When I had a real job, I never thought I would miss going to the office. In fact, to this day, offices give my hives. I even refuse to meet my accountant at his—I insist he meet me at a bar. There are several reasons for that—the whole office-phobia being just one. The mere thought of the IRS drives me to drink. Yes, in a former life, I was a tax attorney…who worked in an office. Given my limitations, perhaps that wasn’t the wisest choice.
No, writing is the perfect job for me—and I’m darn lucky to have it.
Except for one thing: I miss the people.
I’m a gregarious sort…even a bit of a ham. And imaginary friends take me just so far. Eventually, I need a serious dose of friends of the real kind.
So periodically I pack the computer, park the imaginary friends, and trot off to a writers’ conference. Right now I am in Colorado Springs at Left Coast Crime basking in the joy of being surrounded by hundreds of people similarly afflicted. Of course, it’s hard to tell the fact from the fiction, and you better bring your “A” game if you want to trade war-stories with a bunch of glib wordsmiths, but that is all part of the fun and a much-needed recharge.