use, and even demonstrated something called an elliptical something or other, which is like a stairmaster. Sort of. I got my temporary card, made an appointment with Toni for my hour personal training, and got the schedule for Pilates, which is what I really want to do. No fancy equipment, and it looks like most of the class is done lying down.
Then I went grocery shopping, and that's when reality kicked in. By the time I was to the popcorn aisle, my entire body had received the message that I was thinking about joining a health club, and full revolt was underway. My right knee began to ache in protest, the toes on my left foot joined in support, and my left hip, realizing that the gym had no pool, threw in a vote of no confidence. But it wasn't until my brain relayed the final message - "Houston, we have a problem: the only Pilates class the gym offers meets at 6 AM!" - that I went into complete shut down and decided to take a nap.
I mean, who gets up at 6 am to work out? I'm barely into REM sleep by 6 am. Good thing the membership is free. Maybe my butt isn't looking so bad after all.
Let's be honest. I'm not a health club kind of gal. But ever since I had to go to physical therapy for pain in my back and hip, I've been considering joining a club to get into shape. My physical therapist had given me some warm up stretches to do before I spent hours at the PC, which helped with the pain, but let's face it. I spend 90% of my time sitting on my rear, and while I'm happy with my size right now, it's only a matter of time before all that sitting catches up with me.
My concern with going to the gym, of course, is that I don't want to embarrass myself in front of the muscle heads who know what they're doing with all those weights and bikes. Everybody in the gym knows what to do except me. Even the senior citizen who walked in with me just signed in at the desk and headed right for the bikes, despite the fact that he probably didn't even remember his name. I could barely open the front door.
So I spent a few minutes with Sara, who showed me around the gym and pointed out all the space age technological equipment that she assumed I knew how to use, and even demonstrated something called an elliptical something or other, which is like a stairmaster. Sort of. I got my temporary card, made an appointment with Toni for my hour personal training, and got the schedule for Pilates, which is what I really want to do. No fancy equipment, and it looks like most of the class is done lying down.
Then I went grocery shopping, and that's when reality kicked in. By the time I was to the popcorn aisle, my entire body had received the message that I was thinking about joining a health club, and full revolt was underway. My right knee began to ache in protest, the toes on my left foot joined in support, and my left hip, realizing that the gym had no pool, threw in a vote of no confidence. But it wasn't until my brain relayed the final message - "Houston, we have a problem: the only Pilates class the gym offers meets at 6 AM!" - that I went into complete shut down and decided to take a nap.
I mean, who gets up at 6 am to work out? I'm barely into REM sleep by 6 am. Good thing the membership is free. Maybe my butt isn't looking so bad after all.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
For Whom The Wedding/Funeral Bell Tolls
In this atmosphere of heated debate over same-sex marriage, another issue has arisen that should be considered as we argue over civil rights and marriage.
The dead.
It appears that in France, where everything weird and bizarre has its roots, it is entirely legal to marry someone who is dead.
One assumes that the potential spouse has given some sort of signal prior to their demise that they would be open to the possibility of an eternal bond with the suitor, but one wonders ... why?
Why enter into a legal marriage with someone dead? French law says that you are barred from receiving any money from the estate of your dearly departed and recently wed spouse. Certainly, there is not consumation of the marriage. And what happens when you meet a living breathing suitor who makes a better match? There's really no chance to dissolve the marriage, unless laws allow for uncontested divorce.
There might be some benefits, of course. Single women who are getting on in years can attain married status without the burden of actually caring for a spouse. No more spinster jokes, and they have the freedom to pursue a career without having to worry about some idiot husband overdrawing the checking account because he used his debit card and forgot to write it in the checkbook.
In any event, as the US debates over the definition of "marriage" (we had enough trouble with "sex" and look where that's gotten us; you'd think we would have quit while we were ahead) lawmakers should really consider the big picture. Especially how they would collect income tax from a spouse residing in another realm.
In this atmosphere of heated debate over same-sex marriage, another issue has arisen that should be considered as we argue over civil rights and marriage.
The dead.
It appears that in France, where everything weird and bizarre has its roots, it is entirely legal to marry someone who is dead.
One assumes that the potential spouse has given some sort of signal prior to their demise that they would be open to the possibility of an eternal bond with the suitor, but one wonders ... why?
