Conference Wrap-Up or, What I Learned and Did (and didn't do) at #AWP18

Everything I do lately seems to have multiple purposes. I read for pleasure, to observe what other authors do on the page, to learn, to find fine examples to share with my students. When I cruise social media, I'm cheering on other authors with books about to publish, looking for great short essays to read and share, keeping up to date about the writing world (and the world!), having a bit of social fun, working here and there on some presence for my upcoming book. And when I'm at a writers conference? The motherlode of multi-tasking! All of the above!

For the mammoth annual AWP Conference two weeks ago in Tampa, I headed down with at least four (not exactly competing) items on my to-accomplish list: Talk to folks about my forthcoming book, Starting with Goodbye, and hand out/sign advance reading copies. Meet in person the literary folks I only know online, but really like. Read from, and meet follow contributors to the anthology, Flash Nonfiction Funny. Attend break-out sessions and other formal activities that piqued my interest, to continue learning.

I did all that, and more. 

Having ARC's of Starting with Goodbye was thrilling. To be in the AWP bookfair with those in my hand...well, I can hardly describe the feeling as far-flung writing world friends stopped by to have a look, take a book, and sincerely wish me well. I wanted to hug them all. Come to think of it, I did hug them all!

AWP's bookfair is a sprawling, two-football-field sized maze and can often feel like a bit of a cold place, filled with pressure to accomplish something, to meet someone, to have the right conversations. Last year though I seemed to crack through my own personal shoulds, relax and look at it differently: as a place to find, meet, and talk with writer friends I interact with online, editors who have published my work, former students, and my own fellow MFA alums, and also a place to explore, meet new folks, and not worry one whit about what may come out of those interactions.

While I did attend a few stellar break-out sessions this year, I spent fewer hours than usual in those, opting instead to continue meaningful conversations rather than dashing off to make it to a chilly meeting room exactly on time. Those in-person meet-ups now feel like a more urgent part of any conference experience than before.

One session I especially found interesting was focused on creative nonfiction chapbooks, which I reported on here for Assay Journal; there you'll also find reports on many more AWP 2018 panels. I picked sessions to attend mostly based on what I'm curious about now, including: an excellent panel on narrative medicine (coinciding nicely with an upcoming community teaching gig I have to help those recovering from injuries to write their health stories); one on how authors can collectively help one another on myriad levels; another on effective online teaching methods; and one more on mastering digital book promotion.

Because I had family in the area to visit, and my knees can only take so many hours of hard floors, I missed what I'm told was a masterful keynote by George Saunders, and some other evening events. Time was, I would have been upset about that. Now, I'm taking the long view. There will be other big conferences (AWP in Portland, OR next year?), and other gatherings nearer and smaller.

At my first job, a mentor once advised that if you can leave any professional conference having made at least three satisfying new connections, learned a couple of key strategies you can put into practice, and not come home sick or injured, that will have been a successful outing.

AWP Writers Conference: All Aboard

In a couple of hours, my train pulls in to the station in Tampa, Florida for the annual AWP conference. Really, I made the trip from New Jersey on the rails! (Since I'm writing and scheduling this post four days in advance, I won't know if that idea was brilliant or demented, so check with me later..)

Meanwhile, onward...to the wonderfully ginormous, teeming, swirling controlled chaos that is AWP. What? You think 14,000 writers (and editors, publishers, writing teachers, etc.) descending on an enormous conference center and a slew of hotels is calm and orderly?  That 500+ breakout sessions, a few dozen of readings and gatherings, a dozen or so keynotes and special appearances and talks and on-stage interviews, are easy to navigate? Throw in a three-football-field sized bookfair, after-hours and off-site readings and parties (sorry, sponsored meet-ups), biz dinners and lunches and breakfasts, and you've got AWP.

Which I must say, actually is remarkably organized and orderly for all its girth. And also, unruly.

But hey, Florida instead of NJ in March? I'm there. Or here, by now. 

Like last year, I'm here to learn, to listen, to meet up with my far-flung but fiercely valued writer friends I only see once a year (or every few years). To absorb it all, make new writer-world friends, take it all in. To ogle and soak up the wisdom of writer idols (and not be shocked  when they get drunk at the after party, no not me), to dream and plan and set some new goals.

While I've marked up the program in a nifty app so I won't miss my must-see sessions, I'm also reserving--as I also did probably for the first time last year--my personal right to follow my nose and not fulfill an agenda. That worked out remarkably well in 2017, so hey, why not!

