What Have You Learned, Dorothy?

The Emerald City Writers Conference kicked ass and took names. I, also, took names. Many of which I will probably forget, since I have a memory like a sieve when it comes to remembering names and faces. However, a few things I am not likely to forget include:

Susan Mallery is quite possibly the most inspirational speaker I've ever heard. I wish I could recall more precisely what she said, but I do remember distinctly the degree to which I was motivated by her words. I left dinner on Friday night convinced my appearance on the NYT bestseller list is only a matter of time - a delusion I wish had lasted longer.

Julia Quinn was eloquent and gracious. I spoke to her, she spoke to me, and by some miracle I did not dissolve into a pathetic puddle of starstruck goo - although I somehow doubt the experience had quite the same impact on her that it did on me. On the plus side, she did not appear to be visibly annoyed by my questions, for which I would like to nominate her for sainthood. (Though frankly, she should already be nominated simply for having written some of the most delightful books in print.)

Eileen Cook gave a fantastic workshop on Emotional IQ and how it can relate to character development. Too fascinating. I must now run out and get my hands on Daniel Goldman's book on the subject. If you have the opportunity to catch her Psych 101 for Fiction workshop at an upcoming conference, I highly recommend it.

Oh, and Delilah Marvelle's Sex Through History workshop? So hot it set of the fire alarms. Luckily, the heat was all metaphorical so we were alllowed to re-enter the building and continue.

The editors and agents were all charming and accessible... and I found myself thinking a lot about what an odd experience it must be to be on the purchasing side in these situations. We, the authors, are all so nervous, so eager, so hopeful and so terrified. How strange to be in the position of putting us at ease, but also simultaneously on the spot. To have us all staring at you, pinning our hopes and dreams on your words. How awkward that must be. What an odd responsibility. Last year at M&M, I was too preoccupied with my own neurosis to pay much attention to how bizarre it must be to be sitting on the other side of the table, the recipient of all that feverish hope.

But above all, what makes these weekends so spectacular for me, what makes them worthy every penny of the conference fee, is the feeling of camaraderie that comes from being surrounded by people like me. Writers, writers, everywhere. At the volunteer reception, one of the other volunteers said she often felt like a horse among cows at home, but at the conference she was running with Preakness winners. We are all at different stages in our careers, from the wet-behind-the-ears beginner to the multi-published best-seller, but we are all writers. The passion for books, both reading and writing them, is constant in all of us. Where else will someone understand the delirious joy of finishing your book? The high of getting a full requested? The bite of a rejection or the agony of boiling down your baby into a pitch, a query, a synopsis, a blurb, or a tagline? Who else will know what you are talking about when you start blabbing about Golden Hearts, word counts, GMC or deep POV?

At a conference, surrounded by three hundred women (and four men) who speak our language, we house-bound hermits come out to play, for one weekend leaving the landscapes of our fantasy worlds behind and taking a few steps toward making the perfectly visualized fiction of our writing careers a reality.