It seems like everyone has writer's conferences on the brain right now. Well everyone I network with. I really SHOULD go to Epicon (since I'm e-published) but have no one to watch the kiddies. And I'm dog ass broke.
And I SHOULD go to RWA, because I've been paying the stinking dues for four years and all I have is a stack of recycling to show for it.
I SHOULD be rubbing elbows getting my name and face out there, but I kinda feel like less is more with me. Really, I have a history of rejection to back that up. The only manuscript I have ready to plop in front of agents and editor's is Redeeming Characters (and it's now at nine rejections and climbing. Plus 2 I'm pretty sure are no as the agents now operate off of a don't call us, we'll call you only if we're rabid over this policy.)
Guess I've just got a bad case of the SHOULDS. ;-)
It boils down to money and childcare. Or lack there of. Maybe I'll get a wild hair and charge a conference on the credit card and sell an organ on the black market to get there. Or sell a child, that would solve both problems ;-)
It's not just the money either. I have to pack, drive or fly to said conference and all that before the hobnobbing begins. I have to be nice, for hours on end, a skill I haven't really honed much over the past few years. I'm basically xenophobic at this point.
I find myself asking, do I really want this badly enough? What would I give to attain my simple little dream of walking into a bookstore and picking up a copy of my own book?
I'll let you know when I have an answer to that.