[Full Disclosure Part 1: Decker is currently on staff with the Southern California Writers' Conference. Take that into account when he blubbers on and on about how great it is. See end of article for special discount offer.]

About 25 million years ago, when monkeys ruled the earth, I wrote a novel. That book – which I furiously banged out on a Brother word processor, day and night, until the carpal tunnel spread to my neck, spine and colon – was a giant kettle of crap. And I don’t mean the kind of crap that most first time novelists produce due to inexperience, rather, the kind of crap that exists within the writer’s DNA, the kind of crap that no amount of experience or workshopping can ever flush – this crap was the kind of crap about which the Mother of All Craps could be proud.
“That’s my boy!” the Mother of All Craps was often heard saying about this novel.
Not having a predilection toward delusions of grandeur, I permanently shelved the tome and sought a career in journalism. This way, I could still be an author without having to write, or revisit, or even think about – ugh - books.

MSG speaks!

Fast forward to November 2005, scouring the internet trying to find fodder for a looming deadline, I encountered the website for the then upcoming, 2006 installment of the Southern California Writers’ Conference and was immediately intrigued. I’ve always wanted to attend one of these writer thingies but, to my horror, noticed the conference focused on writing – acck – books!
Oh books, wilt thou ever stop taunting me!?

While I was still committed to never thinking about that horrible piece of crap that I wrote back when monkeys were flinging their own dungheaps and calling it technology, I was nonetheless drawn to the idea of a writer’s conference, drawn to the promise of schmoozing with other scribes, chatting about sentences and words and semicolons and also, boozing, which is something apparently many writers enjoy – schmoozing and boozing – that was my main attraction to the conference.
As Michael Steven Gregory (also known as MSG) said, “Most writers work in such agonizing isolation that the chance to work, hangout, drink and stay up all night with other writers and publishing professionals is invaluable.”

Michael Steven Gregory, incidentally, is the Executive Director of The Southern California Writers’ Conference (SCWC). Together, with his partner Wes Albers, they produce, design, market, book, finance and MC the SCWC, which has three chapters: one in Los Angeles/Irvine; one in San Diego, coming this President’s Day weekend, February 13-16, at the Crowne Plaza Resort; and the Palm Springs installment, currently on hiatus.

According to MSG the conference has been a huge success. Nearly four million dollars in first-time-author book and screen deals were facilitated by the SCWC over the past 23 years. During one 14-month period, five books were published as a direct result of first-time authors being recognized, embraced, and enabled by SCWC staff.

“What most often distinguishes our conference from similar events,” said Gregory, “is the generosity of authors, agents, and editors on staff willing to extend their relationships with conferees well beyond the end of any given conference weekend in order to get their manuscript where it needs to be to sell.”

Wes Albers

Admittedly, the SCWC does not staff the mega-popular Stephen Kings and Dean Koontzs like some of the other Gigantor conferences do. Instead, it gets the working stiffs, the guys and gals who are not so far removed from the bloodlet of debut book publishing that they are no longer able to relate to conferees, and vice versa. Authors such as Andrea Portes, whose immensely popular debut novel, Hick, was recently optioned by movie producer Steven Seibert; Andrew Peterson, a competitive Master ranked marksman and author of First to Kill, also returns; writer’s writer Maralys Wills (A Circus Without Elephants) brings back her popular and hyper-informative workshops; and writer’s writer’s writer, Judy Reeves – whose books, essays, and work groups have motivated aspiring authors for years – will again impart her limitless wisdom upon the conference.

“There are so many diverse, exceptional authors on [this year's] schedule it’s difficult to highlight only a few,” says MSG. “For instance, Novelist and screenwriter Don Winslow (The Death and Life of Bobby Z; The Dawn Patrol) will be joining us for the first time to discuss his uniquely Southern California-set thrillers. . . and I’m looking forward to Laurel Corona (The Four Seasons: A Novel of Vivaldi’s Venice), whose [speaking] topic is, “My Years of Writing Copiousssssly [sic]: How I Published 19 Books in the Last Decade, and Remained Relatively Normal (I Think).”