Officially, I do have a few places to be, things to do at AWP this year: 

Three literary journals, which have published my work (Sweet and Under the Gum Tree in the past; Tiferet in a forthcoming issue), are hosting me to sign and give away ARC's (advance reading copies) of Starting with Goodbye: A Daughter's Memoir of Love after Loss (coming May 1 from University of Nevada Press). Even if the books run out, I'd still love to chat with any interested folks who stop by (and there may be some book swag on hand too). 

You can find me here, in the sprawling bookfair: 

Sweet Literary Journal (Thursday, 3/8, 3:00 - 4:00, Table 1109)

Under the Gum Tree (Friday, 3/9, 3:30 - 5:00, Table T1732)

Tiferet Journal (Saturday, 3/10, 11:00 am - noon, Table T1939)

(Here's a floor map of the bookfair layout, in case you like looking at things that make you dizzy.)

And, for something completely different, I'll be reading with contributors to the forthcoming anthology, Flash Nonfiction Funny: 71 Very Humorous, Very True, Very Short Stories, at the Tampa Marriott Waterside (host hotel), Meeting Room 13, 6:30 - 8:00 pm.on Thurs, 3/8. I don't often get funny on the page, and this short piece might surprise (shock?) some folks. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Perhaps we'll run into one another. I love whenever I can connect with blog readers; though given the size and scope of AWP, I may just have to wave from here. 

Which reminds me, I'll be back here next week (or soon, anyway), sharing some of what I learned and observed. And if I know myself, while there I'll be offering this space to other authors with just-published books, writers with something compelling to say, who I think you may like to hear from in future guest posts or Q/A's. Stay tuned.

Memoir Book Report, Part V: Weathering the Query & Manuscript Submission Cycle, from Confusion to Contact to Contract

Fifth in a series, following Starting with Goodbye: A Daughter’s Memoir of Love after Loss, from manuscript to published book (University of Nevada Press, May 1, 2018). Find the rest of the series here.

Once I got a publication date, other writers began to ask: How long did the submission process take? What was it like? How did you find your publisher?

The short, pithy answers: Eleven months. Hell. Not the way I thought.

That’s handy shorthand, but hardly helpful. Here’s the longer story, the one from which you might glean some helpful hints.

I first thought I might have a book percolating in 2012, when I realized that many of the essays I was getting published, might add up to…something. Quite a few were connected thematically around my father’s death, and I thought if I wrote a few more, voila -- linked essay collection. (Can I over-emphasize how common this thinking is among essayists—and how often wrong-headed?) I tried to get that one published but eventually realized it had to be transformed into a more traditional memoir. (In a future post I’ll detail the essays-to-memoir process, so let’s skip ahead to April 2016, when I had a polished memoir manuscript.)

I am a fan of traditional independent and boutique literary presses and university presses, many of which accept non-agented submissions. I had already been compiling a spreadsheet of such publishers, organized first by those I most desired (because they’d published books I admired), and those that seemed most logical (given the book’s thematic elements). 

I noted any special submission calls, possible connection/recommendation, contests and open/closed submission periods, and finally, but not incidentally, any hunches I had. Next—because I so love a spreadsheet—I cross-referenced what each required initially, usually some combination of query letter, synopsis, proposal, sample chapters, the entire manuscript, marketing plan, author bio.

From April through January, I marched down my list, garnering both lightning-fast rejections as well as several requests for chapters, and a few for the whole manuscript. Result: slower rejections. Sure, some were personal, from editors who seemed genuinely to have read and thought carefully about the work.

Still, no is no.

Over those 10 months, I scratched some publishers off my list—they shuttered operations or their lists shrunk; some seemed less likely candidates after more careful study; sometimes I simply decided they wouldn’t want my book for some random reason which now seems silly. At the same time, the list grew as I discovered new-to-me publishers. What is it that we say about hope springing?

Along the way, I tinkered with the idea of seeking an agent—mostly because the advice of a book coach I’d consulted two years before, still resonated: there was nothing to lose and quite possibly something enormous to gain. About once a week, I spent time researching agents I might query—sometime. A small list emerged, tucked into another spreadsheet.

By the end of January, my energy was flagging, but I realized I had not made enough effort querying university presses. I had at least a dozen on my list I’d be thrilled to be published by. They all wanted a full proposal or some combination of the elements of a proposal, and while I’d written one, I kept tinkering, never sure it was right. Finally, I started sending it out.

