November 30

Los Angeles

From El Paso, I sped across the southwest with all the windows down, listening to my favorite country CDs, and devising how to best finish my novel. When I reached the California boarder and had to stop for agricultural inspection, I didn't tell the woman I'd just come from DC, or that I'd been visiting writers all over the country for the past month, or that in mere days the world would be deluged with the birth of hundreds of baby novels and their novelists. But I was thinking all this. I just told her it was good to be home.

The LA gathering brimmed with Wrimo winners. I'd say 20 or so showed and we spent most of the night sitting in a big circle, listening to each person describe their novel. I couldn't stop smiling and shaking my head in happy wonder at the contrast between those first days in DC, Philly, and New York where Wrimos would say things like "My novel? Oh, well, there's this woman you see...I don't know her name, how old she is or what will happen to her, but, um, yeah. This is fun" compared to what writers reported just 28 days later. "My novel is about a guy who decides to hunt down Bin Laden...." or "My novel's about a female dream keeper and how she balances this world and the dream world and ..." or "My novel is about the relationship between a joy stick, monitor, and the guy who uses them..." Indeed, it was a room full of winners, but even more it was a room full of novelists.

I'm happy to report that I now find myself among those who reached 50,000 words. I also find myself a bit dazed by all that transpired this month. I've never met so many whacked-out-in-the-best-kind-of-way people. I'm a little stunned by all the enthusiasm, good-will, and talent hidden out there. And I'm speechless from having witnessed how a flicker of human spirit, with only a puff or two of air, can burst into flame.

I'm leaving for San Francisco now. See ya'll Saturday.