Each year the SCWC*SD has a writing contest in which all conferees are invited to participate. The rules are simple: Write a piece in any form you wish of no more than 250 words based on the topic announced Friday night. The topic for the 22nd annual San Diego conference was "The Secret Life of Conference Directors." Gayle Carline of Placentia, CA is the writer of this year's favorite entry.
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He opened one eye and squinted at the light staring back at him.
Damn, he thought, sun's already up.
He yawned, stretched, then closed his eyes and refolded himself into slumber. Suddenly, his head pounded — or was it the
door? Returning to consciousness, he heard the sliding of a plastic key and the creak of hinges.
"Em? You awake?"
"No. Go away."
Wah turned the light on. "Come on, EmMessGee, it's time to get going."
"Oh, for God's sake. I just got to sleep."
"I know," Wah said. "But we've got work to do. The PA system is out in the Bay room and our evening speaker just called.
He missed his flight from Chicago."
"Crap." EmMessGee opened his eyes and flapped his arms. He looked at Wah from his perch, hanging upside down in the corner.
Wah looked funny, like he was wearing his eyes on his chin, his moustache smiling skyward instead of drooping toward the
floor.
Em hopped down on the bed and allowed Wah to straighten his collar. Attaching his leash, Wah said, "Let's go, "and led him
from the room.
"Can I at least bite someone today?"
"Probably not," Wah told the bat. "The writers don't have any blood to share, and the agents don't have any to give."
EmMessGee sighed and changed into his human form. "That sucks."
| Copyright 2008, Gayle Carline. Used with permission. |
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