Gold Rush Writers

I saw it in a post on a Facebook page dedicated to Northern California historical fiction. Someone was touting this conference. Until then my assumption was I would spend the last weekend in April at one of our Burner friends' legendary parties. But we had just been talking about a) moving our lives into more creative directions and b) her feeling that those parties have an element she doesn't like so much anymore, not to mention c) her health doesn't support all-nighters again yet, and anyway d) she's been busting her ass building up an arts business and I've told everyone how inspiring that is. Her reaction was a sensible one, and immediate: "Go!"

"But--"

"Go!"

"But--"

"Think about it. You always say you want to write. You just started doing that meetup thing. A year from now, which will you be happier you went to?"

"But--"

"There will be more parties."

"Okay, yeah, okay."

Deep down I knew I had seen the notice at just the right time. Part of the improvement I continually make to life, a big part it sometimes seems, is simply being open to what the universe brings me in the moment that it does.

The drive was absolutely beautiful. Apart from the views it's famous for, California can be quite bland in many places. As a Bay Area kid I sometimes envied if not romanticized the forested historical regions of states back east, with their old buildings and great swathes of green. The foothills that separate the Central Valley from the high granite spaces of John Muir's Range of Light can be hot and dull when they have all turned to brown but in springtime they really come alive. My destination was one of the many old Gold Rush towns that have become curious combinations of semi-preserved old buildings, impoverished hill folk, and hopeful entrepreneurs opening knick-knack stores and writing books. The one old hotel served as the locus, as well as a library that was clearly a valuable resource in a town where people need and prefer to share their books, computers, and internet connections.

Friday night there was a meet and greet at the local author's home, a pretty place with a pool and lots of shade. Being as I was trading a party full of sexy thirty-somethings for this, I first noticed that everyone was about seventy years old. But I got a plastic cup of wine and a plate of food and met some folks and had a very pleasant time overall. People were really friendly. You know how when people know each other and then see the new person and want to know all about them? Like that. And there were folks younger than me, too. It's just one of those things mostly retired types can make time for, I think, and full-time writers, who tend to be retired folks.

Our hostess' lovely home

As I drove back Saturday morning (I did not spend the night, that's too much money and the place was only an hour and a quarter drive away) I realized I'd forgotten any reading glasses and got all in a dither for a minute but kept going and got a pair in Sutter Creek. I wore my name tag and settled in to a full day of small meetings and readings and reviews and great conversations about much that is writing-related, history included. I picked up a lot of perspective on how to make my writing a lot better. I felt it particularly juiced me to take the craft a wee bit more seriously and consider what elements are needed, and how to present them, that draw a reader in and make them want to stay. It's all about story-telling, and I think I do okay at that; but we're not here to amuse ourselves and our friends. All of us want to find our own magic key for a real market.

There's also an awareness that in today's world, chapters and books are getting shorter and shorter. Technology has had a shortening effect on people's attention spans, but I also think it's just a matter of competition. Until you've really sucked someone into a lengthy book (the Harry Potter and Hunger Games series' are normal length to long books, I'm told), you are in competition with a zillion other options, and I think you need to make it easy for people to jump away and come back again -- especially come back again. Short chapters help with that. Apparently some successful author recently serialized a novel via Twitter. Well, gimmick, but it was a telling experiment.

Downtown Mokelumne Hill

Lunch was at the local cafe with a couple gentlemen who'd published novels etc and, like everyone, were there to do it better (and/or run workshops). One of them had been a soldier for several decades and he had some things to say. Dinner was included in the program (speakers etc) and held in the hotel ballroom. An open mic session followed. I'd been losing sleep and was completely done by then so I went on home to get up early and do it again the next day. Sunday featured more workshops and a luncheon, more book sales (I didn't buy any), happy to meet yous and farewells, and another lovely drive. I never tire of it. I left my credit card at a gas station and have to drive back up today. Darn.

The view north of Jackson

This was a good experience for me. Eventually you have to decide, you know. Do it, or not. Shit or get off the pot. I've allowed many things to distract me from many things, and it's time to decide I'm not really going to make a second career collaborating with house DJs to bring live trumpet music to all-night raves nor am I going to hook up with a promising start-up and work hundred hour weeks to take a chance at striking it rich with some new use of technology, but I am going to keep reading history and wishing I could write about it, whether or not I try those other things and whatever else I do. So, there. It was also really interesting to witness the contrast between the persona I brought to this (or bring to things these days, I should say) and the retiring quiet guy as whom I spent most of my life. In a former day I would have come away from this thing feeling disconnected and antsy, but somehow in recent years (if not months) I've allowed a more engaged Don to emerge and I came away feeling connected and inspired. Now to set up some good habits. Ahem.