So, I promised to blog as I go and I’m doing just that. However, I can’t post it. Why? There’s no wifi in the Big Horn Lodge (where I am currently situated). There is also no air conditioning, but I’ll leave that alone for now. My first day. What to say? Where to start? I should start at the beginning, but I might end up turning this day into a novel accidentally. Eh, I have the time and the solitude. I may as well.
My day started around 4:00 am (Tulsa time). Things went swimmingly. I remembered to pack all the things I needed (although now I wish I had brought a flashlight—I’ll get to that later). I made it through check-in and security, and my flight to Dallas was a breeze. Then came the layover. I just had to wait around from 8:05 until my next flight, which was leaving at 11:10. I had pancakes at T.G.I. Friday’s and proceeded to start reading Mere Christianity (which I highly recommend to everyone—Christians or non-Christians or whatever). I met a really amazing person while I was waiting, and as a tribute I decided to write about them. It will be a blog entry much like this one, but a supplementary one dedicated just to them. But, back to Dallas at 10:40 am.
I had been checking the board, studying my ticket, and waiting at my gate. Everything was fine. Right? When someone asks, “right?” the immediate response should be “wrong” so I won’t dedicate a whole sentence to it—whoops. I’m tired. Anyway, the gate changed. I didn’t see it. I wondered why they weren’t calling me. I tried to find the gate. About two hundred feet from where I started, I saw where I needed to be in the distance. I got there too late. Yes, I missed my flight. After a slight panic attack and a frantic call to my mom, who sounded nice for the most part. She encouraged me, told me what I should do, and tried to conceal the disappointment and anger in her voice the best she could. I talked to the world’s meanest gate agent who said he would put me on stand-by for the next flight, leaving at 3:45 pm.
Zoom forward a few hours and bottles of water and crying trips to the bathroom later.
It turns out he registered me on the flight properly. I was never stand-by and shouldn’t have had to fret about getting on that flight for those long agonizing hours. I have many things to say about that gate agent, but I just won’t do it. Out loud. Or here.
So, I landed in Colorado Springs, got in my car, and headed off to Glen Eyrie. I forget mountains get bigger as you get closer. Now, before you laugh hear me out. I really do know that this happens, but sometimes my mind doesn’t fully grasp it. How do I mean? Well, I’m used to seeing the Rockies at a goodly distance (yes, goodly). Now that I’m right up in them, I can fathom their immensity once more. Garden of the Gods is wonderful as ever. Kissing Camels is starting to erode and lose its shape, but hey I still knew what they were. The castle itself is magnificent. There really are tons of Big Horn sheep on the property. There were five by the road when I pulled in. Yes, I took pictures. After flinging my belongings into my room at the lodge, I trekked back to the main castle for dinner. I’ve met so many wonderful people so far—I don’t even know where to begin. I met Ann at the airport. Helena from Ontario came next. Then the Tulsa CWA club found me. Then came Megan. Nancy Rue came right up and hugged me. If you don’t know who she is, then shame on you.
Dinner was quite tasty, and the conversation was lively. For the most part of the day, however, I forgot why I was really here. When someone asked me, “So, what do you write?” my mind’s gears jammed. What do I write? What? Who? What? I fumbled for an answer and finally eased into something satisfactory. Apparently that question gets asked a lot here. Oh, and since I had nothing else to say to a few people I asked it too. A magpie flew up to the car as we were driving in. Was it a sign? I won’t dwell on it.
After dinner the first General Session commenced. The mentors introduce themselves, and the theme song was presented. Yes. I’ll see if I can video it on my phone at least once. Apparently we have to sing it each time we meet. The mentors explained their individual tracks for the conference and took questions. I’ve been wanting to take the course with Angie Hunt because of her wonderful methods, her organization, and her list making. Oh, I love lists. But the more I listened, the more I thought I needed to extricate myself from my comfort zone. Developing a relationship with the reader? Developing one with your characters? Utilizing your characters for a common theme? These questions make me panic. They’re the ones Nancy Rue will address, and that is why I have signed up for her workshops. I might indulge in Angie’s next year.
Kathy Mackel (one of the mentors) had us play a get-to-know-you game. After learning a fact about each person in our group (we had been herded against our will) with the help of strange cards, we were given an assignment: work with your group to create something that incorporates each of these things named. It can be a short story, a play, a skit, whatever. Once we stopped squawking about the impossibility of it all and got to work, our group threw together a skit. We were blessed to have a script writer among us, and she played the lead. The rest of us either narrated or were side characters. Kinda, I did a plug for your book in my segment. You can thank me later—I like dark chocolate, by the way. And people laughed. We were funny. The other groups went and some were much funnier, but that doesn’t diminish our success in my eyes. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good write!” I spent five minutes on that pun. Revel in it.
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