Blessings of a Writer’s Conference

I walk into the main conference auditorium, dragging my keyboard with me. (Actually, a friend is dragging my keyboard. I am dragging the stand.) The room is set up with rows of chairs facing the far wall, where a table sits. I set up my keyboard beside the main table, testing the sound. I will be worship leading throughout the conference. Satisfied that everything is running smoothly, I turn my attention to the rest of the room.

At the other end, where I came in, is the conference bookstall, a tradition of Omega Christian Writer’s conferences. One of the pleasures of conference is the frequent perusal of the bookstall over the course of the weekend, chatting with authors as we slowly sift through each other’s books. I wander among the books, breathing in the smell of ink and paper. A few other attendees have drifted in, and they are browsing the bookstall in like fashion.

One of the pleasures of conference is the frequent perusal of the bookstall.

I say hello to one; she is looking around a lot, not speaking to anyone. I divine that it is her first time. I break the ice and her face breaks into a smile. ‘It’s my first conference!’ We get chatting and it emerges that she has published her own picture book. We admire it together. She asks about my books so I show her, and she immediately buys one. Thank you, Lord.

I take a few minutes to rest on one of the chairs. Not only am I worship leading at this conference, I am also slated to speak on the opening panel. The room gradually fills with people and chatter, and I check in with my fellow panelists. I take a deep breath—and then it starts.

I speak on the panel and people laugh. The sense of ease and openness in the room is a blessing. I sing songs and people sing so loudly that they drown me out—a distinct blessing. I meet fellow authors, making new friends and reconnecting with old ones. I have a few deep and meaningful conversations, and retreat to my room to recuperate between sessions—conference has a way of extroverting every last drop of energy out of you!

People sing so loudly they drown me out—a distinct blessing.

I listen to the keynote speaker. She is super engaging. She exhorts us to expect surprises from God. I find myself praying, on the first night of conference, ‘Lord—surprise me.’ I am hoping that he will; my wells of creativity have been rather dry lately, and I am overdue for refreshing and refilling.

I attend a workshop on scene-writing and am illuminated. I attend another on surviving creativity and am at once confused and encouraged. I debrief with fellow authors about my current writing struggles and they pray with me. I check in with my host group, a bunch of writers working on similarly-genred projects. I get some headshots done and attend the fun awards dinner. There is laughter, cheering and heartfelt enthusiasm in the room. It feels like we’re all there for the same purpose: to lift one another up as we strive to serve God by writing our best work possible. The sense of community and communion is palpable.

We’re all there for the same purpose: to lift one another up as we strive to serve God by writing our best work possible.

I sell a few more books and meet a bookseller who has come to conference specifically to discover Australian authors. She takes a pile of my books on consignment: she’ll pay me if she can sell them at her bookstore. I hear about a great new opportunity for Australian authors to reach more readers and I take avid notes, mentally reminding myself to follow up on this. I have conversations with more writers; there is no context other than conference in which I hear this question posed more frequently: ‘So, what are you writing?’ A random remark catches my ear and gives me an idea for a new story. I race back to my room and write it down in my notebook.

Too soon, I have sung my last song and had my last conversation. Conference reaches its conclusion. My heart is full, my new book purchases are packed into my suitcase, my keyboard taken down to my car, my head swimming with words. In the midst of my brain whirring, there is a sense of God’s presence permeating it all, having gone before us at conference and continuing to go before us as we write.

I feel strangely refreshed, not by any one thing that happened at conference, but by the whole experience: being with my tribe, serving others, talking about writing nonstop, giving and receiving prayer, wrestling with tough writing challenges. These are the many blessings of conference. I leave feeling as though the joy of writing is slowly seeping into my skin, filling my veins, bringing me gently back to life. In that joy, I return home and recommence writing an old story I have not touched in months, picking up exactly where I left off. The old me is back. What a welcome and unexpected blessing.

I leave feeling as though the joy of writing is slowly seeping into my skin.

I asked the Lord to surprise me at conference—and he did.

Have you been to a writer’s conference? What blessings did you experience there? How do you refill your well of creativity when it has run dry? Share your story. Let’s have a countercultural conversation.