I have mixed emotions about conferences. This month there is one in Sarasota (A Conference To Die For) and one in Nashville (Killer Nashville). There are probably dozens more, but these are the two I’m attending.

First of all, it’s an opportunity to meet old friends, writers who I’ve become friends with over the years. People like Jeff and Casey. And that’s a good thing. It’s a chance to catch up and talk about the state of our profession, about successes and failures.
Secondly it’s a chance to meet some of the people who actually read our books. I love that. When someone buys a book or comes up and comments on your book it is the highlight of the conference.
But I always feel this urgency to accomplish something new.
To meet one person who can help advance the career. To bring home one very important piece of information. To find one aspiring writer that I can give some hope to. It’s this desperate attempt to have something make a big difference.

I met Sue Grafton at a conference and she ended up helping me sell my first book. I think I still expect that kind of change. And believe me, that was a huge change.

But I’ll be there, shaking hands, sharing stories, and hoping something magical happens. It did once, why not again. I just don’t know what it will be.