Gearing Up for Getting Out: The Conference Experience
By David Corbett | September 11, 2018 |
This post will appear two days after I and my wife return from this year’s Bouchercon, “The World Mystery Convention.” I’m writing it as I prepare to make the trip. September 6th through 9th fellow writers in the crime-mystery-thriller genre from around the world will have converged on St. Petersburg, Florida, to trumpet their most recent works, bask in the limelight, hustle for new deals and contacts, and generally squeeze the flesh and shamelessly self-promote.
If only I weren’t dreading it so.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m very much looking forward to connecting with friends I typically only see once or twice a year, precisely at these sorts of gatherings. In many ways the genre has provided me with my tribe, and it’s populated with smart, witty, unpretentious and hard-working writers of every stripe.
In particular, I’m very much looking forward to sharing a panel with Jess Lourey, who appeared here with Shannon Baker at Writer Unboxed on August 26th (“Write What You Fear: Why, How, and a Lifesaving Bonus Tip”). I just wish we didn’t have to do it at 8:00 AM on a Saturday morning.
Not only will 90% of the attendees be sleeping in or demonstrably hungover from all the parties the night before—Friday night is infamous for such festivities—it will be 5:00 AM for me, since I’ll still be on west-coast time, meaning I’ll have to rise and shine at 4:00 AM BT (Body Time) to ensure I actually stumble in on time. As for being articulate—who knows?
I’m also looking forward to taking part in a Thursday morning panel on historical research, given how relevant that is to my own recent novel, The Long-Lost Love Letters of Doc Holliday. The downside: a great many conference attendees will not yet have arrived, so this panel too is likely to offer only limited exposure.
Given such vicissitudes (I hear you ask), especially considering the expense of travel and accommodations, why bother making the effort at all?
Ah, Grasshopper, allow me to explain.
In many ways the crime-mystery-thriller genre has provided me with my tribe, and it’s populated with smart, witty, unpretentious and hard-working writers of every stripe.
Last Monday, on Labor Day, Greer Macallister posted here at Writer Unboxed a relevant piece titled, “25 Truths About the Work of Writing.” https://staging-writerunboxed.kinsta.cloud/2018/09/03/25-truths-about-the-work-of-writing/ In the Comments, I remarked that one of the truths about the work of writing I had come to understand was this: There will be times when you will need to play the salesman. It will not kill you. But you will most likely hate it.
A great many writers are dyed-in-the-wool introverts. One reason we chose writing to express ourselves is due to our comfort level with solitude.
However, even with the ability to reach so many readers through social media, blogs, and other online outlets, it remains necessary to get out among the public at times and convince people that you and your books are worthy of their time and attention. Eighty percent of success is showing up, as the saying goes. So, yeah, you have to show up.
That doesn’t mean attending conferences will work wonders. As one editor from a New York publishing house once explained, even if everyone at the conference bought your book, it wouldn’t even begin to approach the kind of numbers needed to make you a real success.
Rather, you attend conferences to remind people you haven’t died, been abducted by aliens, or run off with an Alaskan Mennonite.
I can speak with some authority on this. During the time I was focusing more on The Art of Character and my teaching career than promoting my crime fiction, I chose not to attend several conferences such as Bouchercon and Left Coast Crime, thinking a little sabbatical wouldn’t kill me.
I might as well have joined the circus. On the moon.
It’s bad enough I’ve failed to honor the genre’s dictum of a book a year, or that my books have garnered far more critical praise than readers.
By declining to faithfully attend these conferences, I quite literally began to disappear. By absenting myself, I slid back to the more forgettable regions of the general discussion as to what’s new and interesting, a professional faux pas from which I’m still recovering. (Assuming, of course, I am indeed recovering, not just slowing down the pace of my disappearance.)
You attend conferences to remind people you haven’t died, been abducted by aliens, or run off with an Alaskan Mennonite.
And as I’m a bit of an iconoclast in the genre anyway—one interviewer, speaking of my latest novel, recently remarked, “This is quite a departure even for you”—I really can’t afford the luxury of taking time off.
And yet more and more frequently at these affairs I often find myself wanting nothing more than to return to my room to read—i.e., hide. (I actually did this once for three straight days at a romance writers convention. I knew no one, and it was held in Las Vegas, a city I loathe.)
Some of this desire for privacy is based on little more than pride. I will no doubt suffer for this next remark, but I find it increasingly difficult to endure the lionization of mediocrity. And yet, no one could be faulted for seeing that statement as just the predictably cranky, self-serving retort of someone who’s noticed that no one pays much attention when he enters the room. Worse, when he leaves it.