By mid-February the full manuscript was under review at two boutique publishers, a more commercial press, and one university press. I’d gotten to this stage before—and then heard no. And sent out more queries, sample chapters, hopes.

That’s when I glanced out my window late one dark, cold Thursday afternoon, and noticed the snow. So much snow. A big storm coating New England to Virginia. Suddenly all the Facebook posts I’d seen from writers cancelling trips to theAWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) conference in Washington, D.C, made sense.

I hadn’t planned on going. But suddenly I had a thought: all those cancellations must mean the conference headquarters hotel would have a lot of available rooms. I was only a four-hour drive from D.C., and my four-wheel-drive SUV—and I, who once lived in Syracuse—could easily handle the lingering snow in the forecast.

By 5 a.m. the next morning, I was on the New Jersey Turnpike, heading south.

Typically, when I go to a conference, I have an agenda—connect with this editor, meet that publisher, make IRL friends with Facebook writer buddies, take notes at Famous Writer’s presentation, go to Other Famous Writer’s reading. Network. Pitch. Buy discounted journals. Get books signed. I’m usually exhausted even before I put on my nametag.

As I drove, I realized I had no plan—and that felt great. I had not studied the schedule, didn’t know who would be in the exhibit hall, who was reading where or when. My only agenda was to find friends, drop in at panels that seemed promising, maybe wander the book fair.

Ah, the book fair: a cavernous space (about three football fields?) where hundreds of tables beckoned, where friendly literary folks were promoting, selling, and giving away journals and books, touting other writing conferences, offering free trials of software, sharing the virtues of MFA programs, reading series, residencies.

I spent most of my book fair time happily meandering, spontaneously connecting in person with journal and anthology editors who’d published my work, finding new things to read, tossing swag into my tote.

At some point, I realized some publishers and university presses still on my list were there. I noticed that since I wasn’t in I-Must-Complete-My-Agenda mode, my usually nervous chatter disappeared. Instead of trying to sell myself, and by extension, my manuscript, I was only making new friends in the writing world.

Several asked me to send the manuscript when I got home. Others said it wasn’t right for them. Somehow, I had the same reaction to both outcomes: okay! I simply continued wending my may through the exhibit hall.

Finally, in the last 20 minutes of the final day, vendors were packing up their booths—and my tote was swelling because they were handing out free books so as not to incur return shipping costs. I noticed a man packing up, a welcoming smile on his face. We began chatting, about how much our feet hurt. About the conference. He asked something—I can’t remember what—and I began to tell him about my manuscript. In my mind, we were just having a conversation. Two tired writing world comrades at the end of an exhausting weekend.

At some point though, when I mentioned that the story takes place partly in New Jersey, and partly in Las Vegas, he pointed to the banner above his head: University of Nevada Press. Nevada, you know, home to Las Vegas.

Justin Race, director of UNV Press, introduced himself, and invited me to send him the first few chapters when I got home. He liked what he read, and asked for the full manuscript. By March 22, I had an offer. Two hours later, one of the other publishers who had the full manuscript phoned to make an offer too.

I realize that this part of the story makes it all sound so easy—bump into someone at a conference and the rest is publishing kismet. I assure you, nothing about bringing this memoir to that point was easy.

The thing is, I was ready. The manuscript had been revised and revised and polished. I’d researched and prepared query/submission materials. My spreadsheet tells the plodding, painstaking backstory of those 11 months (and before that, the submission process of the book’s previous incarnation).

What happens when you’ve been hearing no for a long time and in one afternoon, you hear yes—twice? After the elation, I mean? You get confused, that’s what. You wish you had an agent after all…

I’ll pick up from there in the next Memoir Book Report post, sharing how, over the next week, I found an agent, weighed offers, and said—yes!

Read the restof the Memoir Book Report series here.

Images: Snow-Flickr/CreativeCommons-JimThePhotographer. All others, royalty-free clip-art.

What I Heard and Learned at the AWP Writers Conference

Last weekend, I spent a day and a half at the AWP conference, and because I hadn't planned things out in advance, I missed a lot I'm sure that, had I spent more time studying the program, would have been useful. I went with my gut, with my knee's pain level, and my energy and willingness to scout out a tucked away presentation room three-quarters of a mile of connecting walkways and escalators away.

