Today was the last day of the Rainforest Writers' Retreat: Day 3 for me but Day 5 for writers who had been there from the beginning. I had breakfast with a group of younger writers, and I took the opportunity to ask them whom they read. The answer summarized to "not what I read." A lot of fantasy, especially series fantasy; a lot of newer writers, the only one of which I am familiar with was Elizabeth Bear; almost no "classic" SF, except for Ursula LeGuin, who is not only wonderful but local to the Pacific Northwest. Almost none of them read the SF magazines. Breakfast was enjoyable, but I ended up feeling like an alien. A very old alien. Here is the breakfast room, looking out on lots of snow:
Later in the day, Retreat organizer Patrick Swenson conducted the closing ceremony. There were drawings for various donated gifts (including a copy of my latest novel, STEAL ACROSS THE SKY). There were jokes about yesterday's late-night pajama party, which of course I missed due to still being on East Coast time. There was a snowball fight just outside on the deck, and the obligatory group picture. There was also a prize for the person who wrote the most words during the Retreat. This was won by San Inman, who wrote an astonishing 20,084 words over five days.
San Inman, Most Prolific
The drive back to Seattle featured snow, rain, sun, fog, and hail. We were momentarily expecting frogs and blood. I thought Rochester had variable weather, but it can't compare to Washington. They won't even know when global warming brings chaotic weather; it will just look like more of the same.