I will, however, do my best to maximize the experience, reconnecting with writers, editors, and agents who have helped me along the way, making new connections that may prove valuable in the future, and doing my best to catch up meaningfully with the many friends I’ve made over the years—though these shindigs often resemble getting trapped in a revolving door, with many conversations frustratingly brief.
By the time you read this, however, I will have returned to my desk, the cockpit of my writer’s journey. I will have resumed work on the next novel and the next book on the craft of fiction (working title: The Compass of Character). And I will be happy. Or at least as happy as I get.
Share your reflections on the conference experience: Has it been worth your while? Better yet, has it provided that rush of recognition every writer craves? Contrarily, has it felt like a grind, or a perpetual exercise in anonymity? If you’ve yet to attend a conference, which one is intriguing you? What do you hope to accomplish by attending?
David Corbett (he/him) is the author of seven novels: The Devil’s Redhead, Done for a Dime (a New York Times Notable Book), Blood of Paradise (nominated for numerous awards, including the Edgar, Do They Know I’m Running?, The Mercy of the Night, The Long-Lost Love Letters of Doc Holliday, and The Truth Against the World. He has also published the story collection Thirteen Confessions and the novella The Devil Prayed and Darkness Fell.
David’s short fiction and poetry have appeared in a broad array of magazines and anthologies, with pieces twice selected for Best American Mystery Stories.
His non-fiction has appeared in numerous venues, including the New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Narrative, Zyzzyva, MovieMaker, The Writer, and Writer’s Digest.
He has taught both online and in classroom settings through the UCLA Extension’s Writers’ Program, Book Passage, LitReactor, 826 Valencia, The Grotto in San Francisco, and at numerous writing conferences across the US, Canada, and Mexico. In January 2013 Penguin published his textbook on the craft of characterization, The Art of Character (“A writer’s bible that will lead to your character’s soul.” —Elizabeth Brundage), and Writer’s Digest published his follow-up, The Compass of Character, in October 2019.
When I moved from one state to another I kind of dropped out of social media, blogging, and definitely haven’t gone to any conferences. Not only did it seem like I slid off the face of my writing world, in some ways I kind of forgot that I was a writer. I had a bit of an identity struggle because I didn’t have the writing reinforcement around me. I wasn’t learning about writing, talking about writing and then, I kind of quit writing! Once I’ve started engaging with the externals of writing (not just the act of writing) I’ve found my writing identity growing again. I can see how, as a working author, conferences would be necessary to keep your name out there. I suppose, like any job, there’s things we have to do that we don’t necessarily like. I’ve never been on the speaking side of a conference, but I have appreciated those of you who do present because you help me be a better writer.
And please ignore/forgive the typos above – I was writing a quick comment at work and so missed some proofreading! :P
Hi, Lara:
Don’t sweat the typos. God knows my comments are routinely riddled with them. (I just had to re-type three words in the preceding sentence, and another in this one.)
I hereby issue this decree:
ALL TYPOS IN THIS COMMENT THREAD ARE HEREBY FORGIVEN.
There is a sneaky, subtle truth to your remark concerning the external aspect of writing nurturing the internal. Some f that main be rooted in simple competition, but I suspect more goes to identity in just the way you expressed.
And yet whatever validation these events provide must be carried back to that lonely chair. That’s the real throne of any coronation we hope to achieve as a writer.
Thanks for chiming in.
Good thing I forgave all typos, ya think?
I got your back. ;)
So true. And thank God there is always wine. Update that bio, the latest and greatest is missing!
Oh geez, Deb, you’re right. About the bio AND the wine.
I’ll attend to the former first. It’s only 8:00 AM here. :-)
Hey David – I appreciate having your perspective here, and I enjoyed reading the essay. I particularly smiled over: “enduring the lionization of mediocrity.” Maybe that outs me as a member of the Predictably Cranky Club.
But I suppose my outlook is quite a bit different. I guess that’s mainly due to my view of where I fit into the pub industry. Since I’m unpubbed, I have lower expectations, and my goals don’t really include promotion, or even maintaining visibility. I continue to attend not just because I really love seeing my friends (mostly made through WU), but because I leave them so darn energized!
Although I’ve been on a few panels (big thanks to Boss T for including me!), I’m there mostly as an attendee – a pupil, there to learn and grow. And I gain so much from others, even during the panels I happen to be on.