Why enter into a legal marriage with someone dead? French law says that you are barred from receiving any money from the estate of your dearly departed and recently wed spouse. Certainly, there is not consumation of the marriage. And what happens when you meet a living breathing suitor who makes a better match? There's really no chance to dissolve the marriage, unless laws allow for uncontested divorce.
There might be some benefits, of course. Single women who are getting on in years can attain married status without the burden of actually caring for a spouse. No more spinster jokes, and they have the freedom to pursue a career without having to worry about some idiot husband overdrawing the checking account because he used his debit card and forgot to write it in the checkbook.
In any event, as the US debates over the definition of "marriage" (we had enough trouble with "sex" and look where that's gotten us; you'd think we would have quit while we were ahead) lawmakers should really consider the big picture. Especially how they would collect income tax from a spouse residing in another realm.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Reuters reports today that German authorities are following up on complaints that a reality television show is cruel to contestants because they are made to eat live insects and perform grueling tasks for their daily bread. The show, "I'm A Celebrity - Get Me Out Of Here!", pits B-list and has-been celebs against each other in the Australian jungle.
Thank goodness someone is taking this seriously. I mean, it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. In fact, in a recent episode, 18-year old pop singer Daniel Kueblboeck was forced to put his head into an aquarium and when he did, the tank tipped over, leaving the goldfish flopping around on the ground. Fortunately, all of the fish were rescued by rangers and returned to the safety of their bowl. No word on Kueblboeck's condition.
It's a good thing that the German authorities have enough time on their hands to investigate whether has-been celebrities who volunteer for lame reality shows in an attempt to revive careers are being treated cruelly because they have to eat a bug now and then. I mean, it would be a shame if they were bogged down with trivial matters, like routing out terrorists.
Of course, the problem isn't that the pseudo-celebs are complaining, or even that the fish and bugs are threatening a walk out. It's the lone do-gooder in the audience with an axe to grind.
"The stars themselves haven't made any complaints, but a private individual said they were mistreated," Chief Prosecutor Regine Appenrodt told Reuters.
Who's to say whether or not these stars are being mistreated? Perhaps the real victim is the viewer, who has to watch these A-list wannabes grovel for the spotlight.
Help! I'm a victim of bad reality tv programming! Get me out of here! And bring the goldfish!
Thank goodness someone is taking this seriously. I mean, it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. In fact, in a recent episode, 18-year old pop singer Daniel Kueblboeck was forced to put his head into an aquarium and when he did, the tank tipped over, leaving the goldfish flopping around on the ground. Fortunately, all of the fish were rescued by rangers and returned to the safety of their bowl. No word on Kueblboeck's condition.
It's a good thing that the German authorities have enough time on their hands to investigate whether has-been celebrities who volunteer for lame reality shows in an attempt to revive careers are being treated cruelly because they have to eat a bug now and then. I mean, it would be a shame if they were bogged down with trivial matters, like routing out terrorists.
Of course, the problem isn't that the pseudo-celebs are complaining, or even that the fish and bugs are threatening a walk out. It's the lone do-gooder in the audience with an axe to grind.
"The stars themselves haven't made any complaints, but a private individual said they were mistreated," Chief Prosecutor Regine Appenrodt told Reuters.
Who's to say whether or not these stars are being mistreated? Perhaps the real victim is the viewer, who has to watch these A-list wannabes grovel for the spotlight.
Help! I'm a victim of bad reality tv programming! Get me out of here! And bring the goldfish!
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
And today, I ask for your help ...
I've added an email subscription to my website. Very soon, I'd like to begin sending out a column on a regular basis (probably monthly to start) - not just a blog entry, but a column, edited and all fluffed up real nice.
You can help me in two ways:
1) Go to my website at www.joannebrokaw.com and sign up to receive the column, and pass that along to as many people as you can who you think might be interested in reading my musings.
2) Help me come up with a name for the column. I've tossed around Postcards From The Edge (but didn't want to step on Carrie Fisher's book title, although you can't copyright a title...little trivia for the day); Postcards From The Writer's Block; and ... well, that's all I have.
