I went to 3 conferences in 2 months. Here’s 5 things that I learned.

Why 5? Because 3 + 2 = 5. Logic. Duh.

I’ll go ahead and answer your questions up front. Yes, I am still tired. 

No, I’m not crazy. At least, the voices in my head say I’m not, but you can’t really trust those guys. 

I went to Killer Nashville in Franklin, Tennessee; the PNWA Conference in Seattle, Washington; and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Conference in Aurora, Colorado. 

Get ready to be tip slapped. 

1. Bring Snacks

Most of these conferences are in hotels that are in the middle of nowhere. You won’t leave those hotels unless you drove to said hotel or rented a car. And honestly, even if you have a car, you’ll be so busy with classes and workshops and networking (yeah, networking is part of it), that you probably won’t have a lot of time to go get food. 

Say goodbye to the sun, my friend! There’s a good chance you won’t see it all weekend.

Since you won’t be leaving, and hotel restaurants are about as reliable as a McDonald’s ice cream machine, I highly recommend you bring snacks. In Tennessee, we went to Target. For PNWA, I went to Costco and went ham on the snack aisle. In Aurora, we got a half a dozen bagels from the Einstein Bagels in the Denver airport. 

Life savers all. Seriously. 

Truth fact: Your brain burns calories when you think hard. Bring snacks. Eat snacks. Be a snack? I dunno. I might have lost the thread.

2. Downtime is your friend

This might sound bonkers coo-coo crazy pants, but oh well. If you’re the kind of person who likes to look at the schedule ahead of time and plan out your days, first: hello, fellow type-A brain. I see you. I feel you. Second: pencil in at least fifteen minutes of downtime for yourself. 

But, Emily. You told me I’d be networking.

Yup. But only extroverts who have ingested large amounts of cocaine can network all day without their very essence draining out of their eyeballs by the end of the night.

So, plan a little chunk of time to give yourself a break. Take a nap. Listen to a podcast. Read a book. Watch shit TV. Take a shit, for all I care. Whatever your little heart desires. No matter what it is, give yourself a little bit of time to just be yourself. 

Without it, you will be nothing but a husk by the end of the conference.

And as you drive off into the sunset, you’ll realize you left something behind.

Your soul. It’s still at the hotel. A ghost now, wandering the halls of the Embassy Suites with dead eyes and a slack jaw, shoving translucent business cards at terrified patrons for all of eternity. 

And as those patrons lie awake at night, they shake with fear. They know what’s coming. They’ve heard it before. They’re terrified to hear it again, yet they can’t seem to stop listening for it. In the petrified silence, your soul-ghost whispers, “Who are you pitching this weekend?”

Nobody wants that. 

Trust me.

Downtime. 

Take it.

3. Have a pitch. Even if you’re not pitching.

If you don’t have an agent, there’s a good chance you’re taking part in the shit storm that is pitching—or just interacting with—an agent or thirty. 

For those that don’t know, pitching is the abominable love child of speed dating and interviewing. It is arguably the most self-masochistic thing writers can do to themselves. (You know, apart from actually writing. Har. Har.) Pitching is honestly a totally separate blog. Maybe even a podcast. Inez! Put it on the list!

Anyhoo, even if you’re not pitching, you will absolutely, without a doubt, be asked these three questions in rapid succession: 

  1. What genre do you write in?

  2. Are you currently working on something?

  3. Tell me what it’s about.

And if you don’t have at least a line or two describing what your book is about, you’re going to look like a fish gulping for air on a hot pier.

Why a hot pier, Emily?

Because I’m painting a freaking word picture. (And this is what happens when I eat crunchy peanut butter and chocolate chips for breakfast and lunch.)

4. Go to shit. 

You’re there to connect with people. The only way to do that is to go where the people are. So, my little word goblin, put on your human flesh mask and go to the open bar, the author signings, the shitty hotel dinner. Talk to the people. Make the friends. I got a full manuscript request from one of my dream agents over dinner in Colorado. 

Go. To. Shit.

5. Pay attention to the contests

Not every conference will have a contest, but if they do, pay attention. This is a good idea for a couple reasons. 

  1. If you enter the contest and win, you’ll probably get money. And being paid for your work is, you know, nice.

  2. Even if you don’t enter the contest, go to the award ceremony. By attending the ceremonies, I learned: in Colorado, they’re looking for a more literary style of writing. Killer Nashville is basically looking for spy novels (as far as I could tell). And PNWA is looking for fucked up minds like mine. (Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I won that one. Toot. Toot.)

Conference season is buck wild. It’s exhausting. And, honestly, after a while, they all kind of feel the same. But, I met so. many. cool. people. I learned a metric shit ton both about myself and writing.

There’s a definite blueprint for how these things go. Once you get the hang of it, use it to your advantage.

Keep an eye out for next year’s conferences and start making those plans. Just keep these tips in mind and you’ll be fine. Maybe. Probably.

Extra Pro Tip: DRINK WATER. It’s good for you. Hell, you’re basically a water demon as it is. Hydrate, you little devil you.


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