Recently, my daughter and I went to the Write on the River Writer’s Conference in Wenatchee. Charli, just turned 15-years-old and it was part of her birthday present. We loaded our 89′ Volkswagen Vanagon and headed to Wenatchee. Charli spinned tunes on Pandora and we sang along to the songs we knew and chatted through those we didn’t. The two and a half hour trip flew by.
The conference was smaller than I expected. Ideal. Jonathan Evinson, the Key Note Speaker, was a riot. His F-bombs didn’t faze me a bit, even with Charli by my side (I know she’s heard worse). Jonathan told stories of torching rejection letters and burying novels. He wandered and paced the stage, divulging his wisdom. I breathed it in. I smiled and laughed and gave Charli hug. I felt a burning in my soul to put pen to paper.
