Its Tuesday night, but I'm still coming down from my Bouchercon high.
This was my first time at Bouchercon, the annual convention for mystery / crime writers and fans, and I'm both exhausted and also basking in how great it was. I saw my friends. I saw amazingly deserving people win awards. I saw equally deserving people lose awards with a grace and happiness that I did not expect. I saw one of the greatest writers of our generation in conversation with another of the greatest writers of our generation. I saw a beautiful city and I drank too much and I was on panels and I hugged old friends and made new ones. I had deeply personal conversations and threw up silly jokes. I had people I consider heroes treat me as an equal. I left rejuvenated and ready to write.
It's a cliche to say that the writing life is a solitary one, but cliches are there for a reason, and this one is true. But standing in a packed bar with so many writers of my favorite genre, I didn't feel alone. I felt part of something larger. A tradition, maybe. Or a community.
It's Tuesday night and I am still exhausted. It's Tuesday night and I just got done writing and I feel so god damn alive.
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