As many conference attendees do, I sometimes caught the first half of a panel presentation, then ducked out to listen to the second half of another. It may be that someone, in one of the sessions I mention below, said something extraordinarily exciting and I missed it. Nevertheless, here's a potpourri of the takeaways I either jotted into my notebook, or that made their way into my brain. 

At a panel playfully called, "Nope, That Still Ain't a Story: Developmental Editing in Creative Nonfiction," two authors and their editor discussed their joint experiences. Bill Patrick, of Hudson Whitman Excelsior College Press, explained that while Amy Ryan "didn’t have a book" when she brought him her manuscript of living with diabetes, writer Anthony D'Aries "had four books" lurking in his manuscript about learning to understand his father. Ryan talked about getting instructions from Patrick about chapters she needed to write, often more personal and revealing than she'd planned; D'Aries discussed the process of locating the essence of his story, and paring away. 

Patrick also mentioned the value of "bridge chapters". These explore the less personal aspects of the main memoir topic/story, but are related and connected to the larger picture. They give the reader a bit of a break from heavy unfolding narrative, and act as a way of moving the camera from close-up to a wider angle; they can also provide context of how the narrator's story fits into the broader world.

> If you're thinking of running a one- or multi-day workshop, retreat, mini-conference, there was the panel, "Starting Small: Grassroots Workshops and Conferences". Dave Housley from Barrelhouse suggested finding a like-minded organization to partner with—like a college, arts center, etc.—that can provide free or low-cost space. Tyler McMahon, who runs the Ko`oalu Writers Workshop  in Hawaii, warned, "Don't run at a deficit; you want to break even or make money from the start." Another good tip: serve a free lunch at a session for which you want a large audience! For those seeking gigs as presenters or workshop leaders at small conferences, panelists advised developing a unique program that other writers can't offer, and/or something you've developed specifically for their audience.

> At "Opening the Doors to Discovery: The Generative Writing Workshop," panelists offered interesting ways to utilize prompts, writing exercises, and reading for inspiration when conducting one-time workshops with time for writers to produce new material. Baron Wormser (one of my MFA workshop leaders a decade ago), said he thinks of a prompt as "a quick way into the unconscious, to get at the unknown, the unbidden." It forces a writer to access some new area of thought because something must be produced in the time allotted. Another panelist advised that at one-time gatherings (as opposed to on-going workshop series), reading and sharing be met only with positive responses, absent critical feedback. Kim Dana Kupperman recommended locating prompts within a piece of published work the group reads together.

> "Essaying the Edge: Teaching Alternative Forms of Nonfiction," focused on the so-called hermit crab essay, hybrids, collage, and other experimental nonfiction. Panelists talked of sneaking in these forms without at first identifying them, so that students might simply read and like them, and decide on their own what to call them.

> At the panel, "Just Don't Read the Comments: On the Joys and Risks of Publishing Personal Essays Online," I heard just the last ten minutes, including advice from Laura Bogart to ask for headline approval and hashtag/tagging approval, pre-publication. Her awareness of this was spurred by an incident when one of her essays was headlined and tagged in a way that included Trump's four-word slogan; she asked that it be changed, and the editor/venue complied, but not before it had resulted in unpleasant emails and online thrashing.

> At an abundantly informative panel, "Beyond the Classroom: Teaching Outside Academia," I was scribbling so fast, and all four panelists were making so many useful suggestions every minute, I didn't record who said what. The following bits of advice came from Stuart Horwitz, Julie Duffy, Jane Friedman, Andi Cumbo-Floyd, and Gabriella Pereira.

Know what you WANT to teach (not just what you've been teaching all along). You'll earn more by teaching/leading an add-on workshop at a conference than if you are one of the general presenters. Develop packages and products to offer repeat clients/students. Offer a free something to attract mailing list sign-ups. Hand out (or offer to email) something useful following an in-person teaching event. Pitch your online or in-person class with a very specific outcome highlighted ("After four weeks, you'll have two essays ready to submit.."). Students and coaching clients want to be held accountable, so build in a deadline/reporting/accountability component. Offer tiered pricing if possible [$X for the full feedback option; $(X-Y) for a scaled down version.] Include student/client accomplishments in your promotional materials. 

I just saw today that Jane Friedman has a new blog post up outlining much of what she talked about at the conference, plus more.

> Finally, it seemed fitting that, in Washington, D.C., during the final session of the final day, I ended by listening to one particular panelist whose sincere, practical and pragmatic, encouraging talk on "How to Publish Your Book Without an Agent," made me want to stand up and shout, Nevertheless, She Persisted! That panelist was Janice Eidus, someone I recognized from Facebook and from her essays, but had never met. But by happy coincidence I'd share dinner with her later that evening (via invitation of a mutual writing friend). Eidus and her fellow panelists' stories of perseverance and eventual publication—and the sprawling Book Fair where I found at least a dozen independent traditional publishers of literary works that I was not previously aware of (and trust me, I'd already compiled a long list!)—capped off my personal AWP experience on a hopeful note.

Want more post-AWP coverage? I'll have a bunch of links to others' blog posts in the Friday link round up later this week. 

Writer Fights AWP Siren. AWP Wins. Notes on a Last Minute Writers Conference Trip.

I fought AWP and AWP won. (AWP being the ginormous annual conference of the Association of Writers and Writing Programs.)

I wasn't planning on it. However, early in the evening last Thursday, as snow pelted New Jersey and much of the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic coast, unraveling on Facebook were posts by writers from all over whose cancelled flights and delayed trains made me wonder: might the headquarters hotel attached to the Washington, D.C. Convention Center—the only place I would consider staying (bad knee issues), the place that has been sold out for six months—have cancelled rooms available?

It did. And with a hotel rewards membership, and my AAA card, for a price below the AWP group rate.

I didn't have any Friday deadlines, didn't need to teach again in person until Monday, couldn't think of any more excuses. Besides, sometimes a writer woman (who works mainly alone at home) just needs to get the hell out of Dodge and see a few other writers—or maybe 12,000 of them—in person.

Which explains why, less than 12 hours later, I was in my car at 5:00 a.m. on a frigid Friday morning, bound for D.C., a four hour drive. Lucky me, I like to drive, love a road trip, and had a book and the Hamilton CDs already loaded. As I cranked the heat in the car, sipped hot tea my husband had handed me after walking me across our icy driveway, I had a lightness that never normally accompanies me when venturing to a writers conference: a feeling of possibility and adventure borne I guess from something I don’t get enough of: serendipity and spontaneity.

I'm a planner. An advance planner, someone who likes being organized, knows what's coming up on my schedule. But more to the point, when I head to a conference, I am typically armed with a carefully thought-out mental and physical list of tasks I have self-assigned. Tasks I tell myself I must do, so that I'll feel the expense, time, and opportunity pays off: connections I should make, people I should talk to, panels I should attend, secrets I should, once and for all, uncover and finally understand about this writing life.

Notice all the shoulds?

Which may help explain why for months, maybe a year, I had been resigned to not attending the behemoth AWP Conference last week, for all the usual (cover) reasons—budgets, time, my lousy knee. The conference is too big, too tiring, too much to handle -- all those far-more-accomplished-than-me writers all in one place being too much of a reminder of all I think I SHOULD have done in my writing career by now, and haven't.

Driving through the lightening darkness last Friday morning, however, without my usual "should" agenda, having not even skimmed the conference schedule, something shifted. I felt released from my usual mode of attack. What if, I asked myself, I had no plan? No list of things I should accomplish, people I must find? What if, instead of arriving burdened with lists of items to tick off, I simply tried to enjoy the conference? Enjoy others? Enjoy myself?

What if, when I arrived, I did just what seemed appealing? Went to panels that sounded interesting, or where colleagues were appearing, just because? What if I got to hug online friends I'd been wanting to meet in person, but if not, not? What if I wandered the daunting book fair—where the tables of publishers, journals, MFA programs, and vendors stretched across a double-football-field-sized space—with an open mind, and not a tightly clutched list?

Reader, that's precisely what I did.

I arrived in D.C. mid-morning on Friday and from then until the crazy, zany, octopus-like conference wrapped up on Saturday night, I did not do one thing that, had I meticulously planned my trip in advance, I worried I should do. 

I simply drifted to what called to me, listening to my gut. Yes, I saw writing friends and colleagues, made new connections, met a few folks I've long wanted to meet. But without agenda, sans lists and shoulds. I approached the book fair as if it were an amusement park (or new shoe store!), listening to my feet and gut, picking up random new information as if I'd accidentally struck gold (and of course, gathering swag - see pic above!) 

Over the two days, I maintained a newfound sense of, whatever happened, happened. And I had perhaps the best conference experience of my life.

I'll be back later this week with some of my favorite take-aways and tidbits. That I am planning on!

