I attended the Ozarks Writers League Conference (OWL) last weekend. It was my last conference of the year, and I quite enjoyed it. Watching my fellow authors win awards for their creations filled me with joy. I was blessed to place in two competitions, myself, and that made me pretty happy, too.
The very first conference I ever attended was OWL. That's been several years ago, and I have missed very few OWL conferences since. There's so much knowledge to be gathered, not only from the talented speakers but from the membership, as well.
We had brilliant presentations on editing, artificial intelligence, self-publishing, and website health. Each speaker was engaging and informative. The day flew by as I took page upon page of notes. We also had several authors with book tables, a literary magazine editor, and a publisher table. I left inspired and ready to write.
While I had a lot of fun at the conference, the real adventure occurred on the way home. When I had Raven (my Charger) all loaded and hit the starter, a low tire pressure warning flashed. Because my trunk was loaded with luggage from my stay and the rolling bag of books from the book signing, my air compressor was buried good and well.
I drove to the nearest Casey's, which happened to be in Branson West, and pulled up beside the air compressor. Next to the credit card swiper, someone had written, "Don't waste your money. Doesn't work."
So, I kept on driving. I next pulled into a ConocoPhillips station. This air compressor didn't have any warnings written on it. It accepted quarters only, and the price was $2.00. While I wasn't happy about it, I dug $2.00 in quarters from my wallet and plunked them into the slot. Nothing happened. I did everything I could think to get my air, but nothing happened.
The compressor happened to be located at such an angle that put me in the path to one of the gas pumps. While I messed with the air chuck, cars and trucks were sliding past me with not nearly enough space for my comfort.
I finally gave up and got back in the car. I drove around until I found a nice big, empty, relatively safe looking parking lot. I parked, popped the truck, and unloaded enough luggage to get my hands on my portable air compressor. Then I set to work airing up both of my back tires, one of which was doing its best pancake impression by that point.
Once both tires had sufficient air, I plugged my phone into my car and pulled up Google Maps to find my way home from this unfamiliar place. I told it to begin navigation and immediately questioned the lovely piece of technology. My internal compass was telling me I should turn right, but the navigation insisted I should turn left. Since I didn't know exactly where I was, I turned left. I lived to regret that.
My typical route to Branson is quite straightforward. I take a total of four highways, all of which have speed limits of at least 60 miles per hour. Simple. The way my phone directed me home involved several roads and highways in need of repairs. I passed through quite a few small towns with stereotypical speed traps. The speed limit often dropped to 35 miles an hour or lower, which was quite irksome considering my desire to get home as quickly as possible.
Under the right circumstances, the drive would have been beautiful. At one point, I had stop for some chickens in the road. If I had been wanting a scenic trip through the mountains, that route would have been perfect. However, I was tired, hungry, and ready to be home with my husband and my cat.
Once home, I hugged my husband and settled into my recliner. Then I regaled him with the details of my weekend adventure. It was so good to be home.
Thank you for reading Ozarks Maven! If you’ve enjoyed my little seeds of wisdom and joy, please join me again next week for more Ozarks Maven.
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