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I host the Writers Workshop every year. I don't make money, I spend a great deal of money. I do it for many reasons, the first being that I simply love the city. Katrina hit Miami and then New Orleans during a week when I had just been there filming an ad for Ghost Walk--which takes place in New Orleans. After the hurricane, Bayley Crow, flooded out of home and school, came to live with us for several months, and she and Chynna are still best friends. Onward. It was my sister's favorite city in the whole world. I could go on and on. But my first trip back, I heard from friends that they were grateful for all that was being done for them, but what they truly wanted was to get back to work. You need people in a tourist city for other people to work. So, in a matter of months, we threw together our first Writers for New Orleans.
We do put on a heck of a good thing, I think. Great parties, good workshops, and basket sales that benefit the library foundation. Kathy Love and Erin McCarthy host a welcome party every year. Cherry Adair hosted tea with English scones and cakes. Helen Rosburg throws an event, and she knows how to throw one major party. We put on something like dinner theater. My writer friends play and we have a band. It's great. Those who come do so not because they can guarantee they will be able to make a deal on a bestseller--though they might, we do get wonderful editors!--but because they're into the whole concept. I'm thrilled to say that many have been back several times, and that many are writing about the city, returning on their own, and falling in love as I did. So, we're on a roll. It's an annual event.
And then we hit the summer of 2008.
You know, it's the in between stuff that gets you every time.
Now, I live in Florida. You can guarantee that any time from June to November, there might be a storm out there, or several storms. We all watch them, pray they'll miss us, and pity the people who are hit, while thanking God that it's them and not us. That's the way it goes. The southern, and even the northern, east coast folk know this. So do those in the Gulf, Cuba, the Caribbean, and beyond. That's the way it goes. We roll with the punches, nothing else to do.
But 2008 . . . .
Those wretched storms just bounced all over. And as I arrived in New Orleans early, the news about the storms became grim. So--let's just cancel. Can't--not because of our hotel. They've always had an agreement that we can cancel if the weather is threatening the city. But at that point, it was iffy. The storm was going to Texas. Can't trust those suckers, never know quite where they'll land. And, as the week progressed, N.O. was not being told to evacuate. Helen's party was Friday night; we were informed that we had passed our cancel date--there would be a party with or without us. Well, then, okay. Those of us here will definitely show.
So, luckily, we first get in Kathy’s and Erin's welcome party. They are my rocks, pitching in from the start, staying loyally with the plan.
Dancing. My girls are into it--and I have sons who dance and plenty of husbands and others who show. But then again, lots of my friends from FRW go and we're not proud, we're used to dancing with each other!
Then Helen's.
It was a great party. The world's most unbelievable food. Marilyn and Shannon doing readings, Lynn doing pictures, parlor games, guests beautiful in costumes or street clothing, their choice.
Thank God!
The next morning, Paul Wilson and Cathy Maxwell speak. They're wonderful together. Different genres, different perspectives and histories, and I love it because we all realize that no two authors will ever take the exact same path.
Then . . . .
The dreaded wrench-away of the microphone! No warning--the city has said to evacuate. Now.
We're dumbstruck. Devastated. But it is what it is. So, tell people, apologize for the weather, promise all registrations will be returned, and lock up what can't be taken away, like Connie's amazing costume assortment and her decorations for the dinner. This means we're the last out of the hotel.
Then, my group has to get it together and leave. My nephew, his wife, and their baby have a rented car--they decide they'll just drive it home. A best friend since I was fifteen is there with his wife and baby and mother-in-law. They will hop in the rental with my son, and drive on to Miami. Two babies taking a chance at spending a night in the airport? No, I think they're right. Drive, I say, drive!
So. We have two cars. Connie's, and my sister's sister-in-law Teresa's rental. In these two vehicles we have to get my five children, husband, Alex Sokoloff, James Gilbride, Jessica Magazine, daughter-in-law Zhenia, Al and Josh Perry--and Connie and Teresa, of course. It is like that very old commercial in which 20 clowns emerge from a Volkswagon bug. We have to stop by the hospital first because Josh has an infection. The poor nurse on duty nearly had heart failure, watching us all walk in as the city tried to evacuate. She was confused but relieved when she learned there was just one patient, the rest of us were along for the ride.
Josh is seen and set. We take off again. Chynna is stretched across three laps in the back, which is pretty funny if you know her--she's six feet even. I have real luggage--not overnight bags--on my lap. But we're moving, heading in the snail-like flow of traffic to the airport.
Then, we see an open Burger King. Ahha! Food, there will be no food at the airport, so we'll be smart and get in line. We think we'll cleverly outwit the drive-thru by going inside. Except we discover, after trying to be so clever, that no one else has been that clever because only the drive-thru is open. So, we have time. We have a list. Whopper, Whopper with Cheese, two regular hamburgers, shake . . . finally, after half an hour, I'm at the window with my list. "Whopper--" I begin. "Chicken, we have chicken!" a weary and irate voice tells me through the speaker. Okay. We bought two hundred dollars worth of chicken.
Which was good. When we got to the airport, I saw Barbara Vey from PW sitting near the store where they had drinks and chips and candy, but nothing else. I tried to apologize to her, and she just told me how wonderfully nice everyone had been at the airport. She was just a little hungry.
No problem. I had two hundred dollars worth of BK chicken!
Some of us made it out right away. About twelve of us spent the night. But it was great; Barbara is amazing. She told me it was a wonderful adventure. Alex just got busy creating rooms out of suitcases for us to use for sleeping quarters. We talked most of the night; it was a great slumber party.
The sad part was my daughter Chynna. We were heading with her straight to California for her first semester of college. On Saturday night, she'd been supposed to meet up with a bunch of friends after the dinner theater. She never got her chance to see them, and she was leaving home for the first time. But she was with her oldest brother and many of my friends who love her, so it was some solace.
Come the morning and our military meals. Many may not agree, but it was worth it for me just to watch people with their meals. "Cut open with Swiss Army Knife. Hm, we're in the airport. Anyone have a Swiss Army Knife?"
Barbara was again great. She just needed me to film her with her meal for her blog!
By the afternoon, we were all flying away.
Connie and Al and my two sons--who were going to go back with her when possible to pack up--were headed for Lafayette. The weather service warned that now, Lafayette was going to get more of it than New Orleans. They paused in Lafayette, and headed for the airport in Houston. We all wound up in California.
Bryee, Jessica, James, and Teresa had been on a plane to Miami standby. My very tall friend and guitarist, Dave Simms, and his girlfriend, Tracey, had already gotten on that plane--even though they were headed to Massachusetts. They teased the others as they got on. As it happened, there were four seats left, and so the young crew were able to get on. In first class. Since Dave had teased them, they waited until the entire plane exited so that they could be in their first class seats as very, very tall Dave deplaned. They had to tease in return. And they said they all had a good chuckle over it, and since Dave and Tracey were then stuck in Miami, Bryee-Annon took them home for the night.
Well, I wrote letters of apology to everyone and suggested that maybe in the future I should change the date. But what a pack of troupers. No, people love the date. And it was an experience. People go to a zillion conferences. They run together. Will they ever forget that one? No!
So, I am grateful. Grateful for an evacuation in which I saw nothing but amazing behavior by people--even strangers--and where I also learned that I have acquired amazing friends who will weather just about anything in an effort to get together, and to give.
Connie and I are now setting up the next Writers Workshop and I'm looking back. And, once again, I'm grateful.
Okay, so no, I DON'T want to do it again! That meaning NO I don’t want to evacuate.
I look forward to all of us meeting again on September 4th and this time enjoying the entire workshop!!
See you in the “Big Easy.”
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