I’m a Relaxed Friendly Writer

smiling manThis past weekend I found myself surrounded by writers, a pleasant plethora of word wizards. If you’re not a writer yourself, you probably imagine such a gathering as a scene of gaiety, witticisms, and good subject-verb agreement. Which of course it was. We also all wore our white silk clothing with colored scarves and traded stories about what Princess Pittypatique of Belgium said last week, and oh, ha ha!, she even used the subjunctive mood. Quelle femme intelligente!

In our hearts, however, we just wanted to be sitting underneath a pergola covered with flowering vines drinking a good hoppy beer, or two. Or three. Or was that just me?

This event with the profusion of writers was the spring edition of the Atlanta Writers Club conference, which always occurs in a hotel down by the airport, right smackedy dab up against interstate 85. As conference hotels go, it’s fairly small, but I’m accustomed to rhetoric conferences with thousands of attendees, who, come to think of it, also trade stories about the subjunctive mood.

The hotel has a small lobby with a bar, so one of the basic necessities of life is met, and there is a frantically large TV in an enormous wooden frame nicer than any furniture I ever owned. I spent a good bit of time sitting in the lobby waiting for things I was going to attend, so I watched people, and occasionally pilots and stewardesses would walk by, on their way back to the airport. People on TV were trying to win prizes.

My reason for going to the conference was not to attend sessions that are intended to educate you on writing topics (such as “The Difference Between Story and Plot” or “Storytelling as Your Purpose”). I go to the conference to meet with agents or editors, to see whether they might be interested in a book I’ve written, and I think this was my fourth time attending. This year I even took Friday off work to attend—that’s just how dedicated I am to literature, right there.

I could tell you in detail about my experiences at the conference, with pitch letter critique! manuscript critique!!, the pitches themselves!!! But do you want to hear any of that? I know what I’m up against here. One click away on the web and you’re looking at pictures of kittens dressed up as pirates, and they’re soooo cuuuute!

So to speed up this conference stuff, I met with five people (agents or editors), and of the five, three of them said they’re interested and will look at part of the book. Score!! I mean, “score” relative to the endless process of talking to agents now and then, careful to enunciate clearly, always say “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am” and don’t look them in the eye or walk on the good carpet.

Score in that sense. But in the past I’ve made pitches for books when the agent shouted for the servants to release the dogs and I had to run for the gate. It was way better than that.

One of the things I like about attending this conference is that I always see my friend Terra, who I literally never see otherwise. She’s been an enthusiastic supporter of the book I’m still trying to market (The Invention of Colors), and she was one of my early readers for the book. At the conference I asked her if she’ll read the next book (Birds Above the Cage), so we’re going to trade again.

This year I also took Terra’s advice in signing up for everything I could that would let me meet someone, which is how I got in front of five people. I also paid $400 for that opportunity, but now that I can afford such things, I’m willing to spend the money on trying to interest someone in a book.

Friday evening there was a big ’ol friendly meet-and-greet in the small lobby between the bar and the gigantic TV, when us relaxed friendly writers could socialize in an informal setting with the agents and editors who held our fates in their hands. In the afternoon, I sat and waited four hours for that event, to say hello to the two people who I’d be talking to the next day. It was a long wait to spend a quick five minutes with each person, but I wanted to make a little human contact beforehand (I learned years ago to imitate human contact).

So I’ve sent off samples of the book, and I wait, and they will say what they say. How many times have I been here? Whatever they say, I will keep working, harder and harder, always more, never less. Someday, it will happen, and I am already making notes for the next novel I plan to write.

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