For days, the weathermen had been forecasting “THE FLOOD.” With melting snow pack combined with heavy rains, they were suggesting everyone pack up the women and children and move to high ground. Of course, our writers’ retreat was scheduled to be held at Paddler’s Lane , on the scenic banks of the Youghiogheny River in Confluence. “Confluence.” As in the point where the Yough (pronounced “Yawk”) is joined by the Casselman River and the Laurel Hills Creek. As in the place I spend a large portion of my summer at our camp. I scoffed at the panic mongers. Flood? Heck, it floods every spring. I ain’t afraid of no stinking flood. So off I went. Loaded up the car Friday morning under sunny skies and headed east, with joy in my heart. A whole weekend with my Sisters in Crime in a gorgeous house with lots of food. And writing. Oh, yeah. Lots of writing and—better yet—workshops with Ramona Long . First stop: Panera Bread in Uniontown where I met Sandy Stephen, Susan “ West of Mars ” Gottfried, a
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