So for anyone who saw all my frantic Facebook updates, trying to get a sitter at 12:30 AM, you can all rest easy knowing I did find one and made it to the Thursday workshop. My very good friend just happened to be on at that time, and was available the next day.

Originally, I assumed I wouldn’t be able to go to the Thursday workshop with Bob Mayer. In San Francisco the Thursday morning workshop cost an extra $150. I also saw the class posted as a prize at the Whidbey conference. From this I inferred that it was an extra thing, something apart from the conference. So I assumed all along, and when I was making babysitting arrangements, that this was something I didn’t get to do and made plans for Thursday afternoon.

What is it they say about making assumptions?

Wednesday night, at about 11, I was lying in bed going over the schedule for the next day. Something clicked and I thought, ‘Why would that workshop be posted on the PNWA conference schedule without any sort of annotation?’

I got up and looked at it again, then checked the PNWA site and sure enough this workshop was included, nothing saying there was an extra fee, or that it was closed to new participants.

I write novels. I am paying for this conference. I need this information. I am going to go even if it means staying up all night trying to get someone to watch the kids.

I sent text messages to a few of my friends. I wrote up a list of everyone I would call the next day, starting with the ones I knew were up by seven. I tried to figure out a schedule where maybe two of them could coordinate. I logged on to Facebook, posted a desperate plea for a sitter, then thinking there was nothing more I could do, decided to give it up. Right before I logged off, I saw the little chat window in the corner of my screen. Two people were on. One of them was a good friend of mine who I hadn’t even considered.  It turned out she was available.

I believe that if you make decisions and work toward your goals, some unseen force out there will help you along.

Two hours sleep was all I got since I was so wound up with anxiety before I went to bed. The relief made it possible to sleep eventually, but the thoughts and worries were still slamming around in my head, even after the problem was resolved.

At 8:30 am I checked in, got my badge and sat down at the workshop.

One thing I think all participants will agree on is that that man can talk FAST. I am a pretty good note taker; I have a certain type of crazy short hand that I use when things get really frantic. When the fast talker combines the presentation with slides that are also packed with information, then shows those for a maximum of thirty seconds, you have to prioritize, and something is bound to get lost.

He offered a ton of good information, some inspiring things to hear, but maybe two much for my sleep deprived brain to handle. When we got our break I went in search of coffee. The café hadn’t been set up yet so the only other option was to hit the elevator, run down a very long hallway, though the lobby, only to find a huge line at the little Starbucks café. Crud muffin.  I didn’t do all that late night soliciting for a sitter only to miss half the presentation standing in line for coffee.  I grabbed a sugary drink in the gift shop and ran back the way I had come.

To say the session was overwhelming would be an understatement, though I am not sure what would have been a better alternative. I certainly felt I got my money’s worth. I would rather have the information offered, even if I was not able to digest all of it, than not have it at all.

By the time I went to Janna Cawrse Esarey’s pitch session, I was feeling behind and unprepared. This session was great, I got a sense of what to focus on when preparing my pitch, but when I went to practice it on the other participants, the reaction was less than what I hoped for.

Blank stares, from both of the women I practiced on, then  a woman whose face bunched up in confusion said, “How old is she?”

My  answer, “14.”

 “This doesn’t sound like YA.”

Then I said, “No, it’s not.”

 DUH. For God’s sake I just said I have a porn star running for congress! I was annoyed at her for not getting it, then pissed at myself for explaining this so badly.  The most important part of the pitch, the information that should have come at the beginning; what type of novel and how many words, I left off entirely because I had once again fallen in to the trap of trying to focus too much on the plot. Every time I do that, I get lost in details and the more I say the worse I sound. Anyone else have this problem?

Later in the class, while I was pouting, something occurred to me. The character in my book, who I thought was the antagonist, is actually a helper in disguise. What a revelation, this was part of what was screwing me up when trying to explain my story.  How could I be that clueless? I was glad I now knew this, but finding things like this out so late makes me feel silly, and scared that I don’t even know what I am doing.

Lesson 1: Practice your pitch with anyone who will listen, then watch carefully for their reaction. Those whom you think are the most dense, are probably telling you the most. Even if you have taken classes, even if you work for an agent, even if you are Hemingway reincarnated, practice that thing before you are presented with someone you want to impress.

By the end of the night I was feeling low and sad. Not particularly sleepy, but everything was taking a toll on my emotions. Even with all I have learned as an intern, even with all of the work I have put in to revising my manuscript, and all the connections I have made, it seems I still have so far to go.

Andre Dubus III, author of “House of Sand and Fog” was the speaker. Nothing could have been better for me at that point. He quoted all these great old writers, and talked about the writer’s mind and what makes us do what we do, and why it is both hard and worthwhile. He was a hoot; cracking jokes, gesturing wildly, and speaking in crazy voices. By the end of it, my mind was focused and I was thinking of what was really important, the craft of writing.

I stood in line for an hour to get my book signed, and in the end picked up a couple more. He chatted up every single person ahead of me. He asked about their work, made comments, and gave me some very encouraging feedback. He signed one of my books with my book’s title, and another with my kids and husband’s name.

So there it began, the first day of this exercise called a writer’s conference, whose purpose I now believe is to thicken my skin, as it also educates and informs me.  At one minute I felt so down, like there is way more to this whole deal than I am capable of, the next I feel like I am finally where I belong and I want to cry I am so happy.

I made it in to bed at 1:30 in the morning, but I couldn’t wait to go back and do it all again.