A day at the castle

My purpose for being in Colorado is to attend a writers workshop which coincidentally will allow me to spend some time with one of my favourite people.  She tells people that we have been friends for twenty years, and I hadn't stopped to absorb that.  It doesn't seem that long...it also seems like forever.  She is someone who has earned my trust, someone that I will drive a few hours to see, someone that I treasure as much as it is possible for me to treasure anyone.

She is a brilliant writer.  She has insight, and a clever way to put words together.  She observes things that I only wish I could see. She is beyond delighted to be here, and it is fun to share in that joy.  This is, I think,  her safe place.

It scares me half to death.

The conference is small and cozy, and in the most unexpected of locations.  Spectacular scenery, very friendly people, seemingly very well planned.  I have an historic room and a four poster bed.  The program is flexible, and I have lots of choice.  It should give me everything that I need.

The problem is that what I need may require me looking at things that I had very firmly sent to a corner with a strict admonition to behave.     What if they come to the party and have a grand old temper tantrum?

And what if I can't write?

Then again, what if I can?