These authors, while not as famous as your Kings and Koontzs, are success stories nonetheless. There is much to learn from them. And they are quite approachable. You can ask a question such as, “So exactly how did you get your book published?” and not receive a pat answer like, “Through hard work my son,” before the author scuffles off to a cone of silence in the corner somewhere with their equally unapproachable entourage. The SCWC staff will engage. And that, right there, is the foundation upon which the rest of the conference is built.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“

Here is what a person can expect when attending The Southern California Writers’ Conference: You register Friday afternoon and dive into the workshops or Read and Critiques. Then comes the schmooze and booze mixer, followed by book signings, an evening speaker and the rogue Read and Critiques, which tend to go into all hours of the night. On Saturday, there is more of the same – more speakers, more workshops and Read and Critiques — and the beginning of the One-on-One Advance Submissions Critique, which operates as such: Before the conference begins, you send 20 pages of your manuscript to somebody from a long list of agents, publishers and other industry professionals on the SCWC staff. The person you choose, let’s say an agent, will read the manuscript before the conference. Later, at the conference, you will meet with him or her for a one-on-one sit down, during which the agent will explain the myriad of ways in which your book is a kettle of crap or, in the rare instance, will say he or she needs to sign you immediately, or, most likely, something in between.

And so it continues through Monday morning, with more speakers, workshops, Read and Critiques, the much anticipated Agents and Editor’s Panel, a banquet, a writing contest, an awards ceremony and tearful goodbyes followed by the long, lonely ride home.

As for me, I listened to the speakers and attended the workshops (that did not focus on novel-writing). For the Advance Submissions Critique, I mailed some of my columns to syndicated Canadian humorist, Gordon Kirkland, who told me I was, “not ready for prime time,” probably because of the column, “There is a Fungus on my Penis,” about which Kirkland asked, “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“I wish,” was my response.

Matt Pallamary (left) giving advice during Advance Submission session

I pretty much sampled everything at the SCWC, but the best part, as expected, was the late night schmoozing and boozing. In fact, it was on just such an occasion, gagging back shots of tequila with Andrea Portes and her agent, long time SCWC staffer, Sally van Haitsma, when something simultaneously magical and horrible happened.

We were pondering Andrea’s recent success with Hick and Sally began praising Andrea’s initial query letter. Apparently, this was the perfect query letter. It was unanimously lauded by all the attending agents and publishers as a shining example of what a query letter should look like. It was then when Sally turned to me and asked, “So what about you, Ed, do you have a novel to pitch?”
Horrible reaction then: Tequila, and bile, and old, terrible feelings about a long forgotten manuscript began swirling at the top of my stomach, threatening to disgorge.

“Um, well, I did write something 25 million years ago, when simians ruled the planet.”

“Let me hear a pitch,” she said, in such a manner that made me think that everybody in the world has a pitch just sitting around waiting to be pitched.

“Um, I don’t really have one prepared,” I responded.

“Surely you have something?”

“No, really, it’s not ready.”

“C’mon!” she persisted. “Let’s hear it!”

“I c… c… can’t.”

And that was it – the moment about which every aspiring author dreams – an agent asking, nay, begging, to hear his query for the great American kettle of crap. Yet I had nothing.

After several months of full-blown depression, several months of lying in bed in the fetal position till 2 p.m., drinking Pepto from the bottle and throwing shoes at The View’s Sherri Sheppard’s stupid face, I started an entirely new novel. And I’ve been working this novel ever since. And when this novel is near completion, I will write a pitch. It will be a great pitch, a pitch for the ages, a pitch that no agent can refuse. The book may turn out to be another kettle of crap, but my pitch will make Andrea Portes’ pitch seem like it’s sitting on top of a T-ball post waiting to be whacked by Derek Jeter.

More late nights

… And godawful early mornings

Discount Offer: Mention my name (that’s Ed Decker) for 50 dollars off full conference fee. Contact me for more details.
[Full Disclosure Part 2: Shortly after the author's attendance at the 2006 San Diego installment of the Southern California Writers' Conference, he plied the directors with enough quality booze and schmooze to weasel his way on to the staff. Make no mistake though, the author does not hold the conference in high regard because he is on staff, rather, he is on staff because he holds the conference in high regard.]

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