The Single Senior Goes to a Writers’ Conference
I went to a writers’ conference in San Diego over the weekend. Three colleagues, Phoenix area writers, and I boarded the plane on Friday very early in the morning with high hopes but secret doubts. We all had appointments for one-on-one sessions with editors and agents to get feedback on the first fifteen pages of our completed books.
We noticed that there was another event at the hotel, a Marriage Retreat. Were they retreating from marriage or to it?
After a leisurely brunch at the hotel, we went to the first of many sessions that covered how to plan, improve, publish, and market our books. Most of the sessions were excellent, and even the so-so ones contained a pearl or two of wisdom to improve my writing and marketing.
On Saturday morning I had the first of my five appointments. The New York agent and I discussed my book. He thought my writing was hyper-real and natural. He asked me to send him four more chapters! I felt like I had climbed Mt. Everest!
It was a comedown when the second New York editor was less than wild about my writing. She liked the characters and idea but thought I needed to work on my dialogue.
The third appointment, with a California agent, was even less laudatory. She also liked my characters and idea but . . .
I was thrilled that one wanted to see more, but disappointed the others saw a lot of work to bring my book up to snuff.
On Saturday afternoon I was sitting with an author at a table in the lobby when a woman came over, looking discombobulated. She said she had taken the elevator with an airline pilot. They both got out on the eighth floor. She was turned around and not sure where to locate her room. (At this point she confessed that she’d had a couple of drinks.) The pilot asked her the room number and pointed her in the right direction. When she got to her room, the phone was ringing. It was the pilot. She said she was “creeped out” and ran back to the conference.
The author (male, married, and seventy-eight) inquired why she was upset. He thought that she should have taken it as a compliment. My question was, “What did he look like?” I figured he must have been a toady guy, or threatening. The author then wanted to know if it would have been okay if he was handsome. I had to think about that. I replied that if he appealed to me, I might react differently, but handsome was in the eyes of the beholder.
The distraught conferee kept babbling, but she calmed down. She was drunk.
That evening the mariachis from a wedding reception across the hall made it difficult to hear the evening speaker at the conference’s banquet.
The next morning, Sunday, before the eight a.m. speaker, one of the conference directors said pilots were hitting on the conferees. A pilot had come into the bar the night before, dressed in his pilot’s cap, jacket, and shorts. He tried to put the make on several of the women writers.
I went to a session and then packed up and checked out. The front desk clerk gave me the pass to the business center so I could print out my airline boarding pass. I was surprised to see five people in the small room with three computers on two walls. A man was sitting on one side but not doing anything. He said there was something wrong with the computer, but continued to sit there.
As I waited my turn to use the computer on the other side, he asked me where I was flying. I replied “Phoenix.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’m flying to Denver later and could have comped you a drink.”
It took me a second to realize he was a pilot. And one who wanted an afternoon delight. I didn’t feel creeped out or threatened. Rather I laughed to myself, felt complimented and glad I wasn’t a desperate woman in search of any man.
My next appointment, with an author and freelance editor, was positive, although she said to throw out the prologue. She gave me suggestions while complimenting my writing style.
At the beginning of the final one-on-one session later in the afternoon, the freelance editor told me he loved the prologue. He had some suggestions, but thought I was on the right track.
The “experts” had contradictory advice. What I learned was to trust myself. Consider suggestions, but ultimately it was my book. I think it’s in writers’ natures to doubt ourselves since we work in isolation without much feedback. I will try to stay focused on the positives I received instead of dwelling on the negatives.
I will do some revising before I sent the agent the next four chapters. I’m still ecstatic that a New York agent wants more.
