Attending my first writer’s conference was mind-blowing. We conferees soaked up all things writing for three days till near saturation. Hours, and hours, and hours of writers and writing. Networking, making new writer friends, meeting accomplished authors, learning, and more learning. Getting inspired.
So the cosmos-splitting boom heard over South Central Wisconsin last weekend was the sound of hundreds of writers’ brains exploding. (The collective groan heard late Saturday night was when the Wisconsin Badgers lost their Final Four basketball game by one point!) But that brain blowup feels so good. Challenged. Encouraged. Armed to write better.
For me, writing a novel has been like learning to play the Celtic harp—if I’d known how difficult it is, I might never have started. But then I’d have missed out on great joy. (Hmm, there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, something to do with children.)