Clarion West '97

I know what you're thinking. This is a picture of a stuffed frog. What the heck does a stuffed frog have to do with Clarion West? Clarion West, aka the sf/f writers' boot camp, the infernal crucible, the six-week-long marathon writing/critiquing/suffering session set in sunny Seattle (well, it's mostly sunny during the summer). What the heck does a frog have to do with it??

The frog is crucial, my friend. Absolutely crucial.

See, one of the things that happens at Clarion, perhaps the most important thing, is that you get to have seventeen or so other people, including a famous writer you probably respect and admire, slash and burn your precious stories, your babies, the loves of your life. And you, you have paid for this privilege. You have dropped job and friends and sweetheart to come and sweat in Seattle. You have practically begged to be given this opportunity, to have your heart ripped out and stomped upon, sliced into tiny shreds -- and the blades just get sharper and sharper as the weeks pass, even though the hands that wield them mean well.

In this sort of situation, it is difficult to feel warmth towards those people sitting in the room with you. And friends and family, as noted earlier, are far far away. At that point, you are alone. You are friendless. You are a tiny shrivelled bit of nothing that dared, DARED, to think that you might someday become a writer.

That is when you clutch the frog. It loves you. It is the only thing in the world, in the whole wretched universe, that loves you.

NOTE: The button reads, "Oh no! Not another learning experience!"