Michelle Perin’s Blog

I’m sitting in Terminal A5/A6 at the Eugene airport awaiting my 10:35 am flight to Las Vegas. Sin City!!!! Funny thing is you don’t have to even get to the City before things get strange.

Here’s my question about flying: Why, when everyone has a giant carry-on bag and a giant personal item (is that rally a purse or does it double as a giant suitcase?) are the bathroom stalls so small? You go in forward pulling your inevitable giant carry-on with wheels with your giant (definitely not a suitcase, it’s a purse) personal item, then you wiggle in place to turn back towards the door carefully switching the handle of the carry-on from one hand to the other hoping it doesn’t tip over (which they tend to do because some designer is laughing out there about how front heavy they are; I lost some French fries in a toppling debacle once. It’s not joke) and attempting to avoid knocking the “feminine item” box off the wall (seriously, why is that up there and not on the floor by the toilet or why can’t everyone just discretely take their personal feminine hygiene item, wrap it in toilet paper and carry it out to the trash can by the sinks? Too modest? Trying to hide the fact you have a monthly bodily function JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER WOMAN IN THE ROOM??!!

Once you’re in, you maneuver to face the door, push the carry-on forward and away from where you will attempt to sit down, and wiggle in place to pull down your pants. Then you sit and hope your bag doesn’t fall forward and knock you off the toilet. When you’re done reverse process and repeat. All airports bathrooms should be handicap size.

I make it back to my seat without seriously injuring myself or others. I’m sitting in the terminal waiting (I’m a good, instruction-abiding passenger who gets to the airport early…just to sit and sit and sit.)The Eugene airport is small enough and the TSA is friendly and competent enough I could probably walk in and get right on the plane, but my military training taught me to follow the rules, so I sit.

It’s not a bad thing. They guy two rows back is yapping on his cell phone. Why is it that people place that small device against their ear and automatically believe they are surrounded by a sound-proof bubble? Or maybe people (Americans) have become so voyeuristic by watching reality show after reality show they truly believe other people’s lives will be blessed and enriched if they hear the story with the opening comment, “You will never believe what happened in the Costco parking lot yesterday?” Number 1: I probably will believe it. (I am a former 9—1 operator after all.) and Number 2: I really don’t care…unless it involves a parking lot full of motor officers and a slip-n-slide. Anyway I digress.

The guy sharing his phone conversation with me is in his early 20s, short brown hair, brown eyes, average height and weight, wearing a gray t-shirt with no print and a black NY baseball hat. Typical state college boy (yes, I’m stereotyping but I can do that. This is after all my story.) So, he’s telling the person on the other end of the line, “I went into the kitchen in the middle of the night and drank half a pint of Jaeger and two bottle of Heineken.”

I’m thinking: “Well that’s a boring tale. For this alcoholic, that’s the pre-dinner refreshment.”
Him: “I couldn’t believe it; I’ve never sleep-walked before.”
Me: “Seriously? Why don’t you just admit you drank your friend’s booze?”
Him: “I was just amazed. It’s incredible.”
Me: “You’re an idiot, a thief and a liar.”

And, I’m not in disbelief. It would have been better if he had added the cops and the slide.

Damn, I have to go to the bathroom again. And this time I’ve acquired a full cup of scalding coffee. Stupid, “Don’t leave your bags unattended at any time warnings!

This time it wasn’t a personal item container (that they mercifully recessed into the wall). It was the toilet paper holder. After I successfully complete my Twister-esque bathroom maneuvering (I think it would be easier to guide a Tender into Port Loma without a tug), I went to wash my hands. I had to go all the way to the end because all the front sink spots were taken up by young (20s-ok, ok, the older I get the younger they get) girls refreshing (caking on more) their make-up. Dude, I just want to wash my hands! The sink and soap dispenser are all motion sensor activated. I place my hands under the spigot and thankfully water (not scalding; not ice cold) comes out almost immediately. That’s so much better than the rest area sinks, where you have to wave your hands frantically and practically play pat-a-cake with the sink to get the three second spray. Then, for soap, it also came out quickly, in a ladybug-size blob. Sigh, I would really like to go back to the days when I got to decide how much soap and water I needed to wash my hands. This is all about corporate control—Don’t get me started.

