Every year, the Life, the Universe, and Everything Writers Symposium comes to Provo, Utah. I've been attending for eight years now, enjoying the many panels, occasionally purchasing books or what-not from the vendors, and generally passing a pleasant two- or three days. This year, I took a day off from teaching to go, which resulted in about 10,000 words of notes.
I do this for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is that it makes me feel like I'm actively pursuing what it means to be a writer outside of being in my office. I try to pick panels about topics that I know plenty about (though today's panel on dinosaurs was fun if unenlightening--I covered essentially all the same information in my Winterim last year), but I always wonder what it'd be like to be on one of the panels.
Another reason for going is that there can be some good information, to say nothing of networking a little. I'm not particularly gregarious, and I'm immensely self-conscious about the fact that I've actually written books (I did a recount: I've completed nine novels and have three that are in the works). Since I'm not about to go up to random editors/writers/agents and introduce myself--feeling, as I do, that I'm unqualified for representation or attention at this point, this is more to be a presence. I guess I'm going for the karmic drip-feed approach, pretending that would make me better.
Today, though, there was a surprise in the swag bag: For the first time, there was an editor's table where, if you dropped by with the first page or so of your manuscript, you'd get a free critique.
I wouldn't say that I was nervous at the thought, but I definitely wasn't thinking I would do anything about it. Most of the reasons are trite and irrelevant ("I don't want to waste their time", "My manuscript isn't ready", "Looking over this opening chapter is embarrassing", "Why would I think anyone would want to read this?"), but they're pretty powerful. They pushed against the inclination I had to use the time in such a way as to avail myself of the offer.
Having finished lunch early, I didn't want to interrupt any panels by sneaking in after they'd begun, so I passed by the table where the edits were going on. It didn't look like there was a line.
I decided to go to the bathroom, then decide.
When I finished the necessaries, I went back to see if there was a line or if the editors were still around. They were, and each was talking to a participant. So I had time to prep the first five hundred words or so of my manuscript.
It looked horrible, but I went ahead and created the document, cringing at every description, dialogue tag, and subtle plot point that I had in a page and a half.
To my surprise, I followed through. I sat down with the editor and had him read it over.
As a professional free-lance editor, he couldn't help but tweak some of the sentences, changing the commas and insisting on semicolons here or there (I disagree with him on those choices, mostly because I'm looking for more economy with my commas, and the semicolon thing was technically true but stylistically wrong...passive aggressive grumbling over), but for the most part he said that my copy was pretty clean. That was nice to hear.
There were a couple of moments where he actually laughed out loud, and he said that he would have kept reading if he'd picked up the book in the store and flipped to the beginning. Oh, he also said that he had pegged the characters at a younger age than what I gave information about. I could see where he was coming from--as well as a way to fix it.
Done with my time, I thanked him, took his card (which I may actually follow up on), and went on my way.
The thing about this is, I do these things less for me--I don't know how or even if I can break into writing--and more for the ability to tell my students, "I'm doing all I know how to do in order to get this done. I can only do what I can do, and while some things are currently beyond me, I'm stretching myself." I may be off here, but I don't think my students know how shy I am. Outside of school--my comfort zone and area of authority--I am very introverted. I don't like to talk up in church (unless the teacher is really struggling and I hope to help them out...or the idea is big enough that I want to let it out), I often would rather wander around a store, looking for what I want, than talk to an employee. And calling people on the phone? Forget it. I hate that crap.* So the fact that I'm so uncomfortable with extending myself like that--what a monumental effort it takes for me to expose my ideas to others--means that the only motivation that can overcome the discomfort is one of practicing what I preach. Indeed, part of the reason I've been writing so much more on this website is because I want to build up my confidence, to commit more fully to being a writer. I need a public, even if it is a small one, to perform in front of in order to keep myself from curling inward and disappearing into my despair and depression.
Still, this is only a baby step--and probably a faltering one. Despite a panel dedicated to helping writers not feel embarrassed or jealous or anxious about their work, I feel--as I do every LTUE--completely inadequate and incompetent as a writer. I'm always left to wonder if I'll ever "make it", ever get out of this step and into the next. And every time, I never feel any closer to the answers. But that's okay.
It's not like this conference is supposed to answer large, existential questions, right?