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- January 27, 2017 Edition

> At Women on Writing, Chelsey Clammer's series on submissions this time tackles formatting -- how and why writers are asked to submit their work differently for different venues. And more.

> Helpful interview/craft advice about writing backstory, from Lisa Cron, author of Story Genius, over at Writers in the Storm blog.

> At the Penguin/Random House site, a friend stumbled across this short round-up of (PRH-published) books by authors from, or about, New Jersey. Looks like it's part of their United States of Books series.

>AWP, the largest gathering of writers in North America, takes places in February in Washington, D.C. If you're going, and are interested in writing about any part of it, I'd love to talk about a guest post. Email me! (see side margin)

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons-1950sUnlimited

From Lemons to Lemonade, with Writing, Loss, and a Speeding Car in Between

Winter and early spring have been a chaotic few months, bitter and a little hard to take. It began with knee surgery for my husband, followed a few weeks later by the loss of his much-loved father, with whom he worked, side by side, for nearly 40 years. 

Then, about three months of  recurrent illnesses (and tests and a bit of surgery) for me, and finally--as if my family wasn't already feeling like we'd gotten hit by a speeding vehicle, an actual speeding vehicle turned a quarter of my husband's  brick and concrete warehouse into a drive-thru. (Fortunately, hubby was 20 feet away from the crashed wall--though 20 seconds before he was right behind it.) Seeing your husband bowed first by loss and then by the physical destruction of the place where he and his father built their business, is something I don't yet have words for.

Yes, life goes on. As life went on the last few months, I kept writing, because--well, that's what we writers do, right? We write. Nonfiction writers especially write about what's swirling through our lives, buffeting us with emotions and situations we'd rather avoid, or don't understand, or find confusing, stressful, emotionally demanding. We write, not sure why some days, or where any of it may lead.

What I've been scribbling over the winter of discontent may or may not ever amount to anything. Right now all those hand written pages are just pages, just notes and half-simmered thoughts and ideas of what may make a good essay--one day. For now, it's just marinating. Another day, I'll peek under the lid and see what the stew holds, maybe ladle out something that looks or smells promising.

Meanwhile, the writing life went on, goes on...

~ The academic semester is ending, and later this week, I'm heading to the campus of Bay Path University in Massachusetts to see our first creative nonfiction MFA class graduate--and meet most of my online students for the first time, as they read from the creative work I've witnessed them conceive, craft and revise and rewrite, for the past two years. 

~ My fingers are crossed that a 2017 AWP panel proposal will be accepted. 

~ Fall courses are penciled in.

~ The rejections arrive, are duly noted. And the essays and short memoir pieces and pitches go out again.

~ An essay close to my heart has been accepted by a print journal I admire (with a fall publication date).

~ I've sent off a rewritten memoir manuscript--this time a more traditional linear narrative (transformed from a linked essay collection). Will YOU cross your fingers for me on that one?

Meanwhile, it's spring (though the continuing cold weather in New Jersey suggests otherwise). The crappy winter is in the rear view mirror. Summer is ahead. And, lemonade.

Onward...

Images: Flickr/Creative Commons -- Lemons (BobBertholf); Lemonade (LaurenAllik-Floating/Vibes). 

Guest Blogger Linda K Sienkiewicz on Lessons from AWP on Book Promotion for Anxious Authors

If you've been here before, you might remember that Linda K. Sienkiewicz and I were classmates in the Stonecoast MFA program. We've kept in touch, cheering one another on in our divergent writing endeavors. When I asked for blog posts front the front lines of the AWP Conference, Linda volunteered immediately.

Linda writes and publishes fiction and poetry (several award-winning chapbooks), and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She attributes her creative drive to her artistic mother, who taught her to sew, and her father, who let her monkey around with the gadgets in his workshop. Linda's first novel, In the Context of Love, will be released by Buddhapuss Ink LLC in September.

Please welcome Linda K. Sienkiewicz.

 

Author Josh Isard got a good laugh at AWP when he described the conference attendees as “a whole bunch of people collectively experiencing social anxiety.” We writers are introverts who sometimes have to be dragged out of the house to socialize. Selling our own books and ourselves as writers is something we find difficult. So what is an author to do? Finding the answer was my goal at AWP this year, because I'll need to help publicize my debut novel, In the Context of Love, when it's published in September.

Publicize or Perish

I learned several pointers from Michelle Blankenship, who’s an independent publicist. After being an in-house publicist for 16 years she can now focus on a smaller number of books a year. While there are many book PR strategies available, Michelle stressed it’s important to be realistic. There is always a chance you won’t get any media coverage no matter you do, no matter who you hire, what the publicist does. Publishing a book can be a lesson in humility. If you’re self-published, your chances of media coverage are even lower, so rather than hire a publicist, she suggested hiring a marketer. What’s the difference? Publicity can’t be bought. Marketing includes buying ads and other paid promotional endeavors that target your market.

Here’s what Michelle shared:

1.    Plan early. Ten to 12 months before your publication date is ideal, six is the minimum.

2.    Make a list of all your connections, media-wise, who can help get you coverage.

3.    Ask your publisher how many galleys you will have and how many ARCs (advanced reading copies) you will get. An an author, you can also pay for additional galleys or ARCs to send out for reviews.

4.    Think about writing essays or op-ed pieces on the subject matter of your book, your inspiration, or other related topics.

5.    Write a self Q and A. Envision your dream interview. What five questions would you like to be asked?  (This can be used in an online media kit, for book clubs, book blogs, etc.)

6.    What have you written about in your book that you can speak expertly about? Watch and read the news and pay attention to popular culture for opportunities to promote yourself as an expert.

7.    Think about the back story to the writing of your book. Did you come to the topic in some unusual way? What sets you apart from other authors who have books coming out?

8.    Is your book coming out on or near any particular anniversary, holiday, or other event that you can use to your advantage? Consider even obscure events.

All of the above can and should be shared with your publicist. Michelle said you may spend more money on publicity than your book earns, but everything you throw into the water creates ripples, and that may help sell your second book. Schedule as many places as you can go for readings or speaking engagements.

Oh Bookseller, My Bookseller

A panel of booksellers from Minneapolis discussed how to partner with independent bookstores. Book selling is alive and well, but each store may have a different audience, so they stressed doing your homework to be sure your book would attract a particular store's customers. You can find lists of booksellers in any region via the American Booksellers Association, and Book Life on Publishers Weekly.

Booksellers love hosting author events, but they are busy people and don’t necessarily appreciate an author walking into their store only to shove a book under their noses, so send an email first. Think of yourself as a marketer. Send information about your book, the story behind it, who you are, who your audience is, and how you plan to market the event. Be sure you include the ISBN. Then follow up with a phone call. Remember to contact bookstores before your book is on shelves; six weeks after publication may be too late. Booksellers want you in the store before too many people have already read the book.

What makes a good bookstore event? Entertainment and energy, and think beyond a typical reading or signing. Be creative. After all, we’re creative creatures, right?.

Beyond the Bookstore

A panel on Small Press Marketing suggested making a list of contests where you can submit your published book. Make videos. Do Goodreads giveaways. One author on the panel referenced a lot of music in her story, so she made a playlist on Spotify. Including a gift or token with the book you send reviewers can help get attention, as long as you don’t go overboard. One author had her book cover printed on a matchbook box, and filled the box with sticky notes. Another sent a candy necklace because there was such a necklace in the story. Book clubs are a great way to get the word out about your book. You local bookseller or library may have a list of nearby clubs. Let the clubs know you will speak for free about your novel or memoir if they choose it for their club read.

Even with the most creative marketing and publicity plan, you will still have to deal with your social anxiety. Sure, you’d much rather work on your writing, rather than dressing up to face an audience. Prepare yourself to talk confidently about your book. Practice your pitch. There’s nothing wrong in saying “I think you’d really like it.”

When you look out at a crowd of people, remind yourself that, to the public, anyone who managed to write a book and get it published is fascinating. They want to know how you did it, how you write, when you write, and what you do when you get writer’s block.

And never discount a publicity or marketing event that isn’t well attended. If three people show up, get out from behind the lectern and sit down with them for a chat. Tell your story. They’ll love it, they’ll buy your book, and hopefully tell their friends what a great person you are, and they’ll buy your book, too.

Note from Lisa: For more from Linda on the topic, read her previous post on "Shameless Self Promotion." You can connect with Linda at her website, on Twitter, and at  Pinterest.

Post-AWP Posts (In case of post-AWP Withdrawal, or Relief)

I'm beginning to see posts around the web by folks who were at the AWP Conference last week. Here's a round-up of what's come across my radar thus far. (I'll bring you more in the Friday Fridge Clean-Out.)

