The RWA conference is over for another year. And after--I'd have to go through lots of stuff to figure out how many RWA conferences I've actually been to--at least 12 of the annual events, I'm amazed to find that, for once, I didn't come home inspired and rarin' to write.
Ever since I got home, I've been trying to figure out why it didn't do it's usual magic. I went to some workshops. I saw most of the people I wanted to see. (I didn't get a chance to really 'talk' to many of the ones I would have liked to actually spend a bit of time with.) I met some new ones. Debbie Macomber and Susan Elizabeth Phillips were spectacular. Randall Wallace was ten times better than I expected him to be.
My presentation for the Scriptscene chapter was extremely well received. I met some wonderful writers involved with that chapter. (In fact, I joined because they are such a great group and I loved their optimistic, upbeat approach.)
Amazingly, Reno turned out to be a good location for the conference. I didn't hear any of the usual gripes about the hotel. Most of the conference food was actually good rather than just edible.
So why didn't RWA do its usual magic for me? Hmmmm? (I know there are those who would suggest that my mood should be attributed to the 'downer' at the end--the controversy surrounding the RITA awards. But I know it wasn't that. Frankly, imho, if the Prez, the board and Nora weren't slashing it out so publicly, the majority of people who attended would probably say the ceremony was okay, it had it's entertaining moments. It had some wierd ones, too, and most of us would have preferred that it focussed more on RWA history and honoring people who deserved at least a mention and less on a negative history lesson. But, mostly it should have been shorter...)
The annual RWA conference has suddenly, mysteriously become, for me anyway, a 'maybe' rather than an automatic. Atlanta in 2006? I guess we'll see.