I can see how it would get to be a grind, though I’m not there yet. And I am always a bit of a travel-dreader (at least till I’m out on the road). But having said that, there’s a big exception. I really look forward to the WU UnCon. And it’s not just an exception because I enjoy it, and inevitably come away as a better and more energized writer. It’s because the promo/industry/contact-making/platform-visibility-thing is non-existent there. I think that even if you brought it, it would simply (and swiftly) melt away. There’s such a common purpose among that small group.
Thanks much for the perspective from further down the road. Glad you’re home and happy. Hope to finally meet you someday soon (likely at a conference). I’m sure the time spent in your company will be anything but a grind, and will likely be all too brief.
Thanks, Vaughn. I knew you’d manage to cheer me up.
I’m going to offer a post-conference comment in a moment. But I think your remarks underscore just how unique and valuable and praiseworthy the WU UnCon is for exactly the reasons you’ve given. It respects the writing, not the marketing. It’s about the craft, not self-promotion. It focuses on the humility of work, not the vanity of success.
Then again, if one attends the circus, he cannot complain of an over-abundance of clowns.
I too really hope we get a chance to meet in the physical world in the not-too-distant.
Thank you for articulating my experience too.
Thanks, Patricia. I had feeling I wasn’t alone in this.
The last big writer’s conference I went to, I took my 14-YO niece and she got a toe ring on Venice Beach. I also stood in line for an autographed book (Patricia MacLachlan, Unclaimed Treasures). I do understand the hiding-in-the-room part. I would have done a lot of that if not for my young companion. The conference itself was worthwhile for the people I met and the sharing of ideas. And my niece, now with two children of her own, still has that toe ring and got several more. I guess the big value of conferences for me is the diversion from everyday life.
Hi, Barbara:
See my comment below to Barbara Morrison’s post concerning “hiding in the room.”
“… the people I met and the sharing of ideas.” Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I agree.
“… the diversion from everyday life.” No small thing for writers who spend long hours every day in a chair.
Thanks!
Oh, I so recognise myself in this post, David! The last time I went to AWP, it was close enough that I could have commuted, but I got a room in the hotel and stayed over, primarily so I’d have a bolthole. Being able to escape there once in a while saved my sanity!
“Wow! A two-hour documentary on elephants on the NatGeo Channel. I may NEVER leave my room!”
Nice hearing from you, Barbara, as always.
I’ve attended to conferences, but they weren’t for writers. Thank you for sharing your experience with writer’s conferences. They sound exciting, and yet, a bit like something else.
I noticed you used the work ‘Grasshopper’ in your post above. This is strange to me because I asked you if Kung Fu would be included in your list of Angel Savior stories and you said you didn’t know what Kung Fu was.
Kung Fu is a tv series starring David Carradine. He plays Caine, a Shaolin monk who wonders around the American Old West helping people and using martial-arts against the bad guys. When he was young, his teacher back in China used to call him Grasshopper.
I’m sorry, Tina, I must have misunderstood your question. I of course know the show. My apologies for the glitch.
***POST-CONFERENCE UPDATE***
I thought I’d add a few remarks on how the actual conference proceeded.
As always, I had the opportunity to visit with a number of long-time friends, and enjoyed that opportunity immensely.
I also made a number of new friends, including:
–Kellye Garrett, whose HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE won the Anthony Award for Best First Novel.
–Michael Kardos, who teaches writing at Mississippi State and with whom Jess Lourey and I shared a lovely breakfast after our 8AM panel on Saturday.
–Rick Zahradnik, a ferocious advocate for education and in particular journalism in the schools, whose LIGHTS OUT won the Shamus Award for Best Paperback Original.
–Melissa Lenhardt, proud Texan at the vanguard of the “feminist western.”
I also had two incredible panels with writers I will always remember with fondness and respect.
On the historical research panel: moderator Susanna Calkins, who deftly, gracefully herded the cats; Deanna Raybourn, who I swear was born at 80 MPH, and who has created one of the most intriguing heroines in fiction (world-traveling Victorian lepidopterist Veronica Speedwell); the self-effacingly witty and brilliant megastar Anne Cleeland; and first-time novelists Dianne Freeman and Katrina Carrasco, who proved far more accomplished than their newcomer status might suggest. I’m not being nice — each of these women was smart, witty, and gracious, and all their books are worth your time.
I’ve already mentioned Jess and Michael from the Saturday panel (“Monkeys On a Keyboard – Writing as Craft”). Also onboard were Jane K. Cleland and Jack Bludis, both established teachers and wonderful writers, as well as our moderator Kristen Sevisk, an editor at Tor/Forge who corrals into coherence several of my dearest friends, Hank Phillippi Ryan and Renée Patrick (the husband wife team of Vince and Rosemary Keenan).
