It's writing conference season again and for the first time in I think four years, I'm not sure I'll be going to one.
For a couple (good) reasons, I don't foresee myself having a manuscript available to pitch, which is one of the main reasons to go to a writers' conference. The workshops sound nice enough, but I can't argue myself into spending money to stay the weekend listening to them when there's several local writers' events for less or even for free. (Yeah, I'm cheap.)
So I started looking at a writers' retreat in my area. And I discovered, to my disappointment that it was basically a conference too. (To emphasize: Writers' conferences are awesome. It's just that I was looking for something else.)
You know what would be nice, I thought. A day or two away from everything to just relax and write. Maybe a nice view of the outdoors. Just me and my laptop. And maybe some chai tea.
You know, something that was right there at home.
Seriously. It was a snowy day, the baby was at Grandma's, and I had a bottle of chai tea latte and a big fuzzy blanet.
Yup, it was a nice morning. And I didn't even have to pay conference fees.