The Wayward Wormhole is now thirty-one days away. Aside from my heart palpitations, a
stomach that flips with butterflies every time someone brings up how soon we’ll be at the
Painted Pony Ranch, preparations are well underway, things are going well, and barring any
unforeseen roadblocks, the to-do list is manageable.
With that being said, this month I want to talk about the things I’m excited about. First, there’s
the work and who’s going to see it. Arley Sorg reading my short story and giving feedback?
Delectable! Conversations with Minister Faust about story and writing and philosophy?
Fantastic! Ten days with Donald Maass and Charlie Finlay knowing they’ve both read my novel
and want to help me move it toward publication? The German language probably has a word
that encompasses the torrent of emotion swirling throughout my body. There goes my stomach
again.
Second is the company. I’ve always felt out of place in groups. They don’t get my jokes, they
don’t love the same movies or TV shows, they don’t care about science or dragons or ravens,
and they certainly don’t discuss inter-species dino sex. Then I went to the Surrey International
Writers Conference in BC Canada, and discovered that even if I was the weird one, there were
many, many more people like me—they just weren’t in Campbell River (except for my best
friend—she’s weird in the best ways). So, step one: conferences are good. Then I went to the
Wayward Wormhole last year and discovered how fantastic it is to live with a bunch of nut-ball
crazy SF&F writers who were as obsessed with story as I am. Spending time with all of you is
the highlight of my year, and is the driving force behind every year’s location, instructor
selections, and format.
I’m also really looking forward to a change of pace, a bit of peace at the end of a tumultuous
year. My mum is eighty-two now and struggling with her memory and how she navigates
through this overly complex world. She and I have been investigating seniors’ homes, and it’s
hard watching her come to terms with her situation and its ultimate conclusion. There are some
good things happening too. My husband, Geoff and I have bought a condo in Victoria and gain
possession two days after we return from the Wormhole. Needless to say, I’ve been busy, and I
keep moving forward by imagining myself floating in the pool or talking some quiet time in the
desert. On the flip side, I also enjoy drinking and playing pool, and there’s a foosball table, but
I’m not sure my wrists can hold up under the strain of slamming that little ball down the
opponent’s…sorry…I can get competitive.
The Wormhole holds an entire world inside its writing bubble. It’s my happy place where my
people meet, where laughter and angst live in the same space, and I hope it’s all that and more
for you, too.
There’s a stillness atop Sant Bartomeu hill that settles my bones and calms my brain. At 998 meters above sea level, I lean against a centuries-old stone wall, part of the Castell de Llaés, and look across the fields below. Thirty-nine km to the right is a second hill of 1025 meters, where I can see remains of the castle of Besora as it sits alone with its past. In the other direction, at 961 meters, sits the medieval remains of Castell de Milany. With the slightest effort, I lower a cellophane sheet over the scene and add people in tunics walking with horses wearing baroque saddles. A second overlay adds dusk and wispy tendrils of cloud to the picture. Torches flare along the castle walls to both sides of me, and the glow of a central fire, ready to send messages across the gap between them as night descends. -Janet K. Smith
Our latest dispatch from Janet:
