A beforehand warning came from my good friend and fellow novelist, A.J Verdelle that this conference at Oregon Convention Center (OCC) would be “huge and cavernous“. Truer words were never spoken. I wrote this post nearly three years ago—back in the days B.C. (Before Covid), a time I can scarcely remember; before masks, vaccines and pandemic paranoia, and before I signed (YAY!) with agent, Steve Ross, to represent my debut novel, Peach Seed Monkey. I was astonished just now to find this post, unfinished, still in “private” mode. Too good to waste so I’m fleshing it out and turning it into a flashback:
INCITING INCIDENT:
As two of 12,000 lit lovers, my travel buddy, Shimi, (with me above on registration day) and I sat and filled notebook pages in panels, readings and pedagogy sessions interspersed with braving the halls of AWP’s famous Bookfair; we met and connected with one ultimate goal: find a publishing home for our debut novels. Exhilarating and exhausting.
CONFLICT:
As with any conference, we spent most of our time inside OCC’s windowless rooms under fluorescent lights breathing the secondhand air of squillions of conference goers that have graced these halls since 1990 when OCC opened.
CLIMAX:
There were many: but the biggest is being in the company of 12K people who truly get what it means to have a finished novel manuscript and celebrate on the spot with you no matter where you happen to be standing or sitting.
RESOLUTION:
To say that the road to publication is for most long and hard, is to utter words too cliché not be true. I came away from the conference even more bolstered in my belief: NEVER GIVE UP. There is a home for our books out there somewhere.
The whole world has come a long way since 2019. Seems ludicrous in flashback, but I actually went solo to AWP2020 in San Antonio, which, though not as well attended, was fruitful. Highlights: meeting and bonding with a bevy of writers at the Black Caucus Meet & Greet. Left with no host, we created our own fun. I learned that sometimes all you have to do to be become a leader is be the one with a clip board. I passed it around and that list is still connected. And then there was Nancy Boutilier, Christa Champion and Mary Craig; three erudite poets I met on the dance floor at the finale party. When the DJ switched from 1970s iconic music to whatever else that was, we four defected. Found an empty meeting room to read to each other—and we’re also still connected.
Bottom line: I’m done with conferences. Until I can show up with a copy of Peach Seed Monkey, between covers, still warm like a loaf of bread and take my seat on some panel. Won’t that be nice?!
I have a feeling the day is not far off, as I have unending faith in Steve Ross.
So: stay tuned!!
