For the last week, I have been reading other posts about the things they took away from the Crime Writers Conference.
Mostly about things they heard.
This is about what I felt and experienced.
The first evening was insane. I almost left. Why? It was like jumping from a cliff filled with the belief you won't fall. Writers are a solitary bunch, for the most part, so arriving with no idea of what to expect left me with no idea of how to find a writer.
Dinner proved as elusive. The restaurant was behind a wall, a dark foreboding wall. There was an open loungey looking area, filled with people. Since writers do not have Plumbobs dangling over their heads, I had no idea the people before me were writers, Crime Writers. I retