My Mother Says I am Funny

My friend Dorkus and I just returned from a local writer's conference where I felt alternately brilliant and stupid during the entire three days.

Dorkus is a most enjoyable traveling companion, being both sensible and possessing many unusual qualities that make for good writing fodder. Dorkus arranged for us to stay in her friend's abode, which she said was 'rustic'�. I was completely unprepared for the 8 x 12 shack that first came into view. I feverishly begin to look for an outhouse as the place was so small it could not possibly have a toilet. Dorkus laughs hysterically at my dismay and tells me that I can stay in the woodshed if I like, but that she will be staying in the cabin. Am overjoyed to see another structure across the expansive property. The setting is beautiful and the house/cabin very comfortable.

Make mental note to pick up after myself and leave not a speck of a mess anywhere. I confidently opened the wine with the 'rabbit ear'� corkscrew that I brought along; the cork disappears into the bottle. This was not the plan, try to dig it out and find that I am only able to spray wine all over the pristine white counter. Immediately clean up and apologize profusely. Next I spill the black peppercorns all over the floor. Make more apologies and encourage Dorkus to gulp more wine. Profess to be a great fire builder and am able to set off piercing fire alarm for a good five minutes. Dorkus begins on another glass of wine. She remarks the wine has hints of blackberry, cherry and cork. Am sure she is regretting inviting me but am helpless to correct my bad behaviors, I seem to be unable to stop myself. Go to bed and find I have accidentally turned electric blanket on to 'bake'�, wake up in a confused sweat but am ready to take on the authors/editors/agents at the conference.

We are somewhat delayed as my dear friend Dorkus can find nothing to wear. Seem to recall that I carried in several steamer trunks of her clothing; surely there is something to wear in one of the trunks. She parades out to show me one outfit after another. She wants to have just the right look for the conference. Begin to look feverishly at my watch. Wonder aloud at her inability to make the correct fashion choice, they all look good. She dithers about and finally comes up with a fetching ensemble. Dorkus comments about my fashion choice which I have secretly purveyed from her steamer trunk. Hastily change the subject.

We meet many enjoyable people and lecturers at the conference. We find at the end of the day after attending different seminars that we both seem to gravitate toward the same people. Did she meet Madam Red Hat I ask? Yes, she did and enjoyed her very much. What about the women named Shawn who was writing a humorous take on grief? Yes, she met her and got her number. This is all very satisfying and we trade information, we are both suitably impressed by the immense amount of talent at the conference.

I learned about famous authors who were rejected time and again only to send out one more manuscript, write one more article, or bribe a publisher with homemade jam before their initial acceptance into the publishing world. This was all good to know as I was soundly rejected by most of the lecturers but encouraged by all of my new found friends. My favorite comment was, 'there are lots of funny people, what is so different about your manuscript?'� Try to explain that my mother liked it a lot but lecturer doesn't seem impressed. Feel very much like I have been rejected by one of the judges on American Idol but refuse to be intimidated and tell her to have a nice flight home. I hope she is sitting in coach next to a person who has the same penchant for spillage that I do. ha

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