wormhole updates

From Janet:

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!

From Janet: This year’s Wormhole started a little early for me with a three-day conference in Surrey, BC where I touched base with Don Maass, spent some well-deserved face time with Cat Rambo, and met the effervescent Premee Mohamad along with several regular and new SIWC attendees. Then my husband Geoff picked me up at the hotel and we headed for the border. So far, so familiar to this West Coaster.

That was Sunday. Now it’s Monday and we’re in Washington state. It’s still a rain forest and I recognize most of the flora until we crossed the Snoqualmie Pass—then things changed a lot and slammed home the fact that we’re heading into the unknown; a new Wormhole full of students and instructors, a new environment full of unfamiliar flora along with both cute fauna and aggressive fauna. It’s exciting. Then the phone rang—I’d left my retainer in a BC hotel—but we’re across the border and not going back. The fun of travel.

Monday begins in Baker City, Oregon with -1 degree and frost. This is not what I’m used to. Within hours, we’re driving through Idaho. The hills are rolling and covered in a fine pale-yellow grass that softens them and is pleasing to the eye. I do my best to capture the feeling and look of this empty, mellow country which goes on and on. There are so many references to the Oregon Trail, and it’s easy (and terrifying) to imagine settlers crossing these lands in wagons with livestock in tow. It makes me think about the dynamics that put them in this place without considering the impact on the locals—human and animals.

By the end of the day we’re in Nevada and the landscape has changed to one that makes the rolling hills have taken on an edgier look with sharper edges and sage brush that gives it a five-o’clock shadow. I’m still thinking about the wagons making their way through this rough terraform, and when we come to a famous river crossing, the courage and focus required to find a home in this new world takes on a deeper meaning for having seen the environment firsthand. The feeling of being a stranger in an alien land is strong.

As Nevada gives way to Arizona, the land changes again. This time, huge, rounded boulders lie scattered about the terrain. Most are stacked three and four boulders high, as if giants had placed them during a game designed to balance the smooth stone in artistically lethal ways. There are story ideas strewn between the rock and cacti.

Thursday dawns with the bluest of skies. There’s one more shortish day of driving, one more hotel room, and we’re at The Painted Pony. My mind is full of meal planning, which means grocery shopping at an oversized level, the possibility of new friends and talking books, stories, and publishing. I love this moment, before anything needs troubleshooting, before looking for something forgotten or misplaced. Right now, the Wayward Wormhole is perfect.

The five-hour drive on Friday seems twice as long as the eight-hour drive the past Monday. Then we’re at the entrance to the long driveway. We bounce along the dirt road and up to the main house in front of us. The guest house is off to the left, and the bungalow is to the right. Every wall is smooth stucco supported by massive wooden beams. The doors are tall with full-length windows that brighten each room. The Painted Pony Resort slaps.

At 7:30 pm the sun had left the sky, leaving behind a breathtaking expanse of stars on both sides of the Milky Way. It’s quiet here. The hot tub is not too warm, and as my muscles loosen from the water and peace, I’m rewarded with the zing of a shooting star. And yes, the scorpions glow.

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.