Over at Assay Journal you'll find nearly a dozen posts from AWP2015 covering different panels and presentations. Some of these include:  "Confronting Our Fears: Turning Adversity Into Art,"  "Time and Structure in the Novel,"  "Narrative, Lyric, Hybrid: Crafting Essay Collections into Books," and many more.

Bustle rounded up advice from two panels focused on essay writing, for their post, "How to Write a Personal Essay That Will Tell the Story the Way You Want it To," 

A Minnesota news site covered a panel of prison writing instructors, another wrote about the conference's diversity presentations, and Laurie Hertzel summed it up for the Star Tribune.

Here's Dani Shapiro's report for The New Yorker website.

Publishers Weekly has two features based on AWP panels on "The Art and Business of Children's Books," and what the AWP experience means to publishers who are "Far From the Coast."

Several personal accounts of attending AWP: Sheila Squillante; three posts from Chelsea Biondolillo; Anca Szilagyi on crime fiction and independent presses; 

Finally, Bill & Dave's Cocktail Hour posted some pics of their AWP adventure, and a Brevity blog post, "So You Didn't Go to AWP" (yep, that's me!), sums up all the serious silliness attending may have brought upon you, and how you can recreate the experience right there at home (note: wine, and lots of instagram activity are involved).

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons-RogerGoun

Writers and the Road: Conferences on my Calendar, Again, Finally

Until last week, just before the huge AWP writers conference kicked off in Minneapolis, I was content with not attending. An easy way to put a huge dent in my finances (and productivity) is to attend too many conferences that involve travel. On the other hand, one way to ensure a writing career takes no risks and fails to bloom is to never get out from behind the keyboard and mingle with other writers at events where I can learn more about craft, about how other writers solve artistic and business challenges.

And yet, don't we all fall into ruts? Either running around collecting conference name tags, or staying home, saving money, remaining in our sweats, and never refreshing our responses to the question (sometimes asked sincerely, other times with a dose of snark) "And what do you write?" 

But in the final run-up to AWP, when nearly every writer I know seemed to be talking about it in real life and online--I wavered. Wished I were going to be there. Grew wistful. It is, after all, the largest and arguably most important annual gathering of writers in the country, and I hadn't attended since it took place just across the river in New York City in 2007.

My outings to writer conferences since then have been just two one-day essay conferences (good ones!), at Columbia and Fordham. It wasn't always that way. My conference drought followed three years of intense writer mingling: a low residency MFA; one AWP conference; the first NonFiction Now at University of Iowa; an ASJA (American Society of Journalists and Authors) conference; a memoir symposium at Trinity College; a residency at a writers retreat; and various small regional conferences.

Then, conferencebudgets were redirected: to repay MFA loans; to visit colleges for first one and then another son; to college tuition, which we will be paying for at least five more years. I hunkered down.

Okay, so I couldn't jet off to AWP. But I could look for opportunities closer to home ("Bloom where you are planted," my mother always advised).  It would be even better (and slightly more affordable), I realized, to be a conference presenter. I sent off a proposal for one conference, which was accepted. In a happy coincidence, I was next invited to join a panel for another, and then was asked to speak at a third, and now I have three upcoming conferences on my calendar.

First up, the ASJA conference in Manhattan in a few weeks, where I'll be on a panel with Candy Schulman, Iyna Bort Caruso, and Paula Ganzi Licata, titled "Writing Groups: The Road to Better Markets and Bigger Bucks." 

In Auugust, it's HippoCamp 2015: A Conference for Creative Nonfiction Writers (organized by Hippocampus Magazine), speaking about creating a productive writing life by confronting "All the Obstacles that Definitely Do and Decidedly Don’t Exist." 

In the fall, I'll be talking about memoir and personal essay writing at the annual gathering of New Jersey Women Who Write.

Two more presenting possibilities are still pending. Fingers crossed.

I'm so looking forward to these, for all kinds of reasons. Although I know a lot of writers in real life, and share meals and conversations with them, I hope to meet writers from further afield, writers I know only online. I want to shake hands, look into other writers' eyes (instead of their avatars), share a coffee, a drink, a laugh, some advice, a reality check, the assurance that we're all in this thing together.

If you'll be at any of these upcoming events, please say hello. Say more than hello.

Blooming (near) where you are planted is good advice. But next year, when AWP sets up shop in Los Angeles? I'm thinking about making the trip. Panel proposal, anyone?

Images: Flickr/Creative Commons - Name is Opp -  OneWayStock; Minneapolis - Doug Kerr.