Tale of Two Conferences
By Guest | December 7, 2015 |
Please welcome guest H.M. (Heather) Bouwman, author of A Crack in the Sea (forthcoming in 2016) and The Remarkable & Very True Story of Lucy & Snowcap (2008). Heather lives with her two kids in St. Paul, Minnesota, where she teaches at the University of St. Thomas and writes novels for middle-grade child readers. She is a martial artist, a homeschooling mom, a reader-aloud of books, and a baker of cakes. In her free time, she does not clean house or care for her lawn. Her neighbors love her: she makes them look good.
I’ve been intrigued for a long time with writers’ success stories, which generally include many years spent working in obscurity in a (usually metaphorical) dark garret, and dozens of rejections weathered before the writer is finally discovered and rises to fame and/or fortune. I’ve long found these stories troubling, and I wanted to parse out why.
Connect with Heather on Facebook and on Twitter.
Tale of Two Conferences
Like many writers, I am an introvert. But I’m also a nut for learning new things through lectures, workshops, and presentations. You can see, perhaps, how conferences might present special benefits and challenges.
I have twice attended the premiere national conference in my genre, an enormous five-day event in which people spill from thousand-seat keynotes into dozens of smaller workshops and lectures and, from there, trickle out into the lobby and hotel bars, after which they ooze into large group dinners and costume parties (yes) that last late into the night.
Most of my writer-colleagues love this conference; I have friends who trek to it every year, who plan vacations so as not to miss attending, who think of this conference as their yearly chance to meet up with hundreds of old friends—and to make new friends, to network and forge new alliances in the publishing world, to meet with editors and agents, to hear from amazing voices in the field, and to learn new marketing techniques.
I cannot even tell you how much I hate this conference. The last time I attended? 2011.
Fast-forward to September of 2014, when I received one of two WU scholarships to attend the UnConference in November. In a year when I was on sabbatical (thus, with lots of free time AND very little income), this news was especially exciting.
For about six hours.
Then it occurred to me that this also meant I’d have to, you know: attend. (And what exactly WAS an “UnConference,” anyway?) This get-together didn’t specialize in my genre—and I didn’t know anyone who’d be attending. And because my lurker status on the WU blog was of almost professional quality,* no one knew me, either. I’d have to meet a bunch of new people and possibly even talk to them.
I went, though. And what I attended was something special: an UnConference. This event explicitly nixed pitching manuscripts at editors, authors, or agents: it was a conference devoted to craft and support. It was limited to 100 people; and though I didn’t meet 100 people in a week, I did recognize them in the hotel lobby and get to friendly-face-nodding-stage with pretty much everyone.
It is true that the UnConference was populated by people who wrote in wildly different genres than I, who stood at different places in their writing careers, and who held differing positions on the traditional-publish/self-publish divide. But all the attendees were fans of the WU blog—which seemed to translate into some philosophical attachment to the values of that blog as well: inclusiveness, kindness, generosity of spirit. This UnConference wasn’t about presenting papers or giving talks or networking or attending costume parties**—it was explicitly about learning new things and supporting each other.
I can’t tell you how much I loved the UnConference.
At a writing retreat with three other writers (we go to a cabin in northern MN in January—which is in itself a commitment—and write silently during the day, gathering in the evening for company and dinner), I thought more about why the UnConference format worked so well for me. How was attending the Salem conference (and how was writing in a cabin in northern MN) better than, say, staying home with my little introvert self and writing in the comfort of my green rocker with my cat on my lap?
Well, it isn’t, not all the time. That home-based writing time, cat on lap, is necessary—for my mental health and for the finishing of my novels. But what I’ve discovered is that community with other writers is also a necessary part of my process. A certain type of community: Solitude in solidarity.
That’s the ultimate value of an UnConference or a writing retreat for me—to be in the company of people who get what I do, and whose work I likewise value. It’s not to be a star or “make publishing connections,” (though making friends is wonderful—hi, Heather J! Melanie! Valerie! everyone from the UnConference group meals!).
I write alone, for the most part. I like writing alone. The writing life is by its very nature a life of solitude and of the mind.
But somehow, working in solitude together—curled up in northern Minnesota in a quiet cabin with three other writers while the wind roars outside; or sitting in a hundred-person dining room in Salem, Massachusetts, my manuscript open on the table in front of me—I know that I am not, in fact, always working alone. During Donald Maass’s all-day workshop, I glanced up at one point, at the bent heads of nearly a hundred people typing at manuscripts or scribbling in notebooks, and I could feel an overwhelming purpose linking us all together. We were there for the same reason, we were all working alone-but-together, and we all valued what each other was doing.
