Next weekend is New Jersey Romance Writers Conference - one of the leading regional romance writers conferences in the country. I go every year. Well, every year but last year. Last year I was in the hospital getting a stent put into my right renal artery. My blood pressure was higher than God before that and now it's better.
But I digress...
Last year: no conference.
This year I'm going, but...
I'm not as excited as I've been in years past.
I know I'll see many writer-friends. I know I'll hear some good information. I know I'll pitch to at least two agents/editors.
And, I know, they will probably ask for a partial. I'll send it and maybe I'll never hear from them again. My partial will be lost in the milieu of submitted/requested/agented/slush pile manuscripts.
Maybe my stuff is just not that good - not good enough to get published.
But I don't know how to stop writing.
I don't know how to stop wanting to get one of my books published.
I'll keep trying.
The fire in the belly's still there...
But the thrill is gone.