I was in Portland this past weekend to read stories and teach a workshop at Wordstock, a massive literary festival in Portland. It marked the last entry on my travel and promotional schedule. Amen.
It was a brutal trip. I got up at 3am ET, got to the airport, and flew across the country to Portland. After a quick stop at my hotel, I had one hour to spare before my writing workshop was supposed to start.
While the real draw at Wordstock is the top-shelf list of authors they pull in (plus a few tag alongs like me), I really had no idea what to expect from the workshops. People pay $30 to $50 each, depending on the number of workshops they are taking. When I was invited to do one, I was told I could pretty much whatever I wanted, so I pitched a proposal called "Don't Be Boring"--focused on how to tell good non-fiction stories.
I was prepared to walk in and have two people there--or no people there. Thus turning this brutal cross country trip into a complete farce. When I arrived, I asked if anyone had signed up. My escort said she had no way of knowing. Then we asked the workshop lady, who said my workshop was almost sold out. I figured she'd gotten me confused with someone else.
But then I walked into the workshop--and there were 40 people there. The first thing I said was, "Who the fuck are you people and why would you ever pay to see me?"
They laughed. We started. They laughed a lot. Many took notes (which is a sign that they are hearing things they find interesting--or that they are so bored they'd rather draw bunnies than actively listen). One even blogged about it later.
It was fun. Even considering the trip, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
