i went to a writer’s conference

I did. Like, I put on my suit and tie, and went to the office. and pretended. It was a pretty good weekend.

I did not wear a suit and tie but I did fight with myself about the proper outfit to wear and then ended up wearing farm clothes, because I needed to be comfortable. Yes, Laura, that sweater I had on? Its what I wear when I care for my thousand chickens in the fall. (though it was clean, or everyone would have known it was a chicken sweater.)

It was very interesting to me. even the parts that were less so, or poorly organized, were instructive in the sense that there really are all kinds of people doing this thing. wiggling our fingers in the funniest way and making something from absolutely nothing.

i learned there is a whole genre called flash fiction which is pieces that are about 700 words. I can give you 700 words in my sleep, in a fit of pique, in a rant. Certainly this does not mean it is GOOD, but still. Was it something I knew, and forgot? Or am I just out of touch with things because I’ve been isolated in motherhood and myself?

I did a little writing over the weekend and liked that too. Prompts that I never would have picked. I learned about the brain, the amygdala and its damn takeover of my world, keeping me away from that prefrontal cortex and its delights.

I learned that I’m deeply connected to movement. I should have known, but I needed to feel and be told of the connective threads. Its why I like the physical work that I do so much. If I can breathe in fresh air, see progress done in dirt, then I am happy. This applies to my wiggling fingers. Paper and screen being dirt.

I got given a hibiscus tree. (unrelated to the writing workshop, but still of this weekend.)

I’m experiencing a lot of thrill lately, and I just wanted you to know. There is a beautifully flowering tropical tree INSIDE MY HOUSE.

Draw out that metaphor.

imagine that.

-lovelove