See, I don't really fit into one category. I explained it someone today like this:
I'm an anomoly of sorts: I'm under the age of 40 (barely) with our only child in college. Most of my friends my age have children in grade school or younger, and people in my situation are in their late 40s or early 50s and talking about retirement.
I'm going to rock concerts with my daughter.
I've written about anxiety/depression, modesty (my hot topic as of late), entertainment, and the mundane. If I did a regular column, I think I'd have trouble fitting into a specific category. It's parenting, women, teens, life, music, church, non-church, and everything in between.
It's the square peg side of my personality.
Anyway, as I prepare for this conference, I would like to go with the attitude that YES! I write something people want to read! and YES! There are people who would like to subscribe to my e'column! and YES! If someday I secured a regular newspaper column, people would read it!
So can you help me out? I'm begging here ...
Feel free to sent the link to my website to anyone you know - use www.joannebrokaw.com
Many thanks, and Happy Trails!
I've added an email subscription to my website. Very soon, I'd like to begin sending out a column on a regular basis (probably monthly to start) - not just a blog entry, but a column, edited and all fluffed up real nice.
You can help me in two ways:
1) Go to my website at www.joannebrokaw.com and sign up to receive the column, and pass that along to as many people as you can who you think might be interested in reading my musings.
2) Help me come up with a name for the column. I've tossed around Postcards From The Edge (but didn't want to step on Carrie Fisher's book title, although you can't copyright a title...little trivia for the day); Postcards From The Writer's Block; and ... well, that's all I have.
See, I don't really fit into one category. I explained it someone today like this:
I'm an anomoly of sorts: I'm under the age of 40 (barely) with our only child in college. Most of my friends my age have children in grade school or younger, and people in my situation are in their late 40s or early 50s and talking about retirement.
I'm going to rock concerts with my daughter.
I've written about anxiety/depression, modesty (my hot topic as of late), entertainment, and the mundane. If I did a regular column, I think I'd have trouble fitting into a specific category. It's parenting, women, teens, life, music, church, non-church, and everything in between.
It's the square peg side of my personality.
Anyway, as I prepare for this conference, I would like to go with the attitude that YES! I write something people want to read! and YES! There are people who would like to subscribe to my e'column! and YES! If someday I secured a regular newspaper column, people would read it!
So can you help me out? I'm begging here ...
Feel free to sent the link to my website to anyone you know - use www.joannebrokaw.com
Many thanks, and Happy Trails!
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
-----------------------------------
Uncle John, this blog's for YOU:
I'm going to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference!
Regular readers (all three of you) will remember last month that my Uncle John had mentioned that my writing reminds him of Erma Bombeck. I did a little research and found that there's an Erma Bombeck Writing Conference and Contest in Dayton, OH Marcy 25-28. This year's conference was already full, so I put myself on the waiting list, sent in an entry, and kind of forgot about the whole thing.
You know that I've been planning a trip to Florida in a few weeks, and I don't know what prompted me, but I decided that before I booked my flight to West Palm I would check in with the conference director to see if there was any chance I'd make it into the event. I didn't want to make plans to go to FL only to have the conference director call me to say they had a cancellation and then not be able to go.
And I really wanted to go to this conference. For whatever reason, I kept going back to the faculty page and almost drooling over the chance to learn from these writers, TV writers/producers, and other humorous folks. Don Novello (aka Father Guido Sarduci), Bruce Cameron (author of 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter), and many more. I even told my husband that if I made it in I would give up GMA if I had to.
So Friday, I called Tim Bete, the conference director, who told me that the chances of my making it in were pretty slim. Not only that, he said, not to discourage me, but they got 1200 entries into the contest.
I wasn't really disappointed, and told him that for me to even enter and attempt to attend was a big deal for me. Tim and I chatted a bit more and he asked me what I wrote about now. When I told him that I primarily covered Christian entertainment, it was like a little bell went off for us both. Come to find out, Tim is a Christian with a book coming out in May entitled "Five Fish and Two Loaves ... What, No Tartar Sauce?" (yeah, I laughed out loud too.) I told him to make sure he sent me a copy for review, and I left the conversation feeling like the reason I called was for Tim and I to meet and chat about his upcoming book.
Saturday morning I got an email from Tim saying he'd found a spot for me in the conference.