I also suffered the “perpetual turnstile” experience with several friends I wish I could have spent more time with, such as Deborah Crombie, Alison Gaylin, and Mark Billingham.
As for the marketing aspect: Many of us discovered that despite our publishers submitting all the necessary paperwork to have our books available for the conference, the actual bookstores in the bookroom – there were only three, a much smaller number than usual – had for various reasons chosen not to have them on hand. I was able through rushed negotiation to obtain books overnight thanks to the gracious intercession of my agent and Elaine Petrocelli at Book Passage in Corte Madera. (Yes, I co-chair the annual mystery writers’ conference at Elaine’s bookstore, but this was above and beyond the call of duty, and I’m immensely grateful.) Unfortunately, the stores would take only a handful of books on consignment, so sales were sparse. Also, one of the best opportunities for sales, after my Thursday panel, was lost due to the lack of books.
There were also other sour notes.
Danny Gardner, whose A NEGRO AND AN OFAY is one of the most powerful books in the genre of late, had his nomination for an Anthony Award revoked on what many of us (including me) consider a dubious technicality. Adding insult to that injury, Danny was then ghettoized to a seemingly slapdash panel based on “writers with strong opinions,” which he and his fellow panelists – Kristen Sullivan, Christa Faust, Renée Asher Pickup, and Kieran Shea – managed to turn into one of the most gratifying experiences of the weekend.
Worse, a panel on “The Crime Novel as Social Reflection” quickly went awry when the moderator at the outset seemed to undermine the very premise of the thing, claiming social relevance has no viable place in crime fiction unless it’s “written well.” A firestorm of sorts ensued, featuring once again Danny Gardner. Danny struggled upstream as long as he could, but then walked out in protest. He was immediately defended by fellow panelist Renée Asher Pickup and, from the audience, Sara J. Henry, who rose from her chair and bravely announced that in all of her years of attending Bouchercon she had never experienced anything as offensive as that panel.
(I’m sure all this will get addressed in a roundtable article I’m shepherding for the February 2019 issue of Writer’s Digest, tentatively titled “The Color of Crime,” on the experiences of writers of color in the mystery genre. That piece will feature the insights of Kellye Garret, Rachel Howzell Hall, Naomi Hirahara, Gary Phillips, Gar Anthony Haywood – and guess who: Danny Gardner.)
Helping to diminish the sour taste left by all that was the resounding success of “diversity” writers at the Agatha Awards. In addition to Kellye’s win, there was Attica Locke for Best Novel (BLUEBIRD, BLUEBIRD), and Gary Phillips as editor of THE OBAMA INHERITANCE: FIFTEEN STORIES OF CONSPIRACY NOIR for Best Anthology. Also, Kristen Lepionka of the LGBTQ community won the Shamus Award for Best First Novel with THE LAST PLACE YOU LOOK.
In her acceptance speech, Kellye made an indelible impression with this remark: “We need to stop treating diverse writers as a trend and start treating them as the status quo.” Rob Hart underscored that in a blog post noting how moved he was by Kellye’s remarks and citing a Sisters in Crime analysis that reveals that there are less than 200 writers who are traditionally published in the crime genre who are not white and straight.
I hope that the end of the conference, rather than the preceding rough spots, point the way forward.
David,
Thank you for your post-con follow-up especially about the The Crime Novel as Social Reflection panel debacle.
Danny Gardner, despite multiple insults and disappointments, remained charming, kind, smart, funny, and erudite. You could not have asked for a more charismatic or professional attendee. I truly admired him before and now I’m in awe of the sangfroid he displayed
I hope when the people involved in treating him so shabbily have a chance to reflect on their horrid conduct they are deeply ashamed and apologize. It’s the very least they can do.
Thanks so much, Aimee. I’m passing this on directly to Danny, who I’m sure will deeply appreciate your remarks. They fall in line with a number of other comments I’m hearing, and I’m really looking forward to having him with me on the faculty of the upcoming Book Passage Mystery Writers’ Conference — not just because he’s my friend, but because he’s a brilliant writer, an engaging speaker, and as you so aptly put it: “charming, kind, smart, funny, and erudite.”
David, since I would turn into a pumpkin-spiced latte if I attended any conferences east of the Mississippi, I’ve never had the pleasure of an UnCon. However, I have attended a number of conferences on the western edge, including the dandy Writer’s Digest West in 2012, where I even shared a few sentences with you, which I’m sure you committed to memory. There were a number of WU luminaries there, including Therese, who slapped me when I commented upon her shoes. (Kidding, Therese. You merely poked me in the chest. No, just kidd—oh, never mind).
