Writer's Digest Conference Weekend in New York

Tell me something I don't know. Tell me my dreams will come true and everything I've been working for will pay off. I will lose the extra padding I've acquired from the past year of writing instead of going to the gym. I will buy a house near the sea and spend my time writing near the bay window, listening to the waves crash.

I have no idea if any of my dreams will come true, but this past weekend proved I am willing to die trying. 

At present time, I am sitting in my hotel lobby people watching, sipping a $15.00 glass of Pinot Noir (hey, it's New York), soaking in everything that just went down in the last 72 hours. 

I'm still recovering from surgery and am in considerable pain, but I just had to come to New York for the Writer's Digest conference. How could I back out when my dreams need my attention? 

When I say considerable pain, I mean - I can't walk upright without wincing. I can't carry my luggage without feeling an internal organ war, feeling like I've been stabbed from the inside out. 

I attended as many classes as I could without passing out or groaning in public. I kept rubbing my abdomen and finally had to tell some classmates of my surgery. They were rather impressed with my decision to travel and attend the conference in my condition. Being a recovering narcissist, I loved the accolades and thanked them kindly. 

Back to the conference. 

It's safe to say you meet a fair share of creative souls while attending writer’s conferences and this weekend was no exception. I have a handful of business cards and have already connected with a couple I know I’ll be friends with for years. It's always amazing when you allow yourself to be part of the opportunity, part of the same dream.  It feels like coming home.

In addition to meeting great people, I also learned a ton and can't wait to get back to my manuscript. 

The cherry on my sundae was yesterday’s Pitch Slam. 500 of us hopeful writers were able to meet as many as 50 literary agents in one room. We had exactly 90 seconds to pitch our manuscript. If the agent was interested, he/she would ask for sample pages of our work.

I can’t tell you how nervous I was. I wrote a little about what I wanted to say, but when I sat down in front of the agent, my pitch was completely off the cuff. I basically told my story.

Because there were so many of us, the lines were incredibly long and I was only able to meet with three agents. But all three of them liked what I had to say and requested material.

I have three business cards in my wallet that, when I look at them, make me teary-eyed.  One of those cards may be a piece to my dream puzzle.

Could I be closer to attaining my dreams? Could this manuscript be coming to life?  Only time will tell, but I’ll say one thing – I am doing my part to see that it does.