I warn you now: I'm not going to try to be brief.
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The first page in my paper journal says:


It says little else intelligible. Eight hour jet lag and nerves will do that to you.

I arrived in San Diego without any luggage mishaps or travel emergencies and got to the USCD campus by the age-old method of pointing at the map, talking loudly, and waving my arms. Taxi man was very nice, but neither of us could understand the other's accent. And yes, we were both speaking English as a first language.

The campus was rather strange: white concrete, canyons of cream-white buildings, more blinding white concrete pavements and an unreal blue sky overhead.  (One day, I'll post a google map campus view, but I'm damned if I can find the right place now). I managed to wander cream-coloured concrete canyons for a good 20 minutes, before arriving at a building labelled Middle Earth.

"You know, I bet if I stand here long enough, Clarionites will appear," I said to a passing seagull.

Three minutes later, they did, and all was well. I helped drag bags, boxes and a hot pot from Shweta's car, and together we paraded back through the canyons and found our appointed residences where I promptly forgot everyone's names and hoped name tags would become part of my life very soon.


As I discovered, there was in fact another shower and toilet hidden upstairs, though I didn't find them until about Tuesday.  There were no coat hangers. None. Dear Future Clarionling, you'll have large draws under the bed, but bring coat hangers. Also, the dorm-supplied towels are the size of postage stamps. Bring towels, people.

All told, our workshop took up four flats: two in one building, three in another across the "canyon". All the apartments besides mine were spread out across a single floor, but were otherwise much the same.

Here's the roof of the laundry building, along the track from our block:



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Meeting people


During the next six weeks, that quote was shouted up at windows and down stairs. It got taken to the beach several times.


I'd never been to a SF convention or had non-e-friends who read speculative fiction. I'd also never interacted with anyone with a writer's brain. To suddenly meet, not one, but half a dozen others. . . well: Wow.

We stayed up past midnight, discussing short stories, finishing each others' sentences at times. And when a story came up that half of us could quote from but none could name, there was mass-googling-into-action. It was "Cruel Sister" by Patricia C. Wrede and we were all very pleased with ourselves. Kudos to Betsy who identified the name 30 seconds before everyone else! :)

I rather think I talked like a maniac during the first week. With relief at not being made to sit on the beach (as per week zero anxiety dreams) and with delight that, yeah, I was here, and the people were all kinds of awesome.

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Several other events of note occurred before the "Workshop" part of the week even started,.

1. The Cliff. Not so much an event, as a series of events. I promise, I never fell off them. Unlike Greg.


2. The Finding and Naming of Dr Sneag. Dr Sneag appears in various photo so should really get a mention somewhere in this post.

Once, on a completely not dark or stormy day, a  car full of Clarionites and Greg Frost went on a quest for coat hangers, mugs and the fabled Target. An opticians next to a subway (eyeball sandwiches, yum!) appeared, shortly followed by a mildly scary puppet. 

Dr Sneag (the puppet, not the eye doctor) became something of a mascot. He appears in various strange places, like in the cover page of the Dead Romans anthology. Currently, he sits in my front window an weirds out the postman.

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The workshop:

_{not really, guys. I figured out who was who quite quickly!}

Our days fell into this pattern:

7.30 - 8.50 Breakfast. Choice of: doughnut/pseudo-chocolate pastrythings; cereal (if you could find it); meat products including bacon & sausage; scrambled egg; scrambled egg with yesterday's diced meat products; potato; waffle/pancake/roundishthing; maybe a tray of mini bagels. A fruit bar appeared mysteriously around week 4. Coffee, tea and hot chocolate was available.


9.00 - 12.00 Workshop!

12.00 - 13.00 Lunch. Lunch = something brown, something in red sauce, something in a bun. A salad bar (after week 1), chips/fries, bread, m&m/chocolate chip biscuits or brownies or strangeyellowcake. Pizza appeared erratically until around week 4.

Greg tells a convention anecdote. Reactions are mixed


13.00 - 6.30 Personal Conferences & Whatever. Possibly writing, critting or sleeping.

The evening schedule varied from week to week.

Week 1 included cliff walks, evening discussions, and *gasp*writing.

In a massive fit of wordbarfing, I managed something approaching 5,000 words and a full overhaul-edit in my first three days, finishing up a story I'd started a week before Clarion.  The Diamond story (it still doesn't have a proper title) was critiqued on Tuesday and was the third thing to be thrown to the wolves critiqued.  I learned quickly that consensus is a rare thing. Yay for Conflicting Advice! :) 

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I've really gone on for too long already about Clarion San Diego, year 1, week 1, but it seemed to last forever.

So it's time for lots&lots of photos. Most of these I took myself, ones that come from the communal pool have an *.

Somewhere along the line, we had a reception in a courtyard and meeting room elsewhere on campus. I'm not going to be able to remember everyone who was there, and I didn't have my camera. I'll particularly mention Nancy Holder (she's below, later in the week at her reading at Mysterious Galaxy), David Brin and Vernor Vinge, both of whom dropped by for chats in later weeks.


What would a workshop be without waterfights?



Chalk! On our first epic journey to Target, I picked up a four-pack of giant crayola chalk. I was very glad I did.... I started a trend. :)
_{Dear Future Clarionites, we left you massive amounts of chalk. And next year, I want pictures. K?}

* *


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Blogging of the workshop was massively discouraged and, to be honest, I was glad. Last year, I kept a weather eye on various Clarion blogs (past and present), and was thoroughly unnerved by what I could read between the lines.

It made me wonder when our perfect workshop gang would break ranks and go to war with one another.

At this point, I suggested the name of the “Moron Room”: a large empty, windowless room in apartment B/S/J/D/J (mine). Remembering the stories of loathing and woe of Clarions-past, I asked people to order me into the Moron Room if I started acting like a moron. I would do likewise if there were any other outbreaks of moronicity.

(It was never needed, thank goodness)

We were also warned off walking around at night -- or at _any_ time in the Eucalyptus forest -- because of
1) Rattlesnakes
2)OMG DANGEROUSHOMELESSPEOPLE.

I know Tania, the coordinator, was simply concerned for our safely, but it really was not that dangerous. I eventually overcame these warnings and went walking: I came across exactly zero dangerous persons wielding rattlesnakes.


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Robert Crais, mystery writer, former scriptwriter and Clarion graduate, came to visit. We all went for dinner.



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End of the week.

Greg Passes the Sneag

*

 More photographs are here

Coming soon. . . Week 2 & Dead Romans