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
"Thank you for making the Wayward Wormhole a reality. I found the instructors, as well as the students, to be welcoming and collegial. The content of the lectures was challenging, but not overwhelming. There were so many things that don’t get covered in the kind of short courses I have been taking until now, and then the opportunity to put our lessons into immediate practice created a sense of relevance that I’ve been missing elsewhere.
The instructors were not only of the highest quality, but they carried an infectious sense of enthusiasm that was profoundly uplifting. I learned, in those twenty-one days, but I also learned to trust myself and to love what I’m doing. My favorite quote of the month was from Anne Leckie when she said, “If you make a mistake with writing, it won’t put anyone in the emergency room.” I still think about this. And finally, the sense of camaraderie that was developed between us, the participants, is something that I can’t put a price tag on. Thanks again for making this possible. I will never be the same."
~Stephanie L. Johnson
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Wayward Wormhole: The Instructors
Janet writes again:
There’s only one thing more exciting than writing in a 10th-century castle, and that’s spending quality time””in person””with exceptional writing instructors. If you’re one of the lucky people who has taken classes with Cat Rambo, Ann Leckie, Sarah Pinsker, or Tobias Buckell, you know I’m not exaggerating when I say these kind, brilliant people have dug into the prose-psyche and discovered truths about communication that can change how I write with a single sentence.
At the castle, they’ll discuss beginnings and endings, setting, character, and conflict. If you’re like me, you’ve taken numerous classes about these fundamental topics, but in the hands of these master crafters, each is elevated to that special something publishers seek from today’s writers.
Have you ever wondered where Sarah Pinsker came up with an idea for one of her popular short stories? She’ll lead a short story discussion group one night after dinner. What niche topic is important to Tobias Buckell? He’ll give a talk during his spare day. What’s Ann Leckie reading, and how did those books catch her interest? How does promoting others lead to a successful writing career? Cat Rambo knows the answer.
What I want most from my time in the castle is to hear their stories. They’ve all worked incredibly hard to get where they are today. Nothing came easy, yet they didn’t give up writing. They’re all serious yet friendly, dedicated yet generous with their knowledge. I want to be like them when I grow up.
The New Mexico Wormhole has snapped shut and scattered the travellers back to Australia, Italy, Canada, and multiple states around the USA. I am STUFFED full of amazing writing tips, STUNNED by the beauty and wildlife surrounding the Painted Pony Resort, and warm and fuzzy with love for all my fantastic new friends.
Arley Sorg was tough; a straight shooter who didn’t mince words in a way that gave each of us a boost. We were all better than we thought and still had a lot to learn. Plus, a horned owl joined us from a nearby tree during his classes.
Minister Faust was calm; a gentle guide through the publishing desert. His “explain it to me like I’m a four-year-old” led to clear loglines that supported our newly created emotional impact statements. Plus, the man can cook like a pro!
C.C. Finlay was wise; he took no guff and made sure we understood his points. Thoughtful, insightful, and kind, Charlie was a favorite. How he carved special talk-time for each of us during a busy, busy schedule is both a mystery and a gift we all treasured.
Don Maass was fun; he turned his six-inch binder of notes and writing tips into amusing, personal reflections. Brilliant, generous, and friendly, Don always made room for our comments during class and earned our respect as he returned our quips with rapid shots from the hip.
Cat Rambo was quiet; they were the center of our New Mexican tornado. When you were with Cat, your heart rate lowered, and you felt cared for as a colleague and a friend. Cat was our tarantula whisperer, which either repelled or attracted people almost every day. Why the spiders only appeared on the walls around their building remains a mystery.
Over ten days, we learned more about VOICE, SCENE SHAPING, EMOTIONS AND INTERIORITY, MICROTENSION, ADDING ENERGY TO THE NOVEL MIDDLE, RELEVANT ENDINGS START AT THE BEGINNING, 8 LACKS THAT TORPEDO GOOD MANUSCRIPTS, and BUILDING AND KEEPING A WRITING CAREER FRESH. From day one to day ten, we all started going to bed earlier and earlier.
We saw scorpions glowing under black-lights, bunnies, deer, horned owl, javelinas, tarantulas, coyotes, roadrunners, ravens, quail, and a spadefoot toad.
We sat around an outdoor fireplace as Cat, Don, and Charlie read their work.
We sat in the hot tub(s) and stared at the star-filled sky, waiting for an inevitable shooting star.
We stood in the courtyard and absorbed the silence.
This year brought me several family health issues and I added caregiver to my growing list of responsibilities. As a Canadian with many friends in the US, the election brought stress, fear, and disbelief. I’m still an almost-published (that’s how I frame it—I’m waiting for that one desk on that right day—it’s as inevitable as a shooting star as long as I keep going. Right?)
This year, the Wayward Wormhole at the Painted Pony Resort offered me a reset. Its quiet touched my core and smoothed out the tangled worries I’d been keeping inside. Being with my people reminded me that I’m not alone and renewed my energy. Gaining skills, literally at the speed of sound, renewed my enthusiasm for the stories I’ve written and the ones yet to come.
People ask why Cat and I why we stick with the in-person workshop format when others are going virtual. There are several reasons, all confirmed during our time in New Mexico. Writers need new experiences. They need a safe and peaceful environment to write, learn, and reflect on how people move through life. Writers need other writers. They need tools. Writers need to spend non-writing time with accomplished writers to confirm their belief in their insane choice of career; they need to know their struggles are normal, even if their personal journey isn’t.
For me? Sitting outside under the Milky Way with a dozen-plus friends as Charlie Finlay reads from his latest (and unpublished) novel in front of a wood fire is an in-person memory I’ll never forget.
PS. Plans for The Wayward Wormhole 2025 – Barbados are in the works. We’ve contacted four outstanding instructors who’ve expressed interest, and we will announce a new format and focus by the end of February. We hope you’ll join us!
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
C.C. Finlay was wise; he took no guff and made sure we understood his points. Thoughtful, insightful, and kind, Charlie was a favorite. How he carved special talk-time for each of us during a busy, busy schedule is both a mystery and a gift we all treasured.
