So, a couple of weeks ago I went to a writing seminar. It was great–great info (Donald Maass), got to see some of my friends, and it was close (so no big drive time). But I left feeling a tad unsettled.
Here’s the deal. Every writer type thing you go to has a different mix of pubbed and unpubbed, a different mix of writers in different genres and a different mix as to said writers worldliness (in regards to how much they hang with other writers).
At RWA I am nobody. I mean people are nice to me and all, but let’s face it I have two books out and another on the way. I am no one special. Strange as it sounds, I kind of like being nobody. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew not only who I was, but who my parents were and who their parents were. When I went to college and no one knew who I was nor cared, it was heaven. I guess I haven’t lost my love of that feeling yet.
At some other conferences which will remain unnamed I am pond scum–or at least the person who works with pond scum. At one such conference romance was being discussed on a panel and another author said “I can’t believe people are admitting they read this stuff.” Uh, yeah, and I write it too. Then add to that I write what I have heard even my relatives refer to as “those skinny books” with a properly curled up nose. For the record let me say I don’t approach writing my Nocturnes any differently than I did my single titles. There is no less plot, no less characterization and only a few less words–but I digress, point being the prejudice is there.
So, at this conference there happened to a small group of published authors and a big group of unpublished. Also they weren’t romance writers who (IMO) have a lot more experience hanging out with the published and aren’t as easily impressed as those who don’t. SO, that all said what happened was someone would ask what you write–are you published, expecting the no–but when you said yes, there was this strange transformation. A light goes on behind the eyes, they take a step forward…you have become the last eclair on the buffet table.
So freaking weird!!
Made me realize how agents and editors must feel at conferences….poor things.
Lori
