I got a subscription to Writer’s Digest a couple of months ago. I think you know the general idea. Lots of encouragement, an interview or two, and a couple of advice columns wedged in between the advertisements for Diamond 3D covers and professional editing services.

I needed a tangible something to remind myself of… well, whatever it is you need to remind yourself of, when the creepy crawly doubts come creeping and crawling. Some kind of connection to a bigger whole. There are people like me out there. Lots of them.

Oh, yes.  And a reminder of the fact that that I’m out in the middle of nowhere.

This month’s advice column? Overcoming your fears and diving right into writers’ conferences.

The first part of the advice was incredibly reassuring.  There are other, equally valuable ways of getting the information if schmooze and booze isn’t your style.

(Pause for station identification and a direct reference to Writers’ Digest Online Classes.)

And then, it continued to suggest…

Wait for it…

That if the big, national conferences were too intimidating I should look for a smaller, local conference.

Local conference?

**looks left. Looks right… looks under a cabbage leaf**

We don’t even have a local bookstore. (Unless you count the remainders bin at Pamida.) We are the Sears-Roebuck Catalogue end of the universe. And–quite frankly–if there were a bookstore, writers’ group, or conference anywhere near me, I wouldn’t be subscribing to Writers’ Digest.

This is the rough equivalent of me telling her that if a big cattle ranch is too intimidating, maybe she could get a little spread in Midtown Manhattan. A hundred acres or so, to start. Close to home, and she probably already knows a lot of the other cattle ranchers in New York City.

I am, however, a huge fan of the internet. It’s where my bookstores are, my writers’ groups, my fellow creatives. It’s nice to have an “official” stamp of approval on all the things I’m doing, anyway.