I’m in Delaware attending the Writers at the Beach writer’s conference rooming in a slightly faded  mid-century modern hotel with a good friend.

It’s kinda like a slumber party. Fun to be sharing a room, talking, listening to music. Laughing a lot.

Dreary, dark rainy morning but it’s fun to be doing this — getting out of the normal routine — living the groovy writer’s life. At the beach in winter.

Something about being at the beach in winter. I’m thinking of Louis Malle’s "Atlantic City" or "Julia" with Jane Fonda as Lillian Hellman.

Last night, after dinner at an ultra-Victorian style restaurants with fringed lampshades, pink velvet and teacups on dispaly, we took a walk on the dark, empty beach until the rain starting coming down.

I love the moodiness of this place. In the summer, I hear it’s quite the hot spot.

Last night there was a ‘meet and greet’ in the hotel restaurant but the band — kind of a funky, New Orleans style group — was too loud. You couldn’t really talk and my friend got a sore throat. We drank Bailey’s Irish Cream and talked to a English teacher from Baltimore, who spends summers at the beach.

Sounds like Rebobeth Beach has quite a writer’s community — a writer’s guild, writing groups, etc. The Browsabout Bookstore seems to be the epicenter of activity on the boardwalk.

This morning: registration, lunch and opening remarks, a reading and  a three-hour workshop. Most of the workshops are sold out so we don’t what we’re gonna do.

Maybe go to one of the town’s multiple outlet malls and do some shopping. Or not.