Tomorrow at this time I will (should) be sitting in a hotel in St. George, Utah. Dave Farland's Writer's Death Camp starts Monday morning. I'm going. What was I thinking? I'm not ready for this kind of commitment! I'm not even sure I want to be a writer when I grow up. Of course growing up isn't exactly on my “to do” list.
Frankly I'm ready to start really freaking out. It probably won't happen until I get to Cedar City tomorrow afternoon, at which point I will consider turning around and coming home. Or staying in Cedar City. Or hiding in the Cheese Factory Outlet in Beaver.
I haven't even really packed. It is so unlike me to feel and be so unprepared. What will Mr. Farland think of me? Buxom blond (not my description) from Bountiful who is ill prepared and a little loopy? Yikes, I'm scared of myself.
P.S. We watched Men in Black tonight. It's on VHS. We had to rewind a tape. Ah the nostalgia . . .