01 October 2008


I went to my first writer's conference this weekend. It was fascinating. Liberating. Terrifying.

I spoke to more people in a two-day span than I normally see in a month. I talked a lot, which will surprise no one who knows me well. I gathered email addresses. I chatted with people whose names I know from seeing them on the spines of my books. And I dreamt that it might, one day, be me up there at the podium or behind the table, signing piles of books for a local bookstore.

Mostly, though, when they did speak, they were just ordinary people. Like me. Moms balancing writing and kids and day jobs and husbands, and doing so with some success. I'll admit, it was humbling to see one author up giving a speech while her mother sat with her 3-week old in the hotel room.

All the excuses I've ever had to not-write sort of evaporated in that moment. I came home jazzed, psyched, pumped...(erm, use your thesaurus if you like to add more words to my list.) So I'm going to work now. I'm going use the creative energy I leeched from being in a room with a hundred other authors and do something with it.

The hard choice really, is where to start...
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