I made some assumptions when I went to the Horror Writers Association’s StokerCon last week. One was that the drive to Pittsburgh wouldn’t take an entire day. Another was that Pennsylvania rest areas are just like New Jersey and New York rest areas and have restaurants available, instead of making you leave the highway to find food. A third was that I would have the time and energy during the conference to work on my novel.

No, no, and not a chance.

There are a lot of panels and author readings at StokerCon, pretty much nonstop from Thursday to Sunday. At any given hour, there are at least three interesting choices but you can only pick one. Then figure out meals in between them. And there is a lot of socializing. Hanging out at the hotel bar. Hotel room parties. Expeditions to local restaurants. (Excellent pierogies. I love pierogies.) Author signings and talking to the friendly indie publishers in the dealers room. Plus the short horror film festival and the Stoker Awards ceremony, for which people put on their spooky/goth/quirky/glittery best clothes. And getting a chance to walk around Pittsburgh and visit an art festival held on a bridge.

And getting to meet the other members of my writers group in person for the first time in three years. They are cool people and amazing writers, and it’s a privilege to read their work. Turns out they’re also fun to explore Pittsburgh with (we walked through a cemetery, seems appropriate) and bond with over Stephen King fandom.

I haven’t been a true night owl in years—children have this annoying need to wake up early for school—but I became one again for the purposes of this conference. And then came back to my hotel room every night and collapsed.

And then came home and got sick. I’ve heard about con crud but never gotten it before. Most of last week was spent coughing and feeling blah. Honestly? Worth it.

While I was feeling blah, I got two story rejections. Those stories have been boomeranged right back out, of course. What I heard at StokerCon inspired me to rewrite another story that had never quite worked, so I’m about to send that one out as well.

Creative inspiration is a big reason to go to writers conferences. But the best part is talking to other writers. You can commiserate with each other, get excited about each other’s work, lift each other up. Who else is going to understand this weird thing we do besides other writers?

I’m already looking forward to next year.