I’m just back from the largest indie writers conference in the country, 20 Books to 50K. The name references a saying by the conference founder who figured if he wrote 20 books, he could count on $50,000 a year in sales and retire modestly to southern Caribbean island. He has since grown way past that, but puts on this conference as a way to give back to the community. For small-time authors like me, it’s a chance to learn more about the publishing industry, new trends, writerly craft tips, and meet other like-minded authors. In short, it’s a large gathering of my tribe on the Vegas strip. Food, drink, and frivolity were involved, though nothing like what the tech bros get up to, I’m sure.
Writers are a strange breed, generally being simultaneously eloquent and tongue-tied, humble ego-monsters, emotionally sensitive and obtuse, and prone to dressing in cosplay on any given Tuesday. They come from all backgrounds, political ideologies, fandoms, age demographics, and so on… and very few of them share anything in common with the people I encounter around me in my daily life. Yet they are my people.
Which means I hung out all week listening to panelists talking about audiobook trends (I should really get on that), the role RPGs play in storytelling (pun intended?), organizing in-person book sales, organizing direct online book sales, productivity, self-care, and how to pressure-test your magic system so some idiot on Twitter doesn’t come at you with an infinite-gold exploit that sinks your plot and that you totally should have anticipated.
The week’s information comes at you like water from a firehose, making it easy to get overwhelmed with all the information and social interaction. I was better this year, knowing exactly what I wanted out of the conference and knowing when to duck out of the crowded convention spaces to take a breather back in the hotel room. Meeting up with old friends and making new ones helped manage the stress tool, though when everything ended Friday afternoon, I was more than ready to hop on a plane and get back to a quiet house in a town where a guy can get a burger and beer for way less than $40.