----
* I am getting better at it. My son helps with this a lot. He doesn't mind that sort of thing at all, so I let him ask questions of employees sometimes, or have him call. So, maybe he isn't helping so much as enabling. I appreciate it either way.
I do this for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is that it makes me feel like I'm actively pursuing what it means to be a writer outside of being in my office. I try to pick panels about topics that I know plenty about (though today's panel on dinosaurs was fun if unenlightening--I covered essentially all the same information in my Winterim last year), but I always wonder what it'd be like to be on one of the panels.
Another reason for going is that there can be some good information, to say nothing of networking a little. I'm not particularly gregarious, and I'm immensely self-conscious about the fact that I've actually written books (I did a recount: I've completed nine novels and have three that are in the works). Since I'm not about to go up to random editors/writers/agents and introduce myself--feeling, as I do, that I'm unqualified for representation or attention at this point, this is more to be a presence. I guess I'm going for the karmic drip-feed approach, pretending that would make me better.
Today, though, there was a surprise in the swag bag: For the first time, there was an editor's table where, if you dropped by with the first page or so of your manuscript, you'd get a free critique.
I wouldn't say that I was nervous at the thought, but I definitely wasn't thinking I would do anything about it. Most of the reasons are trite and irrelevant ("I don't want to waste their time", "My manuscript isn't ready", "Looking over this opening chapter is embarrassing", "Why would I think anyone would want to read this?"), but they're pretty powerful. They pushed against the inclination I had to use the time in such a way as to avail myself of the offer.
Having finished lunch early, I didn't want to interrupt any panels by sneaking in after they'd begun, so I passed by the table where the edits were going on. It didn't look like there was a line.
I decided to go to the bathroom, then decide.
When I finished the necessaries, I went back to see if there was a line or if the editors were still around. They were, and each was talking to a participant. So I had time to prep the first five hundred words or so of my manuscript.
It looked horrible, but I went ahead and created the document, cringing at every description, dialogue tag, and subtle plot point that I had in a page and a half.
To my surprise, I followed through. I sat down with the editor and had him read it over.
As a professional free-lance editor, he couldn't help but tweak some of the sentences, changing the commas and insisting on semicolons here or there (I disagree with him on those choices, mostly because I'm looking for more economy with my commas, and the semicolon thing was technically true but stylistically wrong...passive aggressive grumbling over), but for the most part he said that my copy was pretty clean. That was nice to hear.
There were a couple of moments where he actually laughed out loud, and he said that he would have kept reading if he'd picked up the book in the store and flipped to the beginning. Oh, he also said that he had pegged the characters at a younger age than what I gave information about. I could see where he was coming from--as well as a way to fix it.
Done with my time, I thanked him, took his card (which I may actually follow up on), and went on my way.
The thing about this is, I do these things less for me--I don't know how or even if I can break into writing--and more for the ability to tell my students, "I'm doing all I know how to do in order to get this done. I can only do what I can do, and while some things are currently beyond me, I'm stretching myself." I may be off here, but I don't think my students know how shy I am. Outside of school--my comfort zone and area of authority--I am very introverted. I don't like to talk up in church (unless the teacher is really struggling and I hope to help them out...or the idea is big enough that I want to let it out), I often would rather wander around a store, looking for what I want, than talk to an employee. And calling people on the phone? Forget it. I hate that crap.* So the fact that I'm so uncomfortable with extending myself like that--what a monumental effort it takes for me to expose my ideas to others--means that the only motivation that can overcome the discomfort is one of practicing what I preach. Indeed, part of the reason I've been writing so much more on this website is because I want to build up my confidence, to commit more fully to being a writer. I need a public, even if it is a small one, to perform in front of in order to keep myself from curling inward and disappearing into my despair and depression.
Still, this is only a baby step--and probably a faltering one. Despite a panel dedicated to helping writers not feel embarrassed or jealous or anxious about their work, I feel--as I do every LTUE--completely inadequate and incompetent as a writer. I'm always left to wonder if I'll ever "make it", ever get out of this step and into the next. And every time, I never feel any closer to the answers. But that's okay.
It's not like this conference is supposed to answer large, existential questions, right?
----
* I am getting better at it. My son helps with this a lot. He doesn't mind that sort of thing at all, so I let him ask questions of employees sometimes, or have him call. So, maybe he isn't helping so much as enabling. I appreciate it either way.