The fabulous Liberty States Fiction Writers' conference is over for the year.
It is the one thing I absolutely look forward to...without a doubt...because of a very selfish reason: I get to be Irene there.
Not Mommy. Not Mrs. P. Not so and so's mother, not Herb's wife.
I am Irene. Only close friends know the details of my entailment, my family, where I live, where I did what and when.
At the conference, I am free to talk books, writing, learn about others, see old friends, and make new ones.
It's just what I need. I've been putting off writing for myself and only working on the chapters of other people. I love their stories so much I don't necessarily feel the need to write my own stories, even those that are finished in my head.
But what I truly do miss is the book signing. I want another book, in paper, to sign for people who buy it. I want that because, although I have three stories available for viewers on electronic devices, you have to have one of them, and while there is supposed to be a way of autographing somehow, I can barely figure out how to log into things much less sign something. And who knows what might happen with my official signature in the ether?
I'm that chicken.
I'm that paranoid, I guess.
I'm that functionally computer illiterate.
To all those new folks I met, so glad to meet you!
To all those old friends I saw, hugs.
To all those people who couldn't make it, boy, do I wish you'd been there!