I had never attended a writer’s conference. When I—a late bloomer on the writing scene—heard about this event so close by my home town, Castro Valley, I got excited and studied the internet for more information. The cost seemed forbidding, but the desire to attend what almost seemed to be a grass-root event, overrode this small detail. I paid the fee, $645, including a chance to participate in a speed conversation with several literary agents, and I was in. I applied in January of 2007, fearing the 300 places offered might all be taken, but there was still room for me. A few weeks later the number of participants had risen to 400 and the admittance was closed. After my decision to spend the cherished Presidents’ weekend, usually enjoyed with friends and family at our mountain resort, inside a hotel with a crowd of people and attending classes and workshops, I made up my mind that traveling back and forth between Castro Valley and San Francisco was too cumbersome. I not only stayed for three full days in the big city; I also stayed for two nights. The Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill where the event took place offered rooms for a reduced price—“only” $142 a night to participants of the conference.

We were supplied with up-to-date programs and tons of other material to be downloaded from the SFWC’s website the closer the date of the event came.

We were instructed to study the program carefully and make decisions as to what work-shops or other attractions to attend. We were well prepared on Friday morning, February 16.

Since the day started with signing in at nine o’clock in the morning, I asked my husband to bring me to BART at 7:30. (I am always on the early side when it comes to events). I got to Powell Street Station at exactly eight o’clock. I had studied the SF map carefully and knew that the hotel was about nine blocks away. No reason to waste money on a taxi or even the cable car. I am used to walking. But I hadn’t realized how steep Powell Street gets after passing Union Square. Really, really steep. So, at about 8:30, huffing and puffing, I arrived at the lobby of the Mark Hopkins, majestically located on the corner of California and Mason. In the crowded lobby people were hustling and bustling. Our conference was not the only event. Other stuff was going on and also week-end travelers were mulling around. I found the desk for SFWC and was asked if I was a performer. Since I was a mere writer with only one published book under my belt and neither agent, editor, or publisher, I was advised to sit down in one of the comfortable chairs in the lobby (all occupied) and to wait for nine o’clock, when others of my lowly status would be admitted.

During that time I made my first valuable contact with a former editor who loved to talk and gave me all kinds of good advice. I exchanged business cards with her and met her again several times during the conference. I also met with the founders of the conference, Michael Larson and his stately wife, Elizabeth Pomada. Those wonderful people had started this enterprise four years ago, and it had developed and grown to the present stage. Obviously these people were very busy, and I was glad I managed a quick introduction: “I’m the mother of Doris Michaels,” which prompted a surprised ”Oh, Doris! When is she coming and visiting us?” Doris has a successful literary agency in New York and knows the Larsen/Pomada couple well. So I had an edge, being at least the mother of someone who is somebody in the world of writing books. We exchanged business cards. Later on during the conference I ran into the couple frequently. They were all over, constantly busy meeting people, never relaxing, always friendly, warm and invigorating. They seemingly needed no rest.

At nine o’clock the writers’ desk was ready for us. We were registered, received a badge telling our name and where we came from, and a clever satchel that contained the latest program, a brochure about the conference with photos of all the higher level participants, and even a bottle of water!

The first workday began at eleven o’clock with an address by Michael Larsen, titled: Writing as if Your Life Depends on It.

Then followed presentations, work-shops and lectures, back to back, with only fifteen minutes between, for participants to move from one room to another and grab a seat, preferably in the front. For each time-slot were three to five different selections to choose, each with a catchy title, and which room it took place. Each selection was marked on the program with C for Craft, P for Publishing, and M for Marketing. Since I needed all three of them, having published a book, having written a book that is in the process of being published, and writing another one, I had a hard time giving equal homage to these three categories. This continuous process was only interrupted by a brief break between 1:30 and 2:00 for tea and scones and went on non-stop until 6:00.

From 6-7:15 was a Gala Party with free drinks and hors d’oeuvres at the Room of the Dons. Even then we had to work. The keynote speaker Bo Bronson, author of Why Do I Love These People? entertained us by talking about “What we wanted to do with Our Lives.” After the dinner party we were invited to step into the adjacent book room and buy books that were signed by the authors.

Now we had a little time for ourselves. I went up to my room and took a nap. During the entire three-day conference I spent very little time in this room, overlooking the beautiful city. I caught the sight of a beautiful sunset before my nap.

At nine o’clock in the evening was “Open Mics,” again different programs to choose from. I chose: An Opportunity to get Feedback on Your Work. An energetic lady urged us to Get That Novel Started. We read parts from our writing for exactly three minutes, monitored by a sleepy gentleman with a stop watch; and the audience reacted to the work. Donna Levin, the coordinator, summed it up and gave her opinion. Since there were about fifteen of us in the audience, this session took us beyond midnight.

I was glad I had taken a nap in the afternoon.

Saturday, Feb. 17.

My day started with a walk around the block: down on Mason, east on Pine, up on Powell, and west on California. A beautiful morning, promising a gorgeous day, which I had to (and wanted to) spend inside the hotel.

At eight o’clock we had breakfast. The Peacock Room was now filled with about forty big round tables for ten, to seat all 400 participants. Since breakfast was staggered and also cafeteria style, there was plenty of room. At dinner, however, when everyone was served at the same time, it was crowded and the waiters had a hard time weaving through the narrow passages between the tables with their trays.

The schedule was similar to the one on Friday, catchy titles that made it hard to choose, (Writing a Novel Every Month; Market Your Book in Your Pajamas; Cook that Book with a Hook) hustling from one room to another during the 15-minute breaks between sessions, making new contacts, exchanging of business cards, taking notes during workshops, and trying to keep all the new info in your heads and notebooks.

The keynote speaker during the evening meal was Firoozie Dumas who had written the delightful best seller Funny in Farsi. The speech was just as funny as her book and the audience couldn’t stop laughing.

I had made friends during the day and after dinner, instead of staying for a party in the Room of the Dons, we decided to go out and have a little fun by ourselves. We were back in time for “Open Mics” and this time I chose to listen to Michael Larsen to learn about The Perfect Pitch. I don’t know how perfect my pitch was, but I did not win in the contest of pitchers. If it would win me an agent, only the next day, Sunday, would tell. Many of us had paid for this “Pitch Your Work to an Agent for Three Minutes” event.

Sunday, Feb. 18.

Another early morning walk, this time toward the Bay. After the continental breakfast I was beginning to get tired of moving constantly from room to room and just stayed in one location, letting the performers come as they would. It was all very interesting and filled our brains to the rim. We met several editors, agents, and publishers, like on the two other days. Even some writers, awaiting publishing, were given the opportunity to share their experiences with us. Keynote speaker for today was Debbie Macomber, a seasoned bestseller writer, having sold more than 60 million books, including Susannah’s Garden. Her speech was about “Making Your Garden Grow”.

The climax of today was the “Speed Dating with Agents” and if my “Perfect Pitch Lesson” had worked, only the future will tell.

At 2:00 there was one more speech by Michael Larsen about “Balancing Form and Content.” At 3:00 the wonderful event was over and everyone went his or her own way.

Michael and wife Elizabeth invited us all to a celebration dinner at Lichees up on Powell and forty people came.

What a wonderful event!!