Because You Get Me

When I walked into my first conference, I – like most other newbies – was blown away by the community that already existed and welcomed me in with a wide-open bear hug. The only way to describe it would be how Harry felt when he first walked down Diagon Alley: Flabbergasted that this thriving, magical world lived just under the radar.

Some of you may remember that this conference was that of the agent wanting to blow his brains out. However, I remember calling my wife beyond excited. I’d found a group of people who, on the surface, were nothing like me: stay-at-home-moms, lawyers, teachers, professors, New York Times Bestsellers, some even wore sweatshirts with kitty cats on them. Ironically, they were exactly like me in the most strange and unexpected ways.

Many had insomnia when they were cooking up a good idea. They relished the fact that they were developmentally stunted. Most remembered only bits and pieces of their “awkward” years. They loved books and discussing them to the point that dinner conversations sounded like high-school honors classes, except with engaged participants. All of them were eccentric. Many had heart and perseverance and an ambition to succeed even when there was no assurance to when, or if, success was possible. There was a strong whiff of OCD in each, too. We all wanted to spend every minute writing, though simultaneously dreading it.  Our fictional worlds were as real as this one, and our characters were separate entities.

Needless to say, my brilliant wife had no clue what I was blabbing on about. And rightfully so, she’s not a writer.

But you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?