* I’m working on this, people.
** I would add a note here about how I have nothing against costume parties. But it’s not true. I really really hate costume parties.
Are you drawn (or not drawn) to writing conferences? What do they offer you? What makes you feel linked with other writers?
Many thanks to today’s guest.
You can read more WU guest posts by visiting this link.
Heather, you describe the push-pull of attending conferences so eloquently. I relate! I gravitate toward the learning, but always feel like the person with the sign on her head that says, ‘odd woman out’. You also describe so beautifully the spirit of WU. I have yet to meet any of these lovely people, but they’ve sure made me feel welcome here on the page.
Susan, I’ve read your comments so often on this blog that you are one of the people I feel I know–though we have never met. Thank you for your comment. And if we ever attend the same conference, we need to shake hands. :)
I’ll look forward to that, Heather!
Great post, thank you. I’m glad you round a conference that worked for you. I like costumes but get that dressing up isn’t a source of fun for some, but increases anxiety.
I know! Most of my friends really really love the costume party event.
HI, Heather:
I think I know the Conference That Dare Not Speak It’s Name. I’ve always avoided it, but a friend urged me to give it some thought, so this year I’m doing so and teaching a workshop on the final day. I’m being urged to attend several days to “experience the conference,” but I’m hardly a neophyte in such matters, and I tend to dislike crowds. But it’s an opportunity to reach out to more potential students and readers, and that ain’t nuthin to sniff at (he says resignedly).
I was unable to attend the UnConference, and since I live on the opposite coast I need to be sure the expense is worth it. You’ve just about convinced me it is.
Thanks so much for such an honest and heartfelt post. Now, back to the costume party.
My costume next time I go: Muggle. :)
Seriously, there are SO MANY great things about this conference, but for me: the crowds and constant networking and being “on” are very stressful. Someday I’ll attend again, and I’ll master the art of attending only PART of the conference and doing something quiet and rejuvenating with the other part of my time.
I do enjoy them and learn so much. I like to attend by myself. That way I can navigate freely, don’t have to wait for others or (usually) vice versa. And I love talking to strangers. I would attend more but for the price factor.
Thea, it’s so great that you’ve found your conference “style.” It took me years (and a couple of these giant conferences) to figure out what worked for me.
Heather,
I have not done a writing group retreat as I’m still fairly new at this. But I did take a personal retreat and it was wonderful. I didn’t have any housework or work phone calls to get sidetracked away from writing. And it was so lovely to sit and daydream because there was lots of time and no housework and no one to cook for except me. But your writing retreat sounds wonderful.
And maybe some year I’ll be brave enough to attend a conference, preferably an Unconference.
Personal retreats are great, too. I have a couple of friends here in MN who combine the personal retreat and the writing retreat by rooming and writing for a weekend or a week at a Franciscan retreat (Clare’s Well, for those of you who are interested). I’ve never been, but it sounds peaceful and wonderful.
Heather – I think I might have been the first UnCon attendee you met. I hope I wasn’t too in-your-face. You seemed not to be put out by my – ahem – enthusiasm over arriving in MA. I’m with you and others – I generally dislike crowds. But I had the advantage of having already met at least a dozen of the attendees.
For me, the UnCon is sort of like a reunion, and I’m really jonesing for the next one. It’s renewing for me, to actually see so many who are such a big part of my writing journey. Which is a separate-from-regular-life part, but a vital part of who I am. But I now know it’s so much more than a reunion. Something magical happened last November, and it’s permeated my writing life in an indescribable way. There was a special communion, for sure. Even if we can’t fully recapture it, I’m quite positive that the experience that comes of UnCon ’16 will again be a special one.
Fun post, thanks for sharing your experience. And congrats on your upcoming book!
Vaughn, you WERE the first person I met! And no, you were not off-putting at all!–everyone was excited to meet each other IRL, and it was cool to see that and be a part of it.
Hi Heather! ;)
It really was a magical conference. (See what I did there? Magic, Salem. Har har.)
It was fun to finally meet people in person and make new friends, and the laid back atmosphere was great! I think everyone, the attendees and speakers, felt the camaraderie and unity. It was like the walls were down. We could hang out and chat with anyone. No matter if they were a well-known professional, or a fellow writer who’s unpublished, everyone was friendly and had a good time.
I’ve honestly never felt anything like it before. It was hard to leave.
Yes, it was hard to leave at the end! I felt, too, like I’d made HUGE breakthroughs in my writing–like some walls there came crashing down, too. And I’m sure the welcoming atmosphere at the conference was a HUGE part of that.
