I was there and thought it was so enjoyable. I particularly loved the idea of microfiction. Never heard of microfiction before. And I enjoyed meeting Ron and seeing Dune-AHH again. It was a wonderful way to spend a SoWal morning. I won't be back until August, but I'll definitely come to the SoWal Writer Group if it's going on then.
Also, there's a fun series of books all titled "It Was a Dark and Stormy Night that are based on a university-sponsored competition in which people write the worst opening sentence to a novel. The books, published each year, have the best entries of the year. Some of the entries are hilarious. Here the online links for some of the 2007 and 2008 results:
2007 Results
2008 Results
And here are a few of the entries:
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, not even a sharp knife, but a dull one from that set of cheap knives you received as a wedding gift in a faux wooden block; the one you told yourself you'd replace, but in the end, forgot about because your husband ran off with another man, that kind of knife.
I was in a back alley in Fiji, fighting desperately and silently for my life, fighting desperately for oxygen, clawing at the calm and almost gentle pressure of the fabric held over my face by implacable, ebony thighs when I realized -- he was killing me softly with his sarong.
"Hmm . . ." thought Abigail as she gazed languidly from the veranda past the bright white patio to the cerulean sea beyond, where dolphins played and seagulls sang, where splashing surf sounded like the tintinnabulation of a thousand tiny bells, where great gray whales bellowed and the sunlight sparkled off the myriad of sequins on the flyfish's bow ties, "time to get my meds checked."
Dorothy had reasons to be nervous: a young girl alone in a strange land, traveling with three weird, insecure males badly in need of psychiatric help; she tucked her feet under her skirt to keep the night's chill (and lewd stares) away and made sure one more time that the gun was secured in her yet-to-develop bosom.
Bill swore the affair had ended, but Louise knew he was lying, after discovering Tupperware containers under the seat of his car, which were not the off-brand containers that she bought to save money, but authentic, burpable, lidded Tupperware; and she knew he would see that woman again, because unlike the flimsy, fake containers that should always be recycled responsibly, real Tupperware must be returned to its rightful owner.
Don't forget us when you're famous. 
