A Writers’ Conference Quick Start Guide
Like any gathering of like-minded nerds, a writers’ conference is a phenomenal experience that connects, instructs and sustains well beyond its few days of giddy mayhem.
It’s also, if you’re anything like me, an excellent opportunity to grin and bumble your way through an exhilarating series of encounters, teachable moments* and buffet lines.
Last fall I once again had the wonderful fortune to be part of the sparkliest mustering of storytellers in North America, the Surrey International Writers’ Conference (SiWC). Here, based on the experience, is a quick start guide for extracting maximum (mis)adventure from any conference!
*Teachable moment: when you’ve been a bit of a dummy, but managed to learn something from the experience! 😊
Nature re(a)d in spool and knob: an illustrated version of the Surrey International Writers’ Conference logo posted in 2018.
A QUICK START GUIDE TO YOUR NEXT CONFERENCE
DAY ZERO (AND PREVIOUS): THE PRE-CONFERENCE ERA
Agonise over your packing at least as much as you do over any manuscript(s) you may be marketing. This is healthy displacement of anxiety, in addition to being strategically wise – you will be both testing your endurance levels and making quick impressions on lots of people, so wardrobe counts. (You may even spend several weeks experimenting with different no-heat hairstyling methods the kids are peddling on the Tubes and the Toks – in this arena the Youths really know what they’re doing.)
Make sure to choose something particularly noxious to eat on your inbound trip, something that will stain your fingers and impart a lingering fast-food smell for the length of the conference, no matter how you scrub under your nails. Remember, your scent is your signature!
Pinch yourself frequently, because you can’t be awake – you are in a surreal daydream where you get to travel for the sake of your calling and focus completely on your lifelong obsession with surreal daydreaming, alongside other people who are just as bonkers as you are.
Be sure to travel at rush hour when there is no hope of getting a seat and you have to exert extreme physical effort to keep your small rolly bag from shooting across the floor and injuring your fellow passengers.
Take public transit whenever possible, because it’s fun and also because you’ve scraped together the funds for the conference itself and you will have to see to the rest of your needs with the smallest amount of currency transfer possible. Be sure to travel at rush hour when there is no hope of getting a seat and you have to exert extreme physical effort to keep your small rolly bag from shooting across the floor and injuring your fellow passengers. (Achieving a state of near-blackout is ideal: aim at least to sweat heavily and see stars.)
Jump up and down with glee, publicly, at least twice: I recommend once in the elevator when you meet one of the conference chairpersons, who is as excited as you are, and once on the street as you call home to check in. The corner of a broad, densely trafficked intersection makes for a nice, highly visible spot.
Fetch tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast from a nearby big box store, which you normally avoid (see above note re. scraped funds and meeting basic needs). Get at least one weird food that is not usually breakfast material but accommodates your rather magnificent host of dietary restrictions.
DAY ONE: THE BEGINNING
Get up extra early to map out your day in fifteen-minute increments on the calendar you have pre-printed for the purpose, thereby confirming your status as that kind of planner in your “real” life (one’s writing life might be quite different, of course).
Dress like you would for a job interview crossed with a college course (“conference casual”), keeping in mind your pitch session that afternoon. Do a small, gleeful dance when your hair works out as planned, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.
Pinch yourself again. You’re not at work (or stuck at home, un/deremployed).
Be winningly charming during the following exchange with the first check-in desk volunteer you come across in the hotel lobby:
“I have a double last name, X Y [foreign, pronounced slowly and carefully], so I might be under X or I might be under Y!”
“Okay, great, but you will definitely be at that desk over there!”
…this works best if you ensure not to read the clearly marked signs indicating which last names are to be found at which desk.
A portrait by one of my nieces - a reminder of how the kids in our lives see us (hopefully not like the walking mess yours truly feels like half the time). They also sent along a review of my manuscript. ❤️
Go to the newbie orientation session because you’ve only attended the conference once before, a decade ago, but make sure to feel a desperate schoolkid-level need to prove yourself as Not a Real Newbie throughout. Realise that you should not need this kind of validation any more and be relieved and grateful when you manage to say nothing.
Experience deep thrills as you make your way to your first session, already decided by The Calendar (see above).
Strike up giddy conversations with anyone and everyone. Find that perfect pitch of energy that says, “I’m an odd, over-enthusiastic duck but not in a life-threatening kind of way.”
Use the handful of squats you do every day as a rock-solid and totally rational foundation for your ambition to take the hotel stairs, instead of waiting for the perpetually delayed and jam-packed elevators. You will arrive at your floor with burning quads and a small pulmonary embolism, but BONUS – you may finally achieve that sought-after blackout!
Terrify your hotel room next-door neighbour by blithely approaching his lunch table in the ballroom and quite clearly convincing him that you are a ruthless stalker. Insert yourself into the table’s conversation with the trademark hyperactive cheeriness that caused one of your Scriptwriting classmates to refer to you fondly as a “golden retriever” (you consider this a major insult).
Remember to practice at least twice in the mirror and ruin any chance you have of picturing yourself as suave or composed.
Skip part of a workshop to rehearse for your first pitch meeting, remembering to practice at least twice in the mirror and ruin any chance you have of picturing yourself as suave or composed.
Ramble ENDLESSLY during your first pitch – don’t worry, mistakes are opportunities for growth, failure is in the eye of the beholder, practice makes perfect, etc. etc. If there is a request for pages it will definitely not be out of pity! 😄
Listen intently to the day’s keynote speakers: your facial expression should suggest that you have read everything they’ve ever written, and by no means indicate that you live under a rock and have never heard of them, or even read anything published in the last two years. (In fairness, it’s pretty tricky to hack out the time to tell your own stories and catch up on the occasional bucket-list read…!)
Walk confidently up to the evening buffet and help yourself before finding some of the day’s acquaintances to sit with and realising you were supposed to wait to be called up with your table. Sit in laughing, bright-faced humiliation until one of the hotel banquet staff takes pity on you and calls your table up next.
If possible, try to have a name so difficult to pronounce that when you win a door prize, the conference’s beloved MC takes one look, gives up and simply spells out your entire name, one letter at a time. (The memory should make you laugh out loud again, even months later.)
Though you know that the evening and night owl events are a huge part of the Conference Experience, go back to your room instead to rework your pitch and get almost a full sleep. Resolve to catch more night-time events next year. Feel no regret; you are old at heart!
DAY TWO: THE MIDDLE
Despite your decent sleep, be much slower than intended in the morning and run late for today’s early-morning pitch meeting registration. Console yourself in a steady stream of muttering to the tune of, “the line will still be a bit shorter…”
Frantically try on the super cool, slightly-too-small blazer that you bought in the wrong size when you were young and foolish, which you really wanted to make your Second Conference Look today. Realise that you are now too old and prudent to have your arms tightly pinioned by corset-sleeves all day and change back into yesterday’s blazer, then decide to do away with a blazer entirely.
Hurry to the registration line without realising that your newly blazer-unencumbered blouse has a tear on the front of it. Notice the rip as you’re waiting in line, ideally while you’re chatting with a nice new acquaintance, and smoothly position your bag to hide it.
Run to the front desk between registering for your pitch and the morning’s keynote speech and ask for a sewing kit, which clearly nobody has requested since the dawn of the Industrial Age but which the kind hotel agent is able to locate for you.
Conference casual: can you spot the hasty blouse repair job?
Ensure to time your last-minute blouse repairs impeccably to overlap with the morning’s room cleaning, so that you have to answer the door with your unbuttoned pyjama shirt hurriedly thrown over yourself. Have a perfectly lovely conversation with your room attendant as she tidies and you sew. If you’re lucky, she will tell you fascinating stories about Furries renting out the hotel, pass on wonderful advice that she gives her daughters, and confirm that no one will be able to see your hasty stitching job.
Message your parents to thank your Dad for teaching you about hotel sewing kits and your Mum for teaching you how to sew.
Accomplish a couple of your goals for your second pitch: say things better (ain’t that the name of the game?) and leave a couple of minutes for the agent to chime in, instead of powering on without drawing breath for the full time.
Realise at lunch, three meals in, that there is a special table of food for people with dietary needs like yours. Overfill your plate out of lingering hunger. Feel guilty. Think about returning a half-sandwich but realise that is disgusting. Resolve to achieve moderation at dinner.
Don’t forget to e-mail them immediately so they can’t possibly mistake you for anyone with a modicum of cool.
Luck in by continually bumping into the loveliest folks and start a long-distance writing group together. Don’t forget to e-mail them immediately so they can’t possibly mistake you for anyone with a modicum of cool.
Give a nod to the evening’s theme for the second dinner in a row, but wish you had the wardrobe/confidence to go all-out costumed like the Cool Kids.
Attend an after-dinner cocktail party at which you do not have the funds to purchase an actual postprandial cocktail, but have fun giggling with new conference friends and manage to make only one potentially divisive reference to a neighbouring country’s judicial system (you consider this a serious victory).
Do some proofreading and get a reasonably good sleep again. It’s important here to do a substandard job of recharging your devices so that you can constructively worry about them dying all day tomorrow.
DAY THREE: THE END
Have a small, panicked fit when your hair doesn’t work out, AS USUAL.
Allow a little bit of carefully planned spontaneity in today’s Calendar, but narrow down each slot to two options to make sure the spontaneity doesn’t get too uninhibited.
Swap life stories with today’s pitch registration line buddy and make an instant, (hopefully) lifelong friend. These things happen in conference mode!
Score an excellent last pitch meeting and make sure to drop a swear word toward the end, accidentally, out of a mixture of euphoria and disbelief at the best reception to your pitch yet. Flee the area before the extremely gracious agent can rethink their decision to request your manuscript.
Allow your elation, new pals and mildly delusional hopes to carry you right past the looming sadness of the conference ending – nothing sails as jauntily as a ship buoyed by friendship and fantasy! 😄
Do not dare to say hello to one of your literary heroes when she signs a couple of books RIGHT NEXT TO YOU as you chat with a friend in the lobby after the conference wraps, even though you have the perfect two-degrees-of-separation story to pester her with. Hold your breath if you must, to avoid attracting attention. Do notice that her tablet or e-reader bag is on-theme with one of the overarching visual tropes of her long-running, best-selling series, and feel transports of delight.
Above all, make sure to write and/or edit in your hotel room and/or the bar at least once, sipping something tasty. Break the above frugality rule if necessary – nothing will be as priceless as the Sophistication of being A Writer Working in a Hotel Whilst Sipping a Drink.
Proofreading in a Hotel Whilst Sipping Bubbles… what more could A Writer ask for?
So, there we have it – a few tips and tricks to make sure your next round of conference adventures is as productively absurd as possible. Drop me a line and let me know how it goes! ❤️