Heather, you really captured the essence of the Un-Conference. It was so different than any other conference I’ve attended. The recent writer’s retreat in Salem was just as special–a rare opportunity to reconnect with our unique group at an even more intimate level. The intense sharing, welcoming and sense of community at both the Un-Conference and the retreat are what set Writer Unboxed apart from other online community. Best of luck at your retreat and I wish you the best.
Thank you, Chris–and good luck with all your writing, too!
It is so great to see people here at the blog (every day, not just today) whom I met at the retreat. I can still you sitting at the big round dining table with me one day (was it the last day? I think it was), and I can hear you sharing about your writing in one of Meg’s sessions.
What’s interesting to me, too, is that there are people whom I DIDN’T meet at the conference (Susan, the first respondent above, is one), whom I also feel like I know a bit–but that’s because of the nature of THIS BLOG. For those of us who aren’t able to get to the conference this coming year: know that the community HERE is also magical.
“Solitude in solidarity.” That’s a good one. Perhaps it would be nice to participate in a small cabin writing retreat.
It reminds me of going to a meditation retreat. You’re focused on nothing and you are, for the most part, alone. Then you meet up with a group for meals, but are not allowed to speak.
The writing retreat was very similar to what you describe, Tina, except that we DID talk at dinner–just not the rest of the day. It was the perfect amount of talking. :)
I had such Unconference envy in 2014! It was clear even from “outside” that the dynamic that makes WU so special had carried over successfully to that venue.
I’m pretty sure I know the the conference you mention too, as I belong to the organization. Haven’t gone–that’s partly because it’s not my primary genre. But being familiar with with large science fiction (nonwriting) conventions and academic conferences, I can kind imagine both the appeal and the scale. It can be quite overwhelming!
I’ve gone to a nice regional conference a couple of times. Local is good, less overwhelming, but at this point I feel it isn’t quite the fit for what I need at this point in my writing progress/development. So I’m holding off and saving pennies for something more hands-on and intimate.
Thanks for sharing your experiences here! I treasure the sense of community here and hope you’ll chime in more often. :-)
Yes, I need to chime in more on the blog. *hangs head in shame*
One of the things I did before UnCon was “prep” for it–though I didn’t think of it as prepping–by spending a couple of years reading blog posts and getting to know a bit about some of the conference participants. Maybe if I’d done that kind of “research” for the giant conference, my experience there would have been different.
Or maybe not. I think I just really like small, intimate conferences that are focused on writing far above professional networking.
You captured the feel of the UnCon so beautifully, Heather. As you (and half the world) know, I flew half way around the world to attend last year — and was so excited to meet Dale, a fellow Aussie, when I got there, and hear another “normal” accent on occasion. ;)
I’ve been to many writing conferences in Australia, to writing retreats, and to solitary retreats, and the UnCon was unlike any of them. I feel a special kinship with everyone I met in Salem — and everyone I was on familiar head-nodding-in-the-lobby terms with.
I’ve often thought about what, exactly, it was that made the UnCon so great. It wasn’t just the extraordinarily generous and knowledgeable teachers, or the pages and pages (and pages) of notes I came away with. It wasn’t just the friends I made, or the people I met in the flesh after knowing some of them in virtual space for years. It wasn’t just the long nights spent drinking in the bar while we talked about everything from the craft to politics to etymology to witchcraft to comedy to everything else under the sun, or the giggles as we got lost in the heart of Salem at midnight trying to find somewhere else to buy a drink. It wasn’t just the nights of playing poker interspersed with literary quips, or the fan-girl moment of realising I was sitting next to THE Donald Maass, and I just beat him in a hand of cards. (!!!) It wasn’t just the mixed joy and sadness of celebrating a life, a death, and a birthday with a room full of equally emotional people, or the thrill of hearing people share their writing every evening. It wasn’t even the lack of sleep and the ubiquitous hotel coffee. It was all of that and so much more.
When I flew back to Brisbane, it took me a good two months to feel like my feet even touched the ground. My writing was so greatly improved, my friendships cemented, my poker playing skills raised from non-existent to vaguely-passable, and my heart and soul refreshed and renewed with the love of words and writing.
Bring on 2016.
Yes to everything you wrote here, Jo (except the cards and late-night-drink, which I slept through). :) I’m so glad it was a magical experience to so many people.
Heather, it was wonderful to meet you at the UnCon and this post feels like an extension of its vibe. Thank you for recreating the warmth and vitality of the experience.