So now I'm in a pickle. I'm ready to book a flight to FL and here comes the chance I've been wanting to go to this conference. Without the funds to do both (ok, really to do either, but let's not nitpick), I decided to mull it over a bit.
Monday morning, Tim called me and said that if I wanted to go they had to take the reservation now because the hotels rooms were being released, and if I didnt want to go they would give the spot to someone else. I couldn't get the credit card out fast enough.
Tim said that after talking to me, he went to my website and read some of my stuff and decided that the spot he had was for me. Did I talk my way into it? I hope not, because I don't like to take advantage of people or schmooze to get what I want. But I didn't feel like our conversation was like that at all. Tim said that he had a space to give away, and I think it just worked out that I called at the right time and I was the right person.
Now I'm convinced that God wanted me at this conference. Tim has already put me in touch with a couple of other Christians who are attending the conference so that I won't be walking into a room of strangers.
So I'm going to get a chance to spend 3 days with lots of other writers and speakers. My hope is that I walk away from there with a better understanding of how to secure a regular column spot, and how to better define my writing.
In any event, I'm going to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference, and it's all because of an offhand comment my Uncle John made at The Olive Garden a month ago.
See, it pays to listen to your elders.
Uncle John, this blog's for YOU:
I'm going to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference!
Regular readers (all three of you) will remember last month that my Uncle John had mentioned that my writing reminds him of Erma Bombeck. I did a little research and found that there's an Erma Bombeck Writing Conference and Contest in Dayton, OH Marcy 25-28. This year's conference was already full, so I put myself on the waiting list, sent in an entry, and kind of forgot about the whole thing.
You know that I've been planning a trip to Florida in a few weeks, and I don't know what prompted me, but I decided that before I booked my flight to West Palm I would check in with the conference director to see if there was any chance I'd make it into the event. I didn't want to make plans to go to FL only to have the conference director call me to say they had a cancellation and then not be able to go.
And I really wanted to go to this conference. For whatever reason, I kept going back to the faculty page and almost drooling over the chance to learn from these writers, TV writers/producers, and other humorous folks. Don Novello (aka Father Guido Sarduci), Bruce Cameron (author of 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter), and many more. I even told my husband that if I made it in I would give up GMA if I had to.
So Friday, I called Tim Bete, the conference director, who told me that the chances of my making it in were pretty slim. Not only that, he said, not to discourage me, but they got 1200 entries into the contest.
I wasn't really disappointed, and told him that for me to even enter and attempt to attend was a big deal for me. Tim and I chatted a bit more and he asked me what I wrote about now. When I told him that I primarily covered Christian entertainment, it was like a little bell went off for us both. Come to find out, Tim is a Christian with a book coming out in May entitled "Five Fish and Two Loaves ... What, No Tartar Sauce?" (yeah, I laughed out loud too.) I told him to make sure he sent me a copy for review, and I left the conversation feeling like the reason I called was for Tim and I to meet and chat about his upcoming book.
Saturday morning I got an email from Tim saying he'd found a spot for me in the conference.
So now I'm in a pickle. I'm ready to book a flight to FL and here comes the chance I've been wanting to go to this conference. Without the funds to do both (ok, really to do either, but let's not nitpick), I decided to mull it over a bit.
Monday morning, Tim called me and said that if I wanted to go they had to take the reservation now because the hotels rooms were being released, and if I didnt want to go they would give the spot to someone else. I couldn't get the credit card out fast enough.
Tim said that after talking to me, he went to my website and read some of my stuff and decided that the spot he had was for me. Did I talk my way into it? I hope not, because I don't like to take advantage of people or schmooze to get what I want. But I didn't feel like our conversation was like that at all. Tim said that he had a space to give away, and I think it just worked out that I called at the right time and I was the right person.
Now I'm convinced that God wanted me at this conference. Tim has already put me in touch with a couple of other Christians who are attending the conference so that I won't be walking into a room of strangers.
So I'm going to get a chance to spend 3 days with lots of other writers and speakers. My hope is that I walk away from there with a better understanding of how to secure a regular column spot, and how to better define my writing.
In any event, I'm going to the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference, and it's all because of an offhand comment my Uncle John made at The Olive Garden a month ago.
See, it pays to listen to your elders.
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