From the several conference offerings in the afternoon, I picked a panel discussion on story and plot development. The three main points I remember from that are 1) Read E.M. Forster's Aspects Of A Novel. 2) The story is what, when and where. Plot is why, and outweighs the story. 3) Each character has his own story. We must know what each character wants, and what he is most afraid of.

Bill's friend Janine joined us for dinner. She had rented an SUV and was vacationing in the area, both before and after the conference. She suggested we drive out to a lodge she knew in Yellowstone. "So, do you write full-time?" I asked Janine as she slowed the vehicle, looking for elk. Bill answered for her, "Yes."

"Well, I haven't published a novel yet," she clarified.

"Janine is a very good writer, very funny," Bill said. "But she needs a kick in the ass to do something about it. She made a gazillion dollars on Wall Street, so she doesn't need the income. For her, writing is more of a hobby," he added.

"I've been doing a lot of traveling and writing stories about it. My friend Jeremy, who's also here at the conference, writes for National Geographic, and I just finished a world tour with him on a private jet," Janine said.

During dinner I admitted to breaking the first commandment of a writers conference: Thou shalt do thy homework. I had not read any of Bill's books. I had read one of Susan Isaacs' books and saw the movie, but didn't read Olivia Goldsmith's First Wives Club. I explained that I'd just finished writing my book, Butterfly Escapes And Cocoon Contemplations. "I subscribe to Writer's Digest online and receive information on conferences. I planned this trip in less than a week. Thank God I had enough frequent flyer miles for a plane ticket. The fare would have killed me."

"So you had a choice between a conference, like, in Terra Haute, Indiana or Jackson Hole, right?" Bill quipped. "Think you made the right choice," he said.

"You know we're missing hearing Susan Isaacs speak," Janine pointed out on the drive back to Snow King. "Yeah, but look at what everybody else is missing," Bill said, commenting on the incredible scenery and the sun setting in the mountain range. He also said that although he'd like to hear her, he had not read any of her books. "I tend to read what I write, humor." Since this was also true for me, we got into a Vonnegut-, Hiaasen-laden conversation. In the midst of it, Bill asked me about my book and I gave him a quick verbal synopsis.

"Sounds like you have some interesting story lines, but why the title?" he asked. I explained that it was a coming-of-age metaphor. "It needs to be funny. If you're a humor writer, you need a funny title," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Like Erma Bombeck titles ... The Grass Is Always Greener Over The Septic Tank," I said, showing Bill I understood. "Yeah, she could always get away with those longer titles, because they are so funny," Janine added.

The Saturday morning workshop "Writing Satire" was conducted by Bill at the Teton Library. He explained that there are two types of satire: Juvenalian, which is attacking, and Horatian, which is more subtle. The group discussed great satirists and works of satire, including Dr. Strangelove and Wag The Dog. We then did a conceptual exercise, coming up with satirical treatments of real news articles on fast food and obesity. I personally invented the Fed-Ex diet: "When you absolutely, positively have to lose weight overnight."

I had some free time Saturday afternoon while the other "students" were having excerpts from their manuscripts reviewed by the "pros." The deadline for manuscript submissions had long passed by the time I signed up for the conference. But, true to my shameless opportunist tendencies, I had a copy with me—all 370 double-spaced pages—just in case.

Lounging by the pool, hand-writing my yet-unfinished synopsis, the only opportunity I seized was for some limited exposure to the sun.

Out in the open air.  Photo: Janine Smith.

My Mountain Muse

The mystical experience of my mountain muse continued on Jeremy's nature hike in the early evening. (Jeremy is Janine's friend from National Geographic). Half-a-mile up the side of a mountain, as we sipped wine from plastic cups and munched on cheese and crackers, Jeremy gave us a brief history and geography lesson about the area. It was both entertaining and inspirational. Did you know that on the Jackson Hole side of the mountains there are no poisonous snakes? Mingling and chatting with fellow writers, I met some quite interesting people, including two young doctors from different states (who did not previously know one another). Both had quit practicing medicine recently to pursue their passion, writing.

All the students were aware of who was who, this late in the conference. A few made overt attempts to talk to agents. I tried to be subtle, offering a plate of cheese to Kirsten Manges, an agent for Curtis Brown, Ltd. She was conversing with another young woman about publishing on the Internet. "Whenever I receive a query letter in which a writer gives a website or e-zine that has published their material, I check it out," she said. Then the conversation went to cats. All three of us had them and were missing them a bit.

Dinner was a pool-side barbecue, and another opportunity to get to know more fellow writers. Sopping up my barbecue sauce-covered mouth with a napkin, I looked up from the table to see Olivia Goldsmith and Susan Isaacs. Both were impeccably dressed in designer attire and expensive-looking jewelry. What happened next was like a small parting of the Red Sea, as people scurried to get extra chairs and move our chairs aside to make room for them at our tables. Even though I hadn't scooched an inch, Olivia ended up right next to me.

The presence of celebrity is a curious thing. It's funny to watch how us normal people react. Olivia was the queen of dinner table talk. I wondered if she had actually prepared some of her material for just such a purpose. "You know what really irritates me? When aging actresses write books. I mean, so they were an actress, so naturally they'll sell books. But, they can't write," she said, and we all agreed. "It's not like I can hang up my writing career to go be an actress." Olivia got a laugh on that one.

She then told a funny story about meeting Ivana Trump, who had just "written" (wink, wink) a book. When Olivia asked her what the book was about, she answered—here Olivia imitated Ivana's thick accent—"It's about fiction." We all roared. "You wouldn't want to live in that little mind," she finished.

First Rejection Letter

Sunday morning the long-anticipated student readings took place. This was where the brave bared the souls of their work. The range was as big as our surroundings, from a humorous essay about a woman's love for her SUV, to a heartrending story about a Nazi concentration camp by one of the doctors. The few pages of my book I read to the group elicited laughter, where I intended to be funny. This was the last but most important miracle of the trip.

Just before my plane departed Jackson Hole, the flight attendant made an announcement. "Due to the heat of the day, we need to purge some weight from the aircraft to help us gain altitude faster. So, any bags destined for Cincinnati or Washington, D.C. have been bumped from the flight. They'll arrive at your destinations on later flights." I shrugged my shoulders and got out my notebook.

Note: The conference is in my top five non-sexual life experiences. Other than the birth of my daughter, I have no idea what the remaining three would be.

As a result, I have been inspired, among many things, to change the title of my book and publish chapters on StickYourNeckOut. A referral to Bill Fitzhugh's agent resulted in my first rejection letter. One down, 135 to go.

Copyright © DC Stanfa 2003