NETWO Conference Scholarship

Is anyone out there interested in attending the NETWO Writers’ Conference on my ticket? The NorthEast Texas Writers’ Organization is holding their conference this weekend in East Texas. There’ll be two agents and an editor for a workshop/seminar on Friday and an all-day conference on Saturday. Mt. Pleasant is on the shore of a lake, and the event is held at a church encampment that has large buildings overlooking the water. It’s a fun down-home conference that you might really enjoy.

I’ve paid for the Friday three-hour seminar and cocktail party and also for the Saturday all-day conference (which includes the awards banquet and an audience with an editor, but I don’t suppose they’d allow my substitute to have the editor time for a pitch, as the editor read my first three chapters and was ready to talk about those–she’ll just have free time instead.) I won’t be able to go, because no one can take care of Mama and the dog for me, and I can’t be sure I could drive there by myself without incident anyhow.

(The dog is having a serious onset of the collapsing trachea thing due to some minor infection again, and we had to go to the emergency clinic at 4 AM Sunday. Mama has a sonogram of her carotid arteries tomorrow, which I’ll be taking her to get, and then on Wednesday we’re both going to the three-month diabetes checkup with the internist/endocrinologist–and we know I’ll be threatened with a change of meds and so forth, so I’m not looking forward to that–and then she has some other minor thing on Friday. There’s no one else to take her. She has to lean on me to get inside the buildings. And I’m the one who gives the dog his pill and his cough medicine, and takes him out to potty and grabs him up when he coughs, and he panics when I get out of his sight. That last bit is my fault for making him neurotic.) Also, my eyes are so light-sensitive that it’s crazy for me to think I could drive from Richardson to Mt. Pleasant on the big roads that many times. I always have this fantasy that I could go somewhere. It DID happen once, when Scotch Brands took me to NYC in 2008, but that was special–it was my one-hit wonder fifteen minutes of pseudo-fame. I don’t know why I pretend I can do other stuff.

BUT ANYWAY. I should know better than to sign up for things that aren’t in the neighborhood. I’m not going to charm any editor with my work, and so it’s a ridiculous thing to do. (She says she’s looking for cozy mysteries. But there’s another member of the club who has one to try to sell to her, so maybe she’ll buy his.) This angst and “I should know better” stuff isn’t what the post is supposed to be about.

What it’s supposed to be about is–if anyone would like to go and could get there, contact me and I will contact the fellows who run the club and see if they will allow you to attend in my stead. I will laughingly add that IF my short story wins anything, you can go up and accept the award in my place at the awards banquet . . . though I don’t think this year I’ll win anything. I won three prizes last year, but I sent in three stories, too. It caused a bit of curiosity when the winner kept being a no-show. But it was certainly an ego boost to get recognized like that!

I don’t know for SURE that the prez of the organization will let someone attend in my place, but hey, I paid to be there, and I just hate for it to go to waste. You would not owe me anything in return except maybe a couple of photos and a con report. I hope this works out.

My landscape guy once again didn’t show and didn’t call me. I think I might go out there into the rain and set up this raised-bed planting thing myself. How hard could it be??

(No harder than my head, no doubt. No?)

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Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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