Conferences and Freedom (Pat Potter)

My idea of freedom at the moment or, in fact, for years has been the open road.

I love to take off alone in a car packed with every possible necessity and just drive. I don’t like schedules. Neither do I like to drive for ten hours a day. Instead, I love to meander along the road, visit rest stops and collect maps and brochures, talk to people, visit interesting places, eat at some non-chain hole-in-a-wall (usually barbeque if I can find it) eateries that look intriguing.

I go to my AAA (American Automobile Association) and get their terrific triptiks that show every small town along the way, every attraction, every rest stop in easy-to-read-while-driving format. I love them.

When I lived in Atlanta, I drove to Huntsville (my mom and dad lived there) every few weeks or so. It was a four hour drive with a route that wound through mountains and some terrific scenery. I would put on music and just feel myself relax. Like after a great massage.

But when they moved to Memphis, and I followed, there seemed little opportunity to indulge in my wild goose fantasies, especially with ill parents and three dogs.

So when the RWA conference was held in Dallas last week, I decided to drive. I did a MapQuest search and discovered that it took about seven hours (only if you drove 90 miles an hour, didn’t eat, didn’t stop for gas and wore diapers like a certain astronaut). But I had just finished a book and didn’t want to rush. I wanted to savor every moment, so I decided to take two days. Leave my house leisurely, drive until five, find a motel/hotel, then drive into Dallas in the morning.

Unfortunately I hit a few monsoons along the way that really slowed me, but I had time to dally and didn’t over worry. I just stopped somewhere and waited. At six and with the AAA Tour Guide in hand, I found a hotel with a jacuzzi in the room, and nearly died with pleasure as I read a book, drank a glass of wine and let the heat relax tense muscles. I was ready for the madness of Conference.

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And the conference itself? A different kind of relaxation. It’s a time to renew friendships, to refresh yourself with people of like mind.

For the first time I didn’t go to one scheduled meeting. I’ve been in RWA since 1984 and in that time have attended all but two conferences. You build a lot of friendships in that time, and so many are nourished during those all too few hours.
RWA conferences are unique from other predominately female conferences. So many others are garden clubs, service organizations or professional organizations. Members have occupations or associations where they generally have daily interaction with others of like mind. Writers are different. We have a lonely occupation. We sit for hours and hours at a computer and live in a world of our own making. Most outsiders don’t truly understand the process, the concentration, the highs and lows endemic to what we do.

Only writers truly understand other writers. So when we meet, it’s an orgy of conversation, of trading news of the business, of exchanging tips on the comings and goings of editors, of sharing covers – good and bad – and of brainstorming story ideas.

And so unlike other organizations, we congregate at the bar and bar areas where we spend hours doing all the above. You’re certain to meet at least fifty of your best friends there at any one time. We close it down at two a.m., or three a.m., each of us reluctant to end those hours of comradery, of belonging, of being part of the unique tribe..

We keep trying to tell the conference hotel about our uniqueness, that we will need far more liquids --ranging from bottled water and cokes to wine and harder stuff – than the average conference. We tell them we need more wait staff. No hotel management believes us. And so part of ritual are very harried wait staff and unprepared bars.

But we don’t care. We have each other. And when you meet only once a year that’s a very fine thing.

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Driving back, I left the hotel at eleven a.m. after a leisurely morning (No rushing for a plane). Decided to stay overnight at Hot Springs, Arkansas, since I’ve never been there. And fell in love with it. I found a hotel bordering a lake. The rates were more than reasonable rates and this room too had a Jacuzzi. (I’m really good at this.) Another book, another glass of wine, and I have not a care in the world.

Arrived back home as relaxed as a rag doll. Months of tension had ebbed away. I was ready to get home, see my dogs (well cared for by my great niece) and start work on revisions.

And dreaming of my next road trip. . .