I was attempting to write a post about the conference I attended this weekend, and it ended up with Command A, Delete. While I was very appreciative of the conference, and speakers, and people I was able to meet, I still felt a slight disconnect from their world. I don't have names to drop, I don't have credentials to flash around. I am just a girl who loves to write. And write. And revise, of course. And then write some more.

As I told my friend last night, I gots my learnin' from the streets. I figured out how to write books by reading books, and then writing them. Many of my novels serve only to reflect what I was doing wrong before I was able to figure out what to do right. Any success I've had [and trust me, I use that word lightly] is directly attributed not to my endless fever to write, but to a core group of people whose persistent encouragement and gentle critiques have shaped me into a tolerable [I hope] author.

My love for writing must outweigh any other motivation. I fear that were I ever to lose sight of that, I very well may lose my mind as well...