I have gotten a lot of good out of presentations and workshops at events I’ve attended, but being of morbid personality, i.e., introverted, I must periodically retreat back to the room for solace. Until the bar opens after the workshops, and I succumb to the siren song of cocktails.
But man, your overview above of the contretemps at your latest conference—sheesh! Makes me glad I’m just a ghost at these things, and not a presenter.
Thanks for such a candid post, David. You’re absolutely right about the need for “face time” for published authors – it is WAY too easy to drop off the literary radar if you pass up too many opportunities to “see and be seen.”
So far I’ve been fortunate in that every conference I’ve attended has been worthwhile in one way or another. But it’s definitely worth doing your homework before signing up – either as a presenter or simply an audience member/networker.
I will say this: I think I’ve had a “wow, I did NOT see that coming” moment at every conference I’ve participated in. Whether it’s a panel that you’re trying to moderate suddenly threatening to go off the rails, or encountering a presenter who’s more than a little too caught up in the self-importance of being an “industry pro,” or a fellow panelist unexpectedly taking a flat-out swipe at you in front of a live audience, or somebody (onstage or in the audience) trying to monopolize a session, I’ve learned it’s good to be ready for anything.
But the bottom line is that I freaking LOVE being surrounded by others who are so clearly interested in this crazy pursuit – after all, otherwise they wouldn’t be there. I live in South Florida, where I can count the number of people I know who read for pleasure on both hands. So when I go to a conference, it’s such a feeling of being among kindreds, even if some of them seem batshit crazy (and allowing for the fact that I seem equally batshit crazy to them). In its weird way, it’s actually one of my favorite aspects of “the author experience.”
I hope our paths cross at one of these events. But I’ll warn you, I can’t promise that you won’t end up with a new tattoo or asleep in a boxcar headed for Iowa. Stuff happens.
Does it have to be Iowa?
You’re absolutely right, and there’s no small amount of “grumpy so-and-so” in my take. But I often find it’s the workshops and more specifically writing-as-craft oriented conferences, like the San Miguel de Allende conference or the Surrey International Writers Conference, that give me that gratifying and creative sense of being among like minds — rather than being trapped in the same crowded maze.
That said, as I already noted, both my panels were stellar, and I was proud to be included in both. Everyone was smart, interesting, and humble, and I couldn’t have been happier on that front. And the conversation about public education with Rich Zahradnik, who oversees a newspaper otherwise run exclusively by students, was one of the absolute highlights of the weekend. It’s always uplifting to be around so many smart, engaged people.
As for the new tattoo — it would be my first, so be gentle.
Comma Boy – I’ve missed you!
P.S. On a lighter note:
Due to the book snafu, I was unable to join my wife, Mette, horseback riding in the ocean. From the pics and the video she’s shared on her Facebook page, it looks like I seriously missed out.
We did, however, get to visit the Salvador Dali museum, which included an exhibit of photographs of the artist’s birthplace and longtime residence on the Costa Brava. At the risk of seeming reductionist, those photographs reveal a real-world basis for some of his more eerily haunting and “surreal” motifs and landscapes, as well as his draftsman-like attention to detail.
As a presenter at a non writers conference one year, I had the world’s worst possible slot: the last afternoon at a week-long conference in a boffo city with families waiting in the lobby.
How to get attendees to my presentation? A provacative title: “Swmming Naked When the Tide Goes Out.” Throughout the week people asked me about the naked speech and I, of course, told them to attend and hear for themselves.
Whether the speech actually lived up to the title and their expectations I don’t know, but far more than expected stayed until 4pm to hear “the naked speech.” The conference organizers were delighted because folks stayed to the end of the conference. And my work and my goals for the conference were more than met.
It’s unfortunate the writing community is made up of human beings with faults and petty jealousies and those get played out in a public forum. But we are what we are and perhaps it’s those very faults that bring a richness to our writing and a reality to our words.
Thanks, Bernice. Well said, whether you were naked or not.
I don’t think anyone who responds with something less than glee at the conference experience is complaining about human nature. I’m co-chair of the upcoming Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference and we, too, are all too human. But we also make a concerted effort to make sure that all the presenters know — it’s about the participants, not you. We’re there to teach, guide, inform, and inspire — not preen, gloat, backbite, or hide. And we attract a great faculty and many repeating participants precisely because of that commitment.
But I’ll remember that final panel slot title.
I’m a big fan of local conferences. They’re generally are more affordable. In addition, they’re smaller, so you can actually see the same people more than once after you meet them. And the same people may attend year after year, so you can make friends, and even see them between conferences if you’d like to.