I thought I’d made a dreadful mistake the morning the job fair dawned. It had all started innocuously enough. A friend asked if I’d be willing to hold a booksigning at the USO’s military spouses’ event at a nearby base. Of course, I agreed. Not only would it be a great way to get my name out there and sell some books, but as a former military wife, I would be delighted to be back amongst my peers.

But a few weeks later, I found out that the base exchange couldn’t organize the booksigning. And I couldn’t sell books at the job fair, either, since that went against the rules. But they still wanted me to attend and asked if I could speak on a panel about writing as an alternative career choice.

That threw me. Could I portray romance writing as a viable career choice? I mean, really, what could I say? That they could write every morning, evening, weekend and holiday for years, forfeiting social events, neglecting their family, all in the hopes that they might eventually sell a book — which if they were lucky, would earn them enough money to buy a couch? And even after that, there was no guarantee that they’d ever sell another book.

But since the event organizers seemed to think I had something to offer, I was willing to give it a try. I figured I could talk about the writing life, make a pitch for romance books, get some nice publicity from the event.

And then a week before the big day, their plans changed again. Suddenly the panel was out as well. All I could do now was man a table at the job fair.

By this time, I wanted to cancel. Attending the event seemed rather pointless. Who would talk to a romance writer at a job fair? How would anyone know I was even there?

But since I’d promised, I pasted a smile on my face, drove several hours to the base in the sweltering heat, and dutifully set up my booth. I put out my posters and bookmarks, brochures from my local writing chapter and information about RWA.

And surprisingly, people stopped to chat. Most gave my posters a puzzling frown and asked me why I was there. When I told them I was answering questions about novel writing, they picked up my bookmarks, signed up for my mailing list and talked about what they liked to read.

And suddenly, I remembered why I had enjoyed being a military wife so much. I felt comfortable with these people. I shared a bond with them, a commitment and mindset that had never disappeared. For all our moving around the country, never quite belonging to any community, I really did fit in here.

And lo and behold, something else happened. People confided that they liked to write. Some wrote poetry or plays, but others actually wanted to write novels — even romance novels. And they were excited to meet a kindred spirit, someone who could tell them how to begin. So I explained about Romance Writers of America, encouraged them to join a writing group and dispensed whatever tips I could.

And by the time the afternoon zipped past, I was exhilarated, charged up, thrilled that I’d helped a few fellow writers make progress toward fulfilling their dreams. Did I sell any books? No. Make new fans? Probably not. But was the day worthwhile? You bet. I came home satisfied that I’d done some good and energized about my own career.

And before I left, I made sure the organizers had signed me up again for next year.