Of course, the pea-size blob of soap must contain industrial-strength Borax because I can hear my skin breaking up and cracking with each passing second. And, of course, I don’t have any lotion because it’s little 3-oz, clear, marked bottle wouldn’t fit into the tiny, clear plastic bag allowed on the plane. Maybe they should start offering that on the snack cart.

“Coffee, soda, spirits, or some coconut-verbena body butter, ma’am?” (Everybody calls me that lately and it’s pissing me off).

I wish. By the way, the lady next to me just left her bags unattended.

The flight was delayed two and a half hours due to mechanical issues. A mechanic had to be called in since he (or she I don’t want to be sexist) had to come from another location (hopefully not the Brew N’ Cue). I suppose I’d rather get the plane looked at and cleared, therefore sitting in the airport for what feels like forever than the alternative (we won’t specify that now as I am currently writing this from in the air and am anxious my anti-anxiety meds will wear off). So, now I’m Vegas bound and ready to discover how many things from Da Book I can accomplish while child-free and in the happiest place on Earth (forget it Disney, have you seen the amount of ear to ear grins on people here, especially those with a 100-oz margarita in their hand or a jewel-outfit clad danger in their lap?) I’ll read through and report. I’m glad to finally be on my way, especially since I had to use the bathroom three more times…and I have to go again (damn you 4 cups of coffee and complimentary Diet Coke from the airline). Thank God, I don’t have to take my bags with me into the airplane restroom.

Woke up and headed to the conference. I’m always amazed at how a casino looks the same all the time. The only variable is the amount of people milling around and I guess the manner of dress. The closer you are to the strip and the ritzier the casino this matters a lot more. I liked the Orleans because it seemed pretty kicked back but not old. After all, I like the idea of perpetual Mardi Gras.

Walking into the conference room, I got to greet all my friends. Whether I’ve known them since my first conference 5 years ago or if I was just meeting them, PSWA members are the friendliest people I’ve met in a group. I think it has something to do with a lot of them being retired (or active) police officers or fire fighters. Being in these occupations, you spend most of your time in very concrete, solution-oriented thinking. To move to the other side of that and put out something creative, seems very vulnerable. I think that’s why there is a humbleness in our members that draws me to them.

The Queen, aka Marilyn Olsen greeted us. She stood in for our usual DJ A.J. Farrar who had to stay home due to an infection from a spider bite. How random is that? He and his wife, our Treasurer, Nancy were sorry missed. Marilyn did a great job saying howdy in her majestic way and off we went into a weekend of learning, networking and having a great time. The first panel, “What I Wish I’d Known in the Beginning” was populated by Sue McGinty, with panelists, W.S. Gager (my roomy), Michael Black, and Bette and J.J. Lamb. All novelists, they shared tips on hind-sight. This is always nice, especially since I am delving into the realm of novel writing. I may know quite a bit about the industry around trade magazines, but as far as what’s necessary for writing, editing, publishing and marketing fiction, I’m lost.

Michael Black led our next topic with “How to Outline Your Noel in an Hour.” I loved the poster board and all the colored sticky-notes. Everything should involve multi-colored sticky-edged pieces of paper. As a group, we outlined an outrageous story about a female arson investigator who was investigating casino fires while dealing with an annoying city manager, who ended up dead in a fire, an exotic dancer boyfriend, an ex-husband who had a gambling problem, lived on her couch and was using her credit cards, AND a boa constrictor. I couldn’t quite follow whether her boyfriend or ex-husband had a past which included a conviction for arson, but I believe it should have been the boyfriend. More sexual tension is always good in any story. Ah, the perpetual drama of men and women. Michael’s assistant was lovely as well. I don’t think women have the monopoly on being cougars.

Next up, my panel. We talked about “Writing for Trade Publications (Paper and the Net). Keith Bettinger moderated and alongside me were Kathleen Ryan and Kregg Jorgenson who stepped in at the last minute because member Ed Nowicki was ill and couldn’t make it. We talked about on-line vs. print, how to be professional, cultivate sources, big vs. little magazines and a myriad of other topics. It was great although it never matters how many times I’m up there, I always feel like, “OMG, they are going to realize I’m not a REAL writer.” I guess 10 years of writing still doesn’t qualify me in my own mind. Regardless, they all let me talk anyway.

