I’m in Dayton, Ohio and it is a lovefest. Not exactly an orgy, but the fun never stops, and there are multiple partners.

I might tell you all about it. Did that just perk up your ears? Huh? you MIGHT? More on the mighty power of might in a moment.

I’m at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop. There are some 350 women (and about 6 men) with the median age of maybe 44, all humor writers or aspiring humor writers. (And probably more like 46.) They – we – are funny! Fun to be with! And as a group, we have hardly any boundaries about what we’re willing to talk about.

Okay, so the median age is 52.

These are my people. I wore wildly colorful clothes, accepted hugs at every turn, and laughed my personal ass off. * Maybe 54? The final answer is 55, the median age is 57.

If you’re laughing at the age bit, I stole it directly from funny woman Wendy Liebman. (She’s been doing stand up for 33 years and she deserves better than for me to steal her bit.) She cracked me up all weekend, and I wanted to give her a loving shout out. Tonight, she led a group of neophyte standups in 4 minute sets with stories ranging from pooping in a public pool, to ladyscaping while driving, to sex with Jesus. (Note: he pronounces in Hay-SUS so maybe that makes it better?) The Erma conference really delivers.

If I’m piquing your interest and you’re wishing you could come next time, you need only wait two years. And even then, you have to register within a few hours of its first opening its doors. It sells out every time and always quickly. And why wouldn’t it? The speakers and session leaders were all top-notch.

Liza Donnelly of New Yorker cartoon fame kicked us off with her cartoons and a look at women in cartooning since 1925. The frame that sticks with me is one of a woman in a boardroom, surrounded by men, with an urgent thought bubble: “You’re supposed to be here.”

Rita Davenport – a dear friend of Erma’s and a huge motivational speaker – knocked our socks off with her Southern wit and outrageous comments. “Is anyone wondering why I’m wearing two watches?” she asked. “this one is a $29 Timex, and I wear it bec I can see it. This one is a $37,000 Rolex, and I wear it, bec YOU can see it.” With only a pause for our laughter, she added, “Wait, does Rolex have two L’s?”

John Grogan – author of NYT bestseller, Marley and Me charmed us with his Midwestern down-to-earth approachability (and more than a couple of sidesplitting stories.)

Tonight’s keynote was performed by Monica Piper – head writer from Rugrats, writer on Roseanne (the first go-round), and standup comedian. Her funny was outsized and feminist and right on.

In this rarefied company, I too was a speaker. (IKR?) I led two sessions of Write Without the Fight, and it was utterly gratifying to bring my creative process information to about 50 kind and receptive writers who accepted me as their speaker. Sometimes, when you’re working at home, speaking to people mostly online, or in faceless webinars, you forget that people – real, lovable, worthy people – NEED what you have to share. And are helped and moved by what help you offer.

In turn, I am moved. I was moved to see thirty 60 year-old women (and probably 2 men) participate in an exercise I call Mighty Language. (I told you I’d get back to Might.)

So I’ll share it with you and see if you get as much out of it as they did. If you do, hit reply and tell me about your experience. If you don’t, try it again. Or email me, and I’ll help you through it.

First you have to understand that the word MIGHT is powerful. We are hardwired to pay attention to the word “might.”

When our brain hears might, it perks up and thinks, hey, that might be an opportunity. Might be a predator; Might be food or sex. “Might” is required listening in our brains – because our ancient coding knows our survival might be dependent on paying attention to the phrase that follows that siren word, “might.” It is unconscious. Here’s the exercise:

Say this sentence in your head. “I have to write that scene.” As you say it, just pay attention to what you feel like.

Now say this sentence instead: “How might I write that scene?”

Did you feel the difference? There is a physiological difference in your brain and body when you say the Mighty sentence. Your thinking shifts in your brain from your lower back (the Reptilian brain) to somewhere just behind your forehead (the neo-cortex.)

And as your mind upshifts and begins to find possible solutions to how you might write the scene, you can feel your body relax as well. It is automatic, and powerful.

We all had so much fun we can hardly sleep tonight, though, to a person, we are exhausted. It is the good kind of exhausted. I stopped to describe this luscious feeling and share this tool with you, bec I am truly gratified. For One, they liked me. And for Two, I’m fired up and feeling fun.