Take a healthy concentration of classroom time with a pair of fine writers, stir in guest appearances by Science Fiction's greatest names, a tour of Paramount Studios, being escorted through LA in stretch limos, and a week's worth of hanging around 14 or so talented newcommers, and you've pretty much got the flavor of what attending the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future workshop is like.

Oh, yeah, and don't forget that you write at least one story during the week.

. . . and critique at least 13.

And then there's a trip to the library, and time spent gathering ideas from people you meet on the street. And the awards ceremony. And a couple other receptions. And the tour of Mr. Hubbard's museum as well as the Authors' Services building.

Needless to say, attending this workshop can keep a body busy. Of course, I had no real idea of what to expect before I arrived.

A few friends of mine had been to Clarion, so I did what any normal neo-pro would do. I listened to them, and made an assumption or two that said the experience would be similar. In retrospect, however, I'm not sure the experiences are that similar.

Where Clarion seems to be a drawn-out marathon that creates, then stretches friendships. WotF is a sprint that throws people together over a simmering flame and lets them sort out what they're going to accomplish on their own. Where Clarion seems to be attended by people who can write pretty well and want to write better, WotF (at least the session I was at) is attended by people on the fringe of making it, people who have generally been writing for a while. By definition, everyone at WotF will have made a professional sale by the end of the weekend.

Not that it's a competition, or anything.

Dave Wolverton made a point of saying that his records show 93% of all WotF attendees go on to sell professionally again. I don't know what Clarion's record is--but I can't see that it can be much better than this.

93% of all WotF attendees go on to sell professionally again.

Let me lay it out straight, being a participant in this weekend was an honor and a total thrill for me. It was everything I had hoped, but different at the same time. As a new writer, the idea of aweek in LA doing nothing but writing-related stuff gave me goosebumps. But this came with full knowledge that I was going to be judged once again by professional writers, that a first draft of mine was going to be dissected by people who make a good living in the industry. The Writers of the Future contest is intimidating like that, you know? It's a big thing, and with no background to base ideas on, it's easy to let the idea that you'll be under some spotlights get one a little, shall we say nervous?

Once I was there, however, that feeling went away quickly.

The daily workshop was run in a two-phase approach, the morning being filled with classroom work and the afternoon with homework. It was made known that you were expected to write at least one story before the week was over. I had arrived with the goal of writing at least two, so that didn't bother me at all. The bottom line for me was that the workshop was actually refreshingly low key.

Evenings were for writing (although I think a few of us slipped away for sightseeing and whatnot). The people in our group got along quite well, and when a story was stuck breaks generally consisted of various parts of the group running into each other down in the hotel lobby for general chatting and bemoaning our inability to write . . . you know . . . the ususal neo-pro discussions!

The tales we had written during the week were due 9:00 Wednseday night, and we received a pile of manuscripts at the end of the classroom session the next day. From that point on, our lives were filled with reading and critting. The workshop finished with a Clarion-style discussion of each effort, the author being allowed to speak only after all comments were complete.

And so it went.

I could go on, I suppose. The awards dinner and ceremony was first class--a black-tie affair all the way. Books were signed, and pictures taken. Munchies and drinks were had by all. And in the end, I think I ended up averaging three-and-a-half hours of sleep a night.

Don't get me wrong, here, though. I could have slept more. But you see, I wrote the first drafts of eight stories during the week I was at the workshop.

That's right. Eight.

The best news of all is that I think at least five of them will eventually make good, professional tales. The other three, you ask? Well . . . you win some you lose some.

I've actually been debating whether or not I should even comment upon the ghost of Scientology that seems to hang around the contest as a whole. But in the end I decided that since I've heard so much negative propaganda on the subject, I think it best that I record what I saw.

L. Ron Hubbard spent a good deal of his life developing the concepts that Scientologists' use to guide their own lives. And, I'll admit that I was a bit uncomfortable when I walked into the place. After all, I had heard so many hushed whispers of brainwashing and seen so many new writers who adamantly proclaimed they would never interact with such cultish figures. I had never personally met anyone who I knew to be a Scientologist, but how could I not be a little on-edge after hearing such?

Looking back on it, I can now speak for myself. So this is one man's opinion based only on how I saw it and how I experienced it. Take it for what it's worth.

What I found in Los Angeles was a group of people who know what they want. What I saw was confidence, and a fairly clear understanding of what was going on. What I saw were postive people who worked hard to get things right--but admittedly made a few mistakes.

No one pushed me to join them. No one prodded me. There wasn't a brainwashing machine in sight. People at the Scientology Center were just there, doing what Scientologists do and seeming to be pretty danged happy about it.

Yes, that's an intimidating set of qualities. It's a set of qualities that can make people "outside the circle" feel that those "inside the circle" think they are somehow superior.

Get over it, says I.

Frederick the Great once said, "All religions must be tolerated, for every man must get to heaven in his own way."

You might think Scientologist's are misguided, and you might think they are a tad aggressive in protecting their turf. The way Scientologists use L. Ron Hubbard as a figurehead may make you uncomfortable.

I don't know.

Perhaps I'm even swayed by the way I view my own spirituality, which we won't get into here because I'm not certain I could convey it adequately.

But after having been in a central hub of Scientology's world, I would say that a few folks might do well to heed Frederick's words. I mean, here's a group of folks who worked really hard to make the week of 14 or so new writers.

I say we give 'em a break, okay?


More information on the WotF Class of '98