The next topic, “Pleasing Editors and Agents: What are the Worst Mistakes?” was populated by publishers Billie Johnson, Becca Buckley and Lee Emory, as well as, agents Verna Driesbach and Holly Sullivan McClure. Half-way through, I was thinking, “Why are these people so negative? I don’t think I care for many of them.” Then, I relooked at what the topic was and realized they were supposed to be talking about the negatives. Once in context, I settled in and learned all the things I should never do when approaching a publisher/agent. Ok, no long winded spiels and go away when you’re done. These are BUSY people.
Next, Steve Scarborough taught us about “Detectives, Then and Now.” He had a great slideshow and it was neat to learn Edgar Allen Poe was an original detective writer. The covers at the end of the show were awesome too. Nothing has changed much over the last 50 years, scantily clad women still sell.

Madeline Gornell, Marilyn Meredith, Sunny Frazier, Michael Orenduff and Morgan St. James gave the next topic, “Promotion: Old and New, In Person and On the Net.” Great panel, but I just have to say Marilyn Meredith and Sunny Frazier are my idols when it comes to marketing and promotion. Both have prolific presence on the net and in person and seem tireless. They make me tired and I’m considerable younger than either of them. I want to be just like them.

The last panel of the day, “How to Spot a Lie,” was given by Mark Bouton. Here I have to admit my restlessness. I love going to Las Vegas for the conference, but I hate sitting in a conference room all day. I don’t get away from parental responsibilities very often and I hate losing all that time. So, because I had the privilege of reading Mark’s book on this top, I figured I knew pretty much what he was going to talk about. So, I went to the gym, and then sat around the pool until dinner time. After grabbing some pizza at Sbaro’s, I wandered around the hotel just watching people. I played my $20 daily allotment on the slot machines. I was trying to win a 2010 Camaro so I figured each time I pushed the button, it was another chance at the car. I was up past $200 at one point, but thanks to my compulsive nature (and I’m not alone, that’s how casinos make their money) I kept playing and lost it all. After that, I headed to the lounge where I heard as show. Keith and Bert were entertaining the sparse crowd with requests from Bruce Springsteen to Kid Rock to Toby Keith. It was cheesy and a perfect Vegas show. About midnight, a class reunion (Mojave High School classes 1977-1986) came in. That’s when the fun and dancing began. I joined in, had a great time and headed back to my room at 2am. I tried to sneak in so I wouldn’t disturb Wendy, but she woke up. We talked a bit, and then I was asleep before I hit my pillow.

I flew into Las Vegas on Thursday night. I actually had a pretty good flight with only a few minor panic attacks. I was able to get a window seat on the wing (seat 23F to be exact) on my Allegiant flight. I like, actually I have to sit on the wing. For some reason, it makes me feel safer. Does this make sense? NO! But, I don’t care. I liked this particular seat because I had 1 1/2 windows and could look through the front one and see the ground and the sky and stuff and then look back and do my assessment of the functionality of the wing. Flaps in place? Check! Lights working? Check! Creepy, hairy monsters not standing there? Check!!

Flying into Vegas at night is amazing. That is a beautiful city when you’re above all the lights. I had paid for a Gray Line Shuttle to the Orleans and went to stand in the appropriate line behind the sign when I got in. Two shuttles pulled up. The drivers talked to people in both lines and everyone split into the buses. My sign was right in the middle of them and I went to ask one driver if it went to the Orleans. He said no, the other shuttle would. I turned and asked the other driver the same question. He said no too. What? He asked who said it was the right shuttle and I told him the other driver. He told me to sit tight. Then the drivers had a conference in the street before one of the drivers came back and said, “Since no one else wants to take you, I guess I will.” Nice. Of course, I got on the shuttle.

I was the last person on the shuttle and the driver asked me something. I yelled from the back of the bus and he said I should come up closer. I did. Then, we talked a bit about what I was there for. Then the questions started. Why is it when you tell someone you’re a writer, they want to ask advice? It doesn’t matter what the topic is. So, I ended up discussing the difference between men and women and the way they communicate. I explained what I knew about style and common male/female motivation. I noticed the ring on the driver’s finger and realized he was asking for advice on how to relate to his wife. I shared what I new and when we got to the Orleans he said he felt he knew how to be a better communicator and was glad he picked me up. Glad I could help.

I ran into some friends and fellow conference attendees in the lobby and then checked into my room. I was sharing with Wendy who writes under the name W.S. Gager. She has two books in print, The Case of Infatuation and The Case of the Accidental Intersection (Both excellent I should add). I chatted with her a while then fell happily into slumber.