My family was asked by friends to go the local Renaissance Fair this weekend. My wife originally wanted to go, I think, but I did not. I suppose it’s sad that I thought, “That’s an entire day of writing down the drain!”
But there are other reasons. I don’t like crowds. That’s being kind, I abhor crowds. Known people are fine, but a crowd of strangers is like taking a Hypertension 101 class. It will be different if my writing takes off and they’re there for a book signing, or something similar. That’s orderly, and people are usually very civilized at book signings. Festivals? Not so much.
Money is always an issue in our house, my wife and I are both impulsive individuals, and we have in the past spent money foolishly when we had a surplus of it. Now that I’m staying at home in an effort to become a writer, money is a lot tighter than it used to be.
I suspect the cash aspect has hammered more than one writer, and we live in a very expensive town. I wonder what percentage give up their dream to be an author simply to afford groceries? That will not happen in my case, it’s not like we’re not making it. But it’s tight, unlike previous years. I’m constantly reminded (by me) that even if I wanted to attend the Renaissance Fair, it would be a tremendous waste of our limited resources.
I’m spending $400 + hotel costs to attend the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers conference in September. $400. I know people who were published and didn’t see that much of a return on their first book! But to get noticed, you have to meet the right people and it should be an eye opening experience.
Well, this really was sort of stream of consciousness. But I am feeling a bit guilty for not attending with friends of the family. Such things, however, must take a seat at the back of the bus. I have no time for failure, and this book must be published. Onward.