Last weekend, I broke from the family pack and headed down south to the La Jolla Writers Conference. Two of months of preparation allowed for me to finally step on the train and join my girlfriend. Getting out of the house though was pure madness. At least this time, I remembered to pack underwear.

My mommy ineptness followed me to the train station, as I couldn’t find a form of valid ID while purchasing my train ticket. My Costco card and Chucky Cheese Vouchers weren’t enough but in some small domestic miracle, my AAA card did the job. I dropped my laptop a couple of times, but at long last, I sat down as the train rolled out of the station.

Once I checked into the hotel, life became suddenly simple. I had two responsibilities: my name badge and room key. No butts to wipe, mouths to feed or phones to answer. My brain worked better than it had in years. And what to do with my free hands? I did what normal people do and practiced personal hygiene. I brushed my hair, changed my clothes and prepared for a cocktail party of writers.

The keynote speaker Friday night was Lisa Jackson, a super human writer whose hundredth something book, Once Dead, is currently on the New York Times bestseller list. Impressive, huh? She started out writing romance novels when her babies couldn’t even walk. In her speech, she promised to share her secret to success, which I assumed to include a staff of eighty or so nannies, chefs and personal researchers.

The audience was shocked when she pulled out a pair of house slippers, soft pajamas, a large hoody and an extra large box of Hot Tamales. As I picked myself off the floor from laughing, I noticed some of the men’s faces—they just didn’t get this whole pajama-sugar-writing connection. This look is known around my house as bus-stop fashion. As the school year progresses, my morning outfits denigrate more and more each day. I felt rallied by Lisa’s career advice to dress down and out as your book sales climb.

The next day, I attended seminars about how to get an agent, publish a book and become a famous public speaker that gets paid thousands of dollars just to show up and make everyone laugh. Sounds like fun to me, but the to-do list beneath each of these tasks was tremendous. My head swirled and I wondered when mommy cloning would be a technologically viable option.


David Morrell & Stephen CannellThat afternoon, David Morrell, the author of First Blood and daddy to the movie Rambo, spoke about his childhood as an orphan and the influence of the TV show Route 66 on his writing career. (Guess when mommy is not around, TV can be a somewhat positive parenting source if you consider shooting people out of a rage a good thing). After a few more workshops, we headed to dinner where Stephen Cannell, the daddy to The Rockford Files and A Team, spoke about his battle with dyslexia.

Tumbling into the literary world of publishing was exhilarating and frightening. I was pumped to write that best selling book about some best-selling-yet-to-be-determined topic. But what about my kids?  They need to be loved, fed, and homeworked.

I felt overwhelmed on the train ride home.  My girlfriend reminded me that my family life is the core of my creativity—it is what I write about on a daily basis. And she’s right. I’ve got my house slippers and Halloween candies standing by just in case inspiration strikes and simultaneous play dates occur.