There’s something different about me. I’m going out on a limb here, but I think RomantiCon was actually good for me.
Sure, I only slept about 12 hours in four days, but I came back home happy and…different. No, I’m not howling at the moon unless it’s a tight, bare ass, in which case, I can’t seem to help myself. No, the change is for the better, I believe. I could actually kick myself for not going to this conference before now because it was better for me than any other has been.
I promise y’all, Ellora’s Cave is not endorsing this blog 🙂
I’m not knocking the other conferences. They’ve been fun and I’ve met a lot of people, but as my writing has progress into sexier, naughtier territory, my comfort among other authors has decreased, especially when I’m talking with young adult authors, or inspirational authors. Yes, we all share the writing gene and we all understand writer’s block, but it’s difficult to say ‘I just can’t come up with a good sex scene that isn’t the same as the others’ or ‘is it okay to use cunt in a love scene’? If I said that with those authors, they’d kind of look uncomfortable and change the subject. With my EC sisters (and brothers), it’s ‘Why don’t you do this?’ or in one spectacular author’s case ‘There’s an app for that’. Yes, there is an app for sex positions and some of them look downright painful unless you’re Stretch Armstrong.
There was never the feeling that I should watch what I say. If anything, it was a free for all for every thought I’ve ever had at a conference. And since then I feel…free. Comfortable in my own skin. Confident that no, I’m not a complete freak and if I am, there are a lot of others just like me so ner!
But attitude isn’t all that’s changed. My habits have changed. Okay, so I might be suffering from a touch of insomnia, but I can live with that. I’ve done it before. No, what’s really weird is that I haven’t read a dozen books since I’ve been home. I’ve read one and a half, the half is what I’m still working on. Instead of me drinking my coffee and reading several chapters first thing in the morning, I work out, then drink my coffee while I do a little writing.
This can only mean one thing: I’m feeling the muse. She’s back from Amsterdam, free of funky smoke and alcohol. She has ideas she can’t wait to share with me and drags my ass out of bed at 3:30 in the morning to start my day. She doesn’t give a shit that I want to bury my head in the pillows and dream of cavemen (which hasn’t happened yet). She’s become a right bitch, to be honest. Like a drill sergeant on crack. Write, write, write!
And so I am. Writing = good. Sober muse = good. Muse in Vegas watching Thunder Down Under = bad unless she returns with inspiration for a story. So yes, I do believe I like the “new” me who has a muse tossing ideas out left and right. I like the confident Danica who’s almost a hundred percent certain she can write one hell of a good story.
Thank you, my fellow EC authors for dragging the new Danica into the light. You’re probably going to regret this. Bwaha!