Today’s post was supposed to be a summary of the Cedar Falls Writers’ Conference – the conference I arrived at a day late, once Hiram was out of the hospital and safely ensconced at home – last week.

I planned to talk about the importance-of-editing-and-proofreading discussion encouraged partly by the How to Be Your Editor’s BFF workshop I presented Thursday and partly by an advertisement one of the conference attendees found. The ad touted a pizza joint by describing one of their menu offerings as “topped with barbequed white children.” (Either the ad meant to say “chicken” instead of “children” or some Iowa pizza joint is giving Fanny Flagg’s Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe some serious competition in the “it’s all in the barbeque” category.)

But my plan to pass along that humorous anecdote, and many others, was thwarted by two unforeseen events.

1. Camp Dorothy went into action Saturday afternoon through Sunday evening due to an unexpected weekend trip by  my brother and his family.
2. A pregnant friend (with 3 other children and a husband on a business trip until Wednesday) was diagnosed with mild pre-eclampsia and is on modified bedrest.

Therefore, my weekend was busy running Camp Dorothy, with no Wheel of Fortune due to the U.S. Open Golf Tournament, which put someone’s nose out of joint. Today I’m taking my friend’s three kids to the pool (the ultimate sacrifice on a hot, sunny day) and delivering supper to them.

So there’s just not time to tell you about the aspiring writers at the conference.
Or about several people who’ve been published since the last conference.
Or about how pleasant it is to teach people who know how to share,
who don’t need reminders to keep their hands and feet to themselves,
and who always say please and thank you.

There’s no time because Camp Dorothy put me a little behind on the weekend’s work. And today, instead of dedicating the entire day to writing, I’m busy digging out my swim suit, beach towel, and sunglasses. And the sunscreen. My yes, the sunscreen for me and the three little ones, too. Lots of sunscreen. Cause there’s no way I’ll deliver three barbequed white children to my friend’s house for supper.

That just wouldn’t be write right.