Many years ago, I went to my very first writers’ conference. More than a little frightened and overwhelmed by the number of workshops and the large egos of some of the writers, I considered staying in my hotel room the second day. Instead, I pulled on my big-girl panties and braved another day of feeling out of place, answering rude questions, and attending workshops that taught me I would probably never make it as a fiction writer because few people ever did. That afternoon I attended a panel of romance writers. As soon as I stepped into the room, I …