Or any conference? I feel like they're all this way, at least as far as the hangovers go.
I only started going to these a year ago, and I'm horrified I didn't start sooner. They're like miniature doses of grown-up summer camp. Every person there--at least at the writing conferences I've picked out so far--is passionate about this stuff, ready to talk about books, and craft, and their projects, and your project, and whether or not literacy is really declining, and whether or not that makes any difference in our opinion of The Hunger Games.
(Answer: who cares, that book was fun.)
Every time I go, the dream of doing this full-time feels brighter, more vital, and more in reach (yes, even after a tough critique) than it did before...
...but my life feels that much worse when I get back. Not least because a bunch of writers without any real responsibility are gonna go out for a BUNCH of cocktails. Monday morning does not look bright after five days of too much bourbon and too little sleep, I tell 'ya.
Conference-land is like a playground, filled with witty conversation, interesting people, and did I mention all the drinks? It makes ordinary life seem so dull by comparison. You mean I really have to still do THIS? Every day? Until indefinitely?
You can't be serious.
If only I had endless money (and vacation days) to spend on endless conferences.
Since I don't...I'd better get writing.
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