It’s the beginning of RWA’s National conference, and I’m not there. I registered. I paid. We booked a hotel and made travel arrangements. Then things began to go wrong. “But the conference fee is non-refundable,” I said. “And I’ve told people I’d be there. I’ve made plans.” Despite the warning signs, I determined to make it work.

We left on Sunday, did a stop-over in Reno, and arrived in San Fransisco on Monday. The trip was full of beautiful scenery. When we arrived, more things went wrong. Most notably the hotel. “It’s safe,” the manager assured us. Although he himself wouldn’t stay past five. The parking lot attendant added, “Don’t go anywhere at night. Take a cab.”

We looked around at the people on the streets and thought, well, maybe the inside security is good…

No. Flimsy locks, an outside security gate you could reach a hand into and open, discarded mattresses littering the hallway (from the last shooting? I couldn’t help wondering) and those are the major points. Won’t trouble you with the minor. Bottom line, not safe even in daytime.

We discussed options. Get another hotel? Except all the hotel rooms close to the conference location were booked for those dates and those that weren’t were astronomically expensive. We knew this, because we’d tried them before we booked this place. Stay and risk it? No. In fact, adding up all the things that went wrong before and after leaving, we decided it was not meant to be. We took the kids to Golden Gate Park, which was the one thing they cared passionately about, and headed back home.

Now, for years I’ve been reading about other people’s conference experiences, feeling left out, hearing how important it was for my career and how much I was missing out on by not going. I wanted to do something good for my career. I wanted to experience a national conference. I knew it was expensive, but this one was close enough it looked doable. Nothing else in upcoming years will be. I fell for the hype. I felt I had to do this to be Serious. Then I stuck with my decision despite warning signs because of that non-refundable fee. But if I’d been going on a feng shui approach, I would have seen very early on that this decision needed to be re-thought.

I wasn’t going to have meetings with my agent or editors. I wasn’t going to participate in the literacy signing. All because I signed up in June, instead of May and everybody was scheduled to the eyeballs by the time I said I was going and I missed the literacy deadline. Payments didn’t appear on time, making the expense stressful. And the closer the date came, the more I realized how badly I needed an actual vacation, and this was the closest I’d get. Unfortunate, because four days of “working vacation” wouldn’t really relax and recharge me. Not to mention the hours of travel.

If I’d asked myself, “Forget what I thought I needed six weeks ago, what do I need now to support myself?” I’d have cancelled before we got in the car and slept for a week. So I truly have no regrets about how it all worked out. I’m left behind, and I really AM loving it. This is where I want to be, not in a big, strange city. We have a nice house, and I much prefer it to a scary hotel. There are plenty of things to do right here and we’re doing them. Making masks with the kids, going for walks, visiting the Discovery Center and Botanical Gardens, all without fear of being mugged.

The whole experience has made me step back and think about conferences and writer’s organizations, too. I think the time has come for me to gaffiate. For those who have never been part of the science fiction/fantasy realm, to gaffiate is to get away from it all. I need quiet space to think about where I want to go from here and how I’m going to get there. No writer’s organization is going to help me with that. Moreover, the last thing I need is to be bombarded by industry news and the dire warnings that what I want to do is impractical, doomed, and causes blindness in laboratory rats.

I’ve noticed a trend since getting published that the news I read in organization newsletters I already knew months earlier from reading blogs. The articles aren’t helpful. They aren’t geared towards my needs or my career stage. And then there’s the fact that I actually considered spending $100-$150 on makeup I’d wear for four days to look “professional” at a conference, when I am not a make-up wearing person. If I have to look like somebody I’m not to fit in to an organization, perhaps it is not the org for me.

So, I’m gaffiating and at the end of this year, I may not renew any of my memberships. This is my networking and support system, right here in the blogosphere. I’m giving a workshop here and attending others and I’m doing it in my shorts with a ponytail in my hair after spending a morning doing crafts involving scissors, glitter glue, pipe cleaners and pom poms. I’m relaxing and having a vacation at home, which I really need to recharge. I’ve written 5 novels, 7 and a half novellas, and ten proposals in the last two years. That doesn’t include children’s books or short stories or articles. I don’t want to go sound smart to strangers. I want to wear my fuzzy slippers and contemplate my garden. I want to load up my Holga with medium format film and do artsy shots and I might even pull out my watercolors and paint a picture.

It’s worth the non-refundable fee to be right here, right now, left behind and truly loving it. The experience has cured me of conference envy, and next year I’ll think of all those people in DC and be glad I’m home.