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Monday, Oct. 18, 2004 - 10:44 p.m.

There are times in my life when I realize people were actually listening to something I was jabbering about in the past. This only futher leads me to conclude that I very likely will get into trouble sometime in the future for something I said when I was 14 and hormone-delirious. The most tragic cases of said situations are when kids are around because I simply forget that they can listen to me while coloring, watching a movie, and negotiating their daily cookie quota.

Case number one, when JC's nine year old brother heard a rather risque remark I made before I realized he was in the room. And even though that nine year old cannot possibly know the meaning of the risque remark, he will be sure to repeat it in front of his father the first time you ever meet his father. Then you will be mistaken for the mother of the two youngest kids, causing emotional panic in your boyfriend that is only remedied with scotch.

And thus comes the requisite SuperGeniusKid story. Today she demanded, for the umpteenth time, that I tell her a story that she herself said she "likes." "Alice, tell me that story a....about...a...where Cinderella ends up living with that Swiss banker, and they own a small casino in Las Vegas."

No, I am not trying to corrupt the mind of this kind young girl. My mother, SuperGeniusKid, and I were watching Disney's 'Cinderella', and when the song 'Someday My Prince Will Come' chimed in, I thought, "This is crap." I wanted SuperGeniusKid to know that she will never need her prince to come because she will grow up to be an all-powerful woman who by the sheer magnitude of her genius will outshine any man who is dumb enough to think she needs to be saved. So, mostly for the benefit of my mother, who laughed so hard she almost choked on her lunch, I told SuperGeniusKid that Cinderella really convinced her evil stepmother to let her invest all the money in stocks, hid the money in a Swiss bank account, and then ran off to marry a dignified Swiss banker and run a small casino in Las Vegas. Quite a bit of the humor of the whole story came from the face of SuperGeniuKid, whose expressions said, "And you wonder why I never believe a single thing you say."

Now, though, the story will be told every week, upon her majesty Supergenius' request. And if this means she is one step closer to saying, "You know, princes really aren't that cool or impressive," well then, I will have done my job, uninhibited mouth and all.

*****************************

And, yes, I have a life outside of SuperGeniusKid, and this part is about that. Living in Libby is... reflective... and depressing. The latter is actually because I think I should be living in New York, working odd jobs and living in a crappy apartment with no heat. Because that is what twenty-somethings do, right? I am such an awful twenty-something!

This past Sunday, though, I spent in Whitefish, yuppie headquarters of northwestern Montana. If you want to visit this town, you must wear at least one piece of polar fleece.

Polar fleece-less, I attended The 14th Annual Flathead River Writers Conference. I had to be there at the ungodly hour of 8 am, leaving Kalispell (and Lisie, whose sister let us crash on her couch for the night) at 6:30 am. This was amazingly more tolerable after I bought a latte from teenagers at a local cafe. I didn't know teenagers existed at 6:30 am, so that they were awake gave me faith that I too could make it.

Explaining my disappointment with this writers conference is hard to explain, beyond the fact that they did not place an apostrophe after the 's' in writers in order to make it a possessive noun instead of a noun posing as an adjective. Basically, I think, the particpants of this conference do not compose my group of peers. Most were older than thirty, had children and had careers outside of writing. Now, I totally respect their lives and aspirations; I do believe there is a writer in all of us.

But, I had a hard time feeling like I wanted to get to know them. I told my parents, "It felt more like a 'Desparate to Be Validated in my Aspiration to be a Writer Conference'." And while that sounds totally cruel, it was sincerely how I felt. There were a few guest speakers for whose attendtion over a hundred unpublished writers were fighting. I just didn't need that, so I stuck to the background and ended up taking away a good amount of information about pursuing publication and screenwriting. The latter I am toying around with because it is a lucrative business and one that is constantly demanding more ideas. So, don't be too surprised if time-by-time I write about writing a script and ask for feedback on lame plotlines. Maybe I'll even choose a pseudonym to write under! That would be fun, and you can give me suggestions and feedback on that too.

The one super cool (yes, I said 'super cool') person I did meet at this writers conference is an insurance agent from Bigfork, who earned earned a collge degree with a triple major in biology, English literature, and music. She (Whom I will call 'K'.) is in her thirties and the coolest person I met at this conference because she was not a bit pretensious and gave me all the gossip on the other people in the conference, especially the clique that is The Authors of the Flathead writing community. "See that woman over there? She is totally bitchy; I avoid her." When I told her that I better do so as well because I get mouthy if someone is being bitchy, K said, "I'll totally back you up." If I was unsure of her before that, this statement of comradery sold me.

What is so cool about K, beside her ubersophisticated coolness in personality, is the book she is writing. K's father was involved in the mafia when they lived in New Jersey, before her family moved to Montana to get away from said associations. She was young when they moved and didn't remember a thing until she applied to the FBI, at which time she was showered with questions regarding her father. Then little bits of memory came back with this new piece of information. Her father was involved with the Teamsters and knew Jimmy Hoffa.

You know that a book idea is good when you aren't jealous because you are too anxious to read it instead. This memoir K is writing is that kind of book. I told K that I would be happy to read any drafts. I really hope she takes me up on my offer because I really want to read it. Look out for this book, because I have a feeling it is going to be incredible. Remember, folks, you heard it here first!

And, speaking of literary things, in case you missed it, Eclectica Magazine's newest edition is up, and has a piece by yours truly. Thank you for all the congrats and support!

And remember, you are never too old to begin believing that Cinderella really did create her own fortune and marry a Swiss banker. The small casino in Las Vegas part is optional.

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