The last day of the conference was yesterday.  I think everyone, including the speakers, was exhausted.  It was highly entertaining watching hoards of people cross the street from the convention center to the hotel, as none of them could figure out that you really CAN’T walk when the sign says “Don’t Walk”.  Near misses were numerous.

At any rate, the last three sessions were good – one about memoirs as cultural commentary; one about staying flush as a writer; and one about travel being not about the narrator, but about the destination.  The last one was the most interesting of the day.

While I didn’t really meet anyone – I was just too frigging shy – the conference did make me think a lot.  Interestingly, a lot of writer’s hold blogging in high disdain.  And with the preponderance of blogs that appear to be a rehashing of current news items and are written by people who clearly speak English as a second or third language, I can’t necessarily fault them.  But  not all blogs are like that.  Some are really worthwhile – I hope some readers find mine to be so.  At any rate, if you write, whether it’s corporate work, novels or blogs, I think you’re a writer.

It’s just those few of us (well, there were almost 8000 of us) who want to or are trying to do nothing but write as a profession, and who hopefully get paid to do so, who really ARE writers.  Having listened to hallway conversations such as, “We met in Paris when I was there promoting my novel – they treated me like a rock star,” and “I’m taking a semester off from teaching to finish my second novel,” I don’t feel like I can fairly call myself a writer yet.  But I’m moving in the write (ha ha) direction.