In the past few years I've attended four writers' conferences. I didn't know anyone when I registered for them, but that didn't matter. Somehow I always ended up knowing tons of people, even to the point of introducing virtual strangers to each other with the ease of introducing a childhood friend.
I recently attended the ACFW annual conference, even though I haven't actually written any fiction in months. Instead of working on a manuscript I've been reviewing books, posting blogs, and establishing my freelance career. My lack of manuscript didn't matter, though. I still mingled, networking and meeting fabulous people.
That's when it hit me - I'm turning into the Paris Hilton of the novel world. I don't haven't done anything, I'm not really doing anything, and yet I know everyone. I can socialize and schmooze without having accomplished anything.
While that's enough for Ms. Hilton, I want more. Don't get me wrong - it tickeled me like a peacock feather when I met Mary Coneally this weekend, but I don't just want to know her. I want my books to compete with hers for the Carol Award. I don't just want to know 75% of the Hartline Literary Agency - I'd like for one of them to represent me!
So what's a girl to do??
Write.
That's the only thing I can do. If I don't start producing novels, then I'm no better than Paris - known by association. I won't let that happen to me. In order to make sure that doesn't happen, I need to get to work...
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