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…breathing the rarefied atmosphere of what-ifs and it-could-happens surrounding us and our computers. We are airship pilots, steering boldly through a universe of plot points and dangling participles. Except for the editor on the shoulder, swinging her legs and insulting those she considers talentless wannabes, the writer is alone. (Okay, some writers work with partners, but this is a metaphor, for crisssake. Give me a break.)
As mentioned in the previous post, occasionally lonely writers band together with others of their ilk to exchange ideas and teach each other the finer points of writing. So it was that hundreds of scribblers met last weekend at the Colorado Gold Conference sponsored by Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. They learned, they laughed; they pondered, they wept. They ate banquet food and drank okay wine. Old friends were greeted with love and new friendships were begun.
The most important process involved foundations for castles in the air constructed of honed words; wispy glimpses of possible characters; odd notions colliding, searching for order in fevered brains. Who ever knows the exact moment when an idea is born? I wager some were at Colorado Gold.
It was joyous to see everyone, to have those conversations about shared enthusiasm, to listen to the writers who spoke to us about their own challenges in the pursuit of this strange, mystical endeavor of putting words on pages.
Loneliness is currently at bay. Ideas are simmering in my slightly less fevered brain. I am grateful to be a part of our community. Hope to see you next year.
Happy writing.
Photo by Eugene Chystiakov on Pexels.com
Riley the WonderDog
No, I haven’t died. I’ve been in a funk–what Holly Golightly called the Mean Reds. It happens sometimes: the fountain of insane notions in my head dries up and I stumble around thinking about such killer ideas as grocery lists and Things I Must Do. Also Things I Haven’t Done. Guilt stew with sad on the side.
for 99 cents, and Book Two, A Signal Shown, is selling for $1.99. 
I first saw The Wolf Man as a kid, watching it on one of Denver’s TV channels, probably presented as a “Fright Night” special. The story is basic, about a man newly returned to his British home, at odds with his father, the lord of the manor. Lon Chaney, Jr., son of silent movie acting sensation, Lon Chaney, plays the son, Larry Talbot, as a sad outsider who soon falls victim to a nasty malady in the county: a werewolf bites him and thereafter he is forced to terrorize the area each month in search of blood. He searches for information–from the doctor, from the villagers, including the old Romani woman who finally tells him the truth. He is now a werewolf and there is no cure but death. His personal horror at what he’s become is what I best recalled from my early viewing of the film. He fights to avoid hurting anyone, particularly the young woman who’s interested in him. He can’t connect with his father, leaving him alone with his terrible secret. It was that existential loneliness I remembered, heightened by its being filmed in black and white. Though the special effects were low-tech, the movie continues to have an emotional impact on me to this day.
So, emotional horror as opposed to physical horror…There’s a place for both, no doubt, but I was struck, as I compared the two films, at how much more affected I was by the old black and white movie over the shiny, bloody one. I’m sure it says something about my esthetic state, but I’m damned if I know what. Both films are worth watching, especially during the month of Halloween.
Writer in the Garret 