I must confess that I have a phobia of picnic food. Even when that picnic food is an assortment of gorgeous, mouthwatering dishes made by people who are arguably some of the best cooks and most astute foodies on the West Coast.
I blame my phobia on my mentor in college, a wise-cracking genius biology professor who took great delight in describing the horrors that percolate in the pretty dishes that sit atop picnic tables. I won’t trouble your mind by recounting his tales, nor describe the experiments that we conducted in Microbiology lab to isolate the devious organisms that multiply invisibly in sultry summer heat.
No. I will not. Just because I’m missing out doesn't mean you should.
And besides: I didn’t go to the Food Blogger’s Picnic for the food; I went for the people. Over the last year, I’ve been repeatedly inspired and astounded by the myriad bloggers who take the time to write about their lives, whether it is what they’re reading or what they’re eating, sharing details that are both comfortingly familiar and startlingly fresh.
The best part about most bloggers is that they’re not writers per se. They haven’t learned yet to edit all the juice out of their work; they write exactly what they feel: the amazement, the anger, the frustration, the delight. It’s all there: imaginative, irreverent, and completely absorbing.
An assortment of blogs have reminded me, time and time again, that in my attempt to write for a living, I must remember that my work is only as compelling as the spirit behind it.
Thank you Oliver and Sam and Amy and Dr. Biggles, and everyone else who arranged the event; it was lovely to meet all of you, and so many other people whose blogs I’ve spent many enjoyable hours reading through. It was wonderful to finally put faces with names…I may not have sampled whatever delectable dish you brought, but chances are good that I’ve read your blog, and I’ve been inspired.
Keep on writing... and I'll keep reading.
