This past weekend I attended a conference on writing. I learned a lot and I’m glad I went, but it was not always a perfect experience. I got discouraged. I compared myself to others (worst idea ever, but it’s so hard not to do) and their accomplishments. I got feedback that was more negative than I expected (and I have a fairly thick skin). I went to a few classes on Friday that were meh. I didn’t ask the editor at my critique session a few questions that I wish I had. I lost a few opportunities. But then on Saturday I attended amazing classes. And at the book signing I got to sit at a table with some super great authors, including Jennifer Nielsen, who is one of my heroes, and who was super fabulous in person too. It was time well spent with lots of laughing. That would have made my weekend no matter what.

Even so the trek home was longer than usual (with a significant flight delay). I was so tired; my body ached from sitting. My suitcase broke. It was lame, folks.

And then I got home at 9:00 pm and there were sticky notes all over my house with little love messages from all my kids. And lots of hugs. And a husband to talk to and snuggle with. It brought back that balance. I had needed the conference and the things I learned. But then I had needed to come home–to step away from the writing, to live a life that was separate from a writing life. They both feed each other; they both heal each other. Which is what I love about both of them.

Now, you don’t have to have a hundred kids (or even 4), 7 ducks, 2 chickens, a cat, and a husband to come to a place called home. You can have a comfy bed, a good friend, a sister, a day job you love. You can have whatever you have. Just be sure to feed that as you feed your writing life. Then they’ll feed each other. And you’re going to want that.