Just returned from a writers’ conference in San Luis Obispo, on the coast midway between Los Angeles and San Francisco where I did a couple of workshops. What an interesting group of writers I found, and nice people, too. (Eric Maisel was the keynote; I also sat in on literary agent Laura Rennert’s workshop on YA novels.) And the central coast is a dream, the way I imagine California used to be, lots of sensuous hills with only nubby bushes and occasional trees. Lovely.

This is definitely one to remember for next year, this time. And quite affordable for attendees, too.

What’s on your list of conferences–to do or to recommend?

(I tried to post a link and Blogger isn’t accepting the URL. Just Google Central Coast Writers Conference, San Luis Obispo, and you’ll easily find it.)

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Also, what you would do …

There’s an author represented by an agent I quite like a lot. If I wasn’t with my current wonderful agent, I would want this agent; that’s how much I like him/her. This agent told me a story about an author who, if the story’s true, acted unethically toward my colleague. (I’m assuming the story is true because I’ve never known this agent to lie, and he/she has a good rep in the publishing biz.)

Okay. The author’s publicist sent me the author’s book for my show. I had been musing over inviting this author on–until I heard the story. My interest vanished–because of my agent friend.

So, my question is, do you let loyalties influence the interactions you have with others?

On the one hand, it’s so high school.

On the other, the opinions and experiences of the people you know help you make decisions. This agent didn’t say, I’ll be upset with you if you have her on the show. He/she would never do that. In that way, it’s so not high school.

And on the other, when you let your emotions and loyalties color your decisions, you’re never approaching anything or anyone fresh.

I published the following op-ed piece in the Los Angeles Times following 9/11/01:

“Out of Sight, but Never Out of Mind”

In the weeks since the Sept. 11 attacks, a few New Yorkers have complained that the rest of the country has forgotten about them and no longer cares.

We may live 3,000 miles away, yet how could we ever forget? Granted, we don’t have the glaring reminder New Yorkers have: That space where the Twin Towers once stood must shock them daily. So while the attack may no longer be a major topic of conversation for some, our hearts remain broken.

Since Sept. 11, most everyone I know has experienced two–rather than six–degrees of separation: Everyone knows someone who knew someone who died or whose life was changed in untold ways.

As we drive the streets and freeways of our county, flags continue to fly from car antennas and houses. People wear flag pins and clothing with flag designs, and plaster their car windows and briefcases with flag decals.

They’re flocking to blood banks and donating auction items on eBay. It’s enough to choke up the most formerly nonpatriotic person.

Surely, the children remember.

Since Sept. 11, at daily opening ceremonies at my 7-year-old son’s school, groups of children hold flags high as everyone recites the pledge of allegiance. They sing patriotic songs. And when I asked Travis what he did at school one day, he said his class drew pictures. His was of a beach in Hawaii. “A plane flew into the sand, but sand doesn’t burn, so there wasn’t a fire,” said Travis.

Later he asked how we would know if his dad were bombed where he works.

“If he’s not home by his usual time, I’ll call,” I said.

“What if they don’t answer?”

“Then I’ll call the police. But it’s unlikely Daddy will get bombed at work. We’re lucky that way.”

At least for now, I thought.

Travis appeared satisfied with my answer, yet I couldn’t help wondering how parents–or relatives and social workers–told those children who lost a parent in the attack that their mommy or daddy wouldn’t be coming home because something horrible happened at work.

Often, it’s the simple things that serve as sad reminders of what others have lost.

For me, my intact family reminds me of too many families who are no longer together. Since Sept. 11, our prayer before dinner now includes the words: “And God, please take care of all those people who need your help now, more than ever.”

In a picture my husband took of Travis and me in New York last May, the Twin Towers stand in the distance, directly behind our heads. That image is now the desktop on my computer, the first thing I see when I turn it on in the morning, and the last thing I see when it goes off at night. It’s my own personal reminder.

The Sept. 11 events inextricably bind everyone in this nation together. Someone from Illinois said, “We are all New Yorkers now.”

I would say it better if I could.

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Last week Brian accidentally brought home flavored coffee. Brian hates flavored coffee. I tried it. I liked it. I made some for me. He bought his favored French roast, leaving almost a pound of hazelnut-flavored coffee beans. Of course I don’t want to waste it? So every morning, after a modest breakfast of a slice of wheat toast and jam, and maybe a fried egg, I make a cup. Black. Love it. I still have tea first thing, though. So far.

Switching topics…a piece in today’s Wall Street Journal about summer vacation and what folks did or did not do.

I had grand plans. I made a list on a legal size piece of paper. We were going to go to the East Coast and go to a Mets game. We were going to go on a road trip to San Francisco and maybe Portland. We talked about Tuscany and New Zealand. I kept cutting travel pieces out about Iceland. We were going to go to the Getty and the La Brea tar pits and Julian. We were going to do a bunch of things.

Some friends and relatives did. They went to Hawaii, St. Barts, Italy, France. They saw the world.

So what did we do?

We went to Sea World, went to Angels games (“and sometimes had really good seats,” said Travis) and hung out a bunch. We had fun, a good summer. A summer of days with no alarm clock, late nights, a lot of laughs.

I think I’ll keep the list for next summer and plan early.

What did you do? Did you fulfill your goals for the summer (and what’s your morning drink of choice)?

Did anyone see the story in the Los Angeles Times on Sunday about reclusive authors?

Sometimes I think I’m too public, other times not public enough.

What do you think? Are you more interested in authors whose lives are a secret, who don’t tour, who are hard to find, or do you like authors who–ahem–have blogs, tour, go on radio, etc.?

Or is it ultimately about the writing anyway, so it matters not whether an author is reclusive or public?

We were just jolted. I moved toward the doorway. Then that was it. Just one big bump.

Brian, getting up, said, “Well, it’s earthquake weather.”

Hot, muggy, the sun almost too bright.

So I went here and read that a 4.7 quake was epicentered in Lake Elsinore.

I thought, I’m glad I’m dressed, in case I have to leave the house. But I should wash my face and brush my teeth, too, put on a little make-up, just in case.

Now Brian’s in the shower. Soon as he’s done, I’ll get in there and make myself presentable, just in case.