Reflections - A Writer’s Path
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Kittatinny Mountain Tunnel on the Turnpike |
Dear Bob and Norma,
I hope you are well and enjoying spring flowers on your patio. Thank you for connecting me with Cathy. We emailed before and during my trip to Lancaster for the Pennwriters’ Conference.
I figured I could manage I-79 and the turnpike. Cathy assured me the drive from Harrisburg to Lancaster “is 2 lanes in each direction with a grass median between.” Perfect. Except an arthritis flare-up made me wary of traveling 300 miles alone. I conned my writer-friend Carla into driving me so I could pitch my nature story collection to Lawrence Knorr of Sunbury Press.
At 10 a.m. May 14, Spence dropped me at the I-79 Greenville/Sandy Lake interchange. We dodged puddles and transferred my gear in the rain to Carla’s Honda. I hugged Spence and we girls drove off. As windshield wipers swiped, Carla followed I-79 to the turnpike. Stiff from the drive and cold weather, we stopped at South Somerset service plaza for walking around the food court and eating our packed lunches. We planned to get gas ($4.99 a gallon). Rain changed our minds. Carla played a podcast of her story “The Ghost’s Debt.” I read postcard journals, warning her she’d be in mine for this trip. We gawked at tunnel lights. At Harrisburg, Cathy’s description proved true. We stopped at Rutters for $4.19 gas. Farms faded. Cities grew. Lancaster houses nestled wall to wall with corner mini groceries. Old stone buildings dominated historic sections.
Cathy emailed Saturday asking if we needed anything and inviting us to see baby foxes in her backyard. Alas, the conference was a whirlwind. We couldn’t stop on our way home because Carla needed to get back to prepare for work Monday. But I appreciated Cathy’s kindness.
Love,
Janet
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Stone House on the Grounds of the Conference Hotel |
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Palm Court, the Site of the Saturday Keynote Luncheon. |
You’ve asked if I’d heard from Sunbury Press about my collection of nature stories. I hadn’t. Determined, I attended the Pennwriters’ Conference in Lancaster, PA so I could pitch to Lawrence Knorr in person. Alas, pitch day I freaked—reminiscent of Ivy reacting to neighbors.
But, when the monitor called, “Eleven-thirty group,” I forced my way to Lawrence’s table.
He gave me a friendly smile. “You must be for me. You’re ‘Saturday Keynote Luncheon.’”
My name tag had flipped. The meal tickets showed. I laughed releasing tension. I offered two icebreakers. “You’re the reason I conned my friend into driving me three hundred miles . . .” and “I wanted to ask when you about attended Wilson College because it was all girls when I did, but I need to tell you about my book before time runs out.” I launched into my talk. Almost calm.
He took notes, looked up face glowing, and stopped me with a question before I got a third of the way through. “Do you know Ben Moyer? He writes for us and Northern Appalachia Review. Your stories fit our Catamount Press imprint.”
“I submitted to Catamount Press last October and have been waiting to hear.”
He jotted more notes. “We’ve been busy. I’ll look up your submission when I get home. Submit one of your stories to the review.” And he explained he went to Wilson when men attended at night. Since his wife taught there, he was the only male in women’s day classes.
The night the conference ended, Lawrence sent an acceptance email offering me a contract if I was still interested. I emailed back, “Yes. Definitely.” I’m waiting for the contract to arrive.
Love,
Janet
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View of the Conference Hotel. |
