Got an early start and walked toward Fisherman’s Wharf, about a mile away from our hotel. Walked across a nearby park which overlooked docked boats, the Bay, and Alcatraz. Older Oriental men did Tai Chi throughout the park, their fluid movements barely affecting the morning dew under their feet. People jogged, walked their dogs, and biked along the trails.

Fisherman’s Wharf was quite touristy, as we’d been warned. Still, San Francisco was a gorgeous city with several tourist activities to choose from. Below is my summary and opinion of the ones we did:

* Ghirardelli Square. Cute spot and free chocolate samples. What could be better?

* Taking the Cable Car throughout the city. While a good way to see the city and hop on/hop off where we wanted, it was overcrowded and took almost an hour to buy tickets and get onto one.

* Boat tour under the Golden Gate and Alcatraz. This was one of my favorite tours; I’d recommend this to anyone wanting to get good photos of the Golden Gate. One note: it gets COLD out on the Bay. Mark Twain was reported as saying his coldest winter he ever spent was summer in San Francisco. He’s right.

* Trolley tour through the city and going across the Golden Gate. Another favorite. It’s 2 hours and takes you around Pacific Heights, through the main city highlights, across the Golden Gate (which offers amazing views of the Bay and the skyline), plus little tidbit spots such as where Robin Williams lives and the location of the “Mrs. Doubtfire” house they used for the movie.

* Seeing Chinatown. This situation proved interesting, perhaps because of the one spot we happened to select. Two drinks and a small order of egg rolls cost $20. Right when I was ready to ask for a cost breakdown, the owner got into a shouting match with one of the customers, presumably over pricing. At one point I thought I saw him go get a knife. We hastily paid our check and got the heck out of there.

* Touring some of the local ships/boats docked along Fisherman’s Wharf. While interesting, I must say that this experience will help my writing. One of the ships had a rickety ladder going up to the door. It reminded me of the swaying rope ladders between 2 cliffs in the movies, where the actress typically slips through and the hero saves her. Walking up this set of stairs felt the same way, so now I can use that for any rickety-bridge scenes which may appear.

* One other note about San Fran: The hills are STEEP. At one point, we figured getting off the Cable Car next to the street our hotel was on would be easier than returning to our original departure point. Saying that somewhere is “only 6 blocks” means something different in San Francisco versus Baltimore. Some of those city blocks are at a 45-55 degree angle of STEEP. Found that one out the hard way, and learned that Advil can be a person’s best friend!

Stay tuned for writer’s conference blogs and cool entertainment!

Back from San Fran! The first 3 days were spent sightseeing; the remainder of the trip I attended a writer’s conference in downtown San Fran.

I have no idea what day or time it is, considering my Eastern time zone self has been immersed on the West Coast this week. I have a newfound respect for anyone traveling to Europe, not only in the time difference factor but just that the flight is LOOOONNNNGGGG. Atlanta to San Fran is 5 hours. How people fly 13 hours to go somewhere amazes me now.

I was fine until hour 3, when I began feeling a bit antsy. Two hours remaining in this metal tube going 500 mph at 30,000 feet? Next to the kid whining about how SpongeBob is never on TV when he wants it to be? Ah, the joys of coach airfare. We had a bumpy landing but hey, any landing one walks away from is a good one.

Then came Vladimir, the Russian shuttle driver who would be taking us to our hotel. (Note: his name has been changed to protect his Mario Andretti alter ego.) With a thick accent, he barked orders over the phone about picking up new passengers, stopped and started with the ease of someone driving a stick shift for the first time, and I was personally surprised that he didn’t knock off any taxi doors as he sped and wove his way through crowded San Fran streets. Somehow, an hour later, we arrived at our hotel in one piece.

After taming my hair (it was temporarily stuck straight out in wind blown mode from Vladimir’s shuttle), we went to a local pub/restaurant recommended by the hotel. This is when San Francisco instantly become one of my favorite places…mixing with the locals in their environment, away from tourist traps and crazy drivers. We were in the Marina District (in “Cow Hollow” for those who know the area) and this little place (called “The Brazen Head”) was amazing.

It’s one of those places that doesn’t even have a sign on the door. “Look for the green awning” is what the hotel rep told us. Apparently the owner has 2 other successful restaurants in San Fran, and this was the local hangout he wanted for friends and locals who would only hear about it by word-of-mouth.

The bartender knew most people walking in by name. We sat at the bar and chatted awhile, talking to locals who offered sightseeing advice. The drinks and the company were wonderful, and I was delighted to discover the food was incredible as well. Best steak I’ve had in forever. If you’re ever in San Fran, check it out! The Brazen Head, near the corner of Buchanan/Lombard streets.

Thus began a week of living among the locals and seeing one of the most beautiful cities in the world…more to follow.

I’ve recuperated from my bad experiences with window blinds and bathing the cat.

Life Lesson 382: When on a massive cleaning mission to avoid panic, some things just aren’t worth the battle.

Been busy all week preparing for a writer’s conference in San Francisco. Getting business cards ready, printing out necessary papers, packing, and let’s not forget laundry and dry cleaning for extra outfits just in case something from the formal luncheon decides to take up residence on the front of my shirt.

There’s also the interesting concept of preparing the ‘elevator speech’. I’m not quite sure how this phenomenon originated; I think it was Hollywood. “Tell me what your book or movie is about in 30 seconds or less.” In other words, time enough to tell someone while riding on an elevator with them.

With a 350-page book, this is not as easy as it sounds. You want to give enough flavor of the story so your idea makes sense, along with adding in enough of the conflict so they know your work of art is not akin to watching grass grow. Even in a query letter, the standard is one to two paragraphs which hint at what your story is about. Reading it in print is one thing. Memorizing it to be able to say it in an elevator (while, of course, looking and sounding completely natural) is another challenge all in itself.

But networking at conferences and seeing old friends is one of those rewarding experiences which are worth all the hubbub. Plus, I’ve never seen San Francisco before and I hear it’s incredible. We’ll have a few days to sightsee before the conference begins.

Hope everyone is enjoying their summer; I’ll blog about SFO when I return!

Sorry for the hiatus on the blog. I’ve had many irons in the fire recently!

Book 3 (ghost story set in Savannah) is now complete. YIPEE! While the first draft was done in April, it took two months to revise and layer in all those things which weren’t as visible during the first go-round. I finished the manuscript over July 4th weekend, making my own independence day a bit sweeter!

Finishing a book entices an array of emotions. Joy and relief are the first to appear, and I celebrated for days. But then, slowly, surely, the panic arrived. Will people respond to it? Will it be accepted? Rejected? These questions and more began to creep in, especially since I’m actively sending out queries/requested material to agents and editors.

Panic is a strange emotion. Some days, it mimics PMS in all its irritable glory. Other days, it sends a rushing need to DO something, anything, to feel in control. While all writers have control over their word choices, their story, and their book–once it’s sent out into the world, we can’t control others’ reactions. So we try controlling anything else. One of my writer friends bakes bread for days. Another shifts gears and does cross-stitch for three days. Me? I go into massive house cleaning mode, which brings about its own challenges.

My window blinds tried to eat me. Since I was not in the mood to become an appetizer, I struggled long and hard to battle these evil creatures. Current score: window blinds=1, Elaine=0. A rematch has been scheduled.

Life Lesson 205: Attempting to bathe the cat as part of massive cleaning frenzy isn’t a wise option, for the person involved or for the cat. Especially for the cat.

What DOES help alleviate these surging emotions, pouring through my mind at all hours?

Ironically, it’s jumping headfirst into the next book. This leap brings a new form of panic, but it’s somehow easier to cope with than the original panic. When I thought about it, it’s similar to starting a fire in order to extinguish another fire. Although, I confess that I never understood how this process worked. Start a fire to put out a fire? Huh? Start another huge project in order to alleviate panic on a completed project? I can’t explain the reasoning, but it works.

So, while prepping for San Francisco in the coming weeks, I’m happily starting Book 4. This one remains in the ghost story genre, but the plot and characters face different decisions and life challenges.

Next time you’re in a panic, try jumping into something which will help you feel creative and fill you with the pleasing emotions again! It works! And anyone out there who can successfully bathe a cat, feel free to contact me with tips!

Whenever anyone mentions ‘the muse’ – that creative force which whispers in my ear at the strangest and most unpredictable times, I’ve envisioned her as mystical, a pewter fairy with intricate wings, dispelling her wisdom in brief, fleeting moments.

Apparently this delicate appearance is only when I happen to listen to her. When I don’t, she pulls out the bizarre outfits. The other night, I watched a documentary which reminded me of and helped me gain insight into various, shall we say, dysfunctional parts of my youth.

The muse appeared, wearing pink bunny slippers. “Your next book should tell this story.”

Me: “Uh, no. That requires me to face my demons, to fall down into the rabbit hole which I long ago scraped myself out of. Besides, this documentary has already covered a similar story.”

Now the muse became more detailed. Pink bunny slippers, a polka-dotted outfit, and an enormous purple hat. “The documentary told one story, something which happened to different people, in a different location, in a different time. Your story could be different.”

I ignored her again, terrified at the thought of even going near any of these ideas which I’d so successfully avoided over the years. Then I looked over. There was now a big green feather sticking out of that gigantic purple hat.

I turned back to the documentary, determined to focus all my energy on it. Then she temptingly whispered, “But you already have a manuscript which is 50% complete, which began telling a similar story. But you stopped because of fear.”

Me: “Yeah, so? It’s not like I need to write this story now.”

As I continued watching this documentary, a story so similar to dysfunctional moments of my own life, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if I made a fiction story about these themes.

The muse and I argued. We finally came to a truce, where I will consider writing this after my current work is done. In return, she will allow me to wear the gigantic purple hat to costume parties.

I think I got the better end of the bargain, but only time will tell…