Until I woke up. Or only partly woke up.
No, this isn't a story where now I tell you the retreat was all dream. It was for real. And I was for real at it, and so were all the fellow writers that were there with me. And all was going smoothly, until Saturday morning, when things got a little exciting. . . . .
Let me give two bits of advice.
1. If you find yourself suddenly becoming dizzy, ask for help. Better yet, bring yourself to the floor immediately--don't let gravity do the work for you. This will cut down on bumps and bruises and the like.
2. If you find yourself inexplicably looking up into the eyes of Rick Walton, or some other writer that you admire tremendously, upon coming-to, don't think of this as a time to impress him or her by cracking a joke. Because more likely than not, you're going to be short-sighted on the delivery. Yes, muttering the words, "I'm dying," in an attempt to help lighten the situation, . . . will send all your fellow writers with their super-sonic imaginations into overdrive. It'll make them do things like call 911, or heaven-forbid, check to see if you need mouth-mouth resuscitation. Especially when after uttering such words, you pass out again.
Yes, at times like these, to wit, or not to wit, is not a question. It's a catapult for momentary disaster.
But never fear, dear readers, after a brief rest and sumptious morning feast, the writing retreat got back on track.
Turns out, this excitement was due to a nasty fainting virus that's been making it's way through the adult population in Cache Valley. As far as timing goes, I was either very lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.
Turns out, this excitement was due to a nasty fainting virus that's been making it's way through the adult population in Cache Valley. As far as timing goes, I was either very lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.
Make it a great week!
Shaunda