A few weeks back, the Mild Wife and I decided to check out the Bay Area Book Festival. It was close enough to us that we figured it'd be fun to check out, and we both do some writing. In my case it's much more of a hobby (you are reading my personal, just-for-funsies blog, after all), but I do like to write nevertheless. Hell, I even write a small piece of fiction every now and then. Basically, we were excited enough about the concept of a bunch of workshops dedicated to books and to writing that we decided to partake in the festival.
Now, the festival lasted the whole weekend, so there were quite a few moments that the Mild Wife and I enjoyed from the whole process. Better yet, the Mild Wife and I didn't go to the same sessions all weekend long, so we often had fun comparing notes and reporting amusing anecdotes from our respective experiences. There was one guy who spoke to the Japanese author in Japanese and knew just a tad too much about Japanese literature for it to seem healthy for him. There were other writers who humblebragged (yes, that's a word) about how they couldn't seem to write any more than thirty thousand words. Note, that's thousands of words. Most of my short stories are measured in hundreds of words, and even the really long ones tend to top out around two thousand words.
Still, the funniest moments happened to the Mild Wife and I together. Maybe it was just because we were together and we had someone to laugh with, but the loudest guffaws and most amusing moments came while we were either sitting or standing next to each other.
For starters, the number of people who didn't understand the priority seating system was ridiculously high. In a nutshell, you could either buy a general admission ticket for the entire weekend or you could buy priority seating for an individual session. As you can imagine, you get to skip the line and jump directly to the front if you buy the priority seating. However, we heard a ridiculously high number of complaints about how "buying tickets" before hand didn't do any good, and how people still had to stand in line.
Well, yes, you have to stand in the general admission line if you buy a general admission ticket. That's sort of what the "general" in the phrase means. Remember, these are folks who pride themselves on either reading books or writing books. Words matter to these folks. Yet, somehow, that part of their brains immediately turned off as soon as they stood in line.
We sort of mumbled about it to ourselves when we noticed, but as it kept happening, it was harder and harder to ignore. The more the well-educated, well-to-do book worms complained about the line, the funnier it got. I mean, it's not really that funny when people complain for no good reason, but by about the time the seventh or eighth person in our general vicinity bemoaned their fate, the Mild Wife and I were trying to stifle guffaws. It was just ironic and amusing to us.
Still, that was nothing compared to our absolute favorite moment from the whole weekend. We were in a session about the publishing industry, and how all of that works. It was enlightening in many ways, and, as you can imagine, the session was pretty packed with aspiring writers. Given that, the panelists left plenty of time for questions from the audience.
That's all the back drop I will give you, and I'll simply leave a copy of the exchange below:
Audience Member: "So, I have a question ..."
Panel Moderator: "Yes?"
Audience Member: "So, let's say you've written just the best children's book, and you've got an awesome illustrator. Like, this person is from Japan and they do the best work ..."
Now, the person asking the question didn't actually pause or trail off here, but I feel the need to interject. By this point, I'm assuming you're having roughly the same reaction that the Mild Wife and I had: some combination of amusement, bewilderment, and jaw-dropping. Anyhow, let me return you to the actual conversation with that in mind.
Audience Member: "... but you're really not sure how to get your work published. I mean, you know this is a good book, but you're having a hard time with the publishing side of it all ..."
Panel Moderator: "Yeah, hypothetically speaking."
It was the response that really burst the dams holding back the laughter. Heck, I don't think I have the wording exactly right (it might have been something like, "let's say ..."), but the general intent of it was what really made the moment. Why, that's an oddly specific set of circumstances you're describing there, Audience Member. However did you come up with it?
I wasn't the only one to crack up, either. The Mild Wife was right there with me, as was the entire rest of the room. A huge roar of laughter erupted with that one pithy remark. If nothing else taught me the value of the right words at the right time during that weekend, that one remark would have done it. It only took about three words to sum up that complex set of emotions and sentiments, and it was amusing as all hell.
Words are fun, kids.
Now, the festival lasted the whole weekend, so there were quite a few moments that the Mild Wife and I enjoyed from the whole process. Better yet, the Mild Wife and I didn't go to the same sessions all weekend long, so we often had fun comparing notes and reporting amusing anecdotes from our respective experiences. There was one guy who spoke to the Japanese author in Japanese and knew just a tad too much about Japanese literature for it to seem healthy for him. There were other writers who humblebragged (yes, that's a word) about how they couldn't seem to write any more than thirty thousand words. Note, that's thousands of words. Most of my short stories are measured in hundreds of words, and even the really long ones tend to top out around two thousand words.
Still, the funniest moments happened to the Mild Wife and I together. Maybe it was just because we were together and we had someone to laugh with, but the loudest guffaws and most amusing moments came while we were either sitting or standing next to each other.
For starters, the number of people who didn't understand the priority seating system was ridiculously high. In a nutshell, you could either buy a general admission ticket for the entire weekend or you could buy priority seating for an individual session. As you can imagine, you get to skip the line and jump directly to the front if you buy the priority seating. However, we heard a ridiculously high number of complaints about how "buying tickets" before hand didn't do any good, and how people still had to stand in line.
Well, yes, you have to stand in the general admission line if you buy a general admission ticket. That's sort of what the "general" in the phrase means. Remember, these are folks who pride themselves on either reading books or writing books. Words matter to these folks. Yet, somehow, that part of their brains immediately turned off as soon as they stood in line.
We sort of mumbled about it to ourselves when we noticed, but as it kept happening, it was harder and harder to ignore. The more the well-educated, well-to-do book worms complained about the line, the funnier it got. I mean, it's not really that funny when people complain for no good reason, but by about the time the seventh or eighth person in our general vicinity bemoaned their fate, the Mild Wife and I were trying to stifle guffaws. It was just ironic and amusing to us.
Still, that was nothing compared to our absolute favorite moment from the whole weekend. We were in a session about the publishing industry, and how all of that works. It was enlightening in many ways, and, as you can imagine, the session was pretty packed with aspiring writers. Given that, the panelists left plenty of time for questions from the audience.
That's all the back drop I will give you, and I'll simply leave a copy of the exchange below:
Audience Member: "So, I have a question ..."
Panel Moderator: "Yes?"
Audience Member: "So, let's say you've written just the best children's book, and you've got an awesome illustrator. Like, this person is from Japan and they do the best work ..."
Now, the person asking the question didn't actually pause or trail off here, but I feel the need to interject. By this point, I'm assuming you're having roughly the same reaction that the Mild Wife and I had: some combination of amusement, bewilderment, and jaw-dropping. Anyhow, let me return you to the actual conversation with that in mind.
Audience Member: "... but you're really not sure how to get your work published. I mean, you know this is a good book, but you're having a hard time with the publishing side of it all ..."
Panel Moderator: "Yeah, hypothetically speaking."
It was the response that really burst the dams holding back the laughter. Heck, I don't think I have the wording exactly right (it might have been something like, "let's say ..."), but the general intent of it was what really made the moment. Why, that's an oddly specific set of circumstances you're describing there, Audience Member. However did you come up with it?
I wasn't the only one to crack up, either. The Mild Wife was right there with me, as was the entire rest of the room. A huge roar of laughter erupted with that one pithy remark. If nothing else taught me the value of the right words at the right time during that weekend, that one remark would have done it. It only took about three words to sum up that complex set of emotions and sentiments, and it was amusing as all hell.
Words are fun, kids.
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