A decade ago I lived north of Seattle in a town called Edmonds. It's a smallish town, sitting right on the Puget Sound, with a beautiful marina, a busy Ferry terminal, and an incredible view of the islands in the Sound, the ships headed for the sea, and the mountains of the Olympic Peninsula, which some mornings look as if they too are sailing away. The Edmonds waterfront was a balm to my troubled soul on days when the rain wouldn't stop, the toddler was grumpy, or the baby wouldn't nap. While Taylor slept in her carseat Zane would stand on the front seat, naming ships and talking about where they were going to. It didn't matter what the weather was like or how irritable we were, a half an hour there, sitting in the car, watching the ships go by, always made life seem better.

Edmonds is also where I became a "real writer" who was actually paid to put words on paper. It wasn't a lot but it was real money and it made me feel wonderful. When we moved I lost my momentum and didn't write for several years. The other day I was trolling around the internet and stumbled on a notice about Write on the Sound, a writer's conference in Edmonds. The conference is an annual event that I never had the time or money to attend when I lived there. Years later, when I had the time, I was living in California and couldn't justify a plane ticket and hotel for an event I had never made an effort to go to when I lived six blocks from it. Now I live sixty miles away; close enough to make a weekend conference seem a little less like an indulgence and more like a good investment in the career that has been languishing since I moved away. Honestly I'm a little frightened. The first weekend of October I am driving north and for a few days I'm going to be a writer again...

But during the breaks it's possible you might find me parked on the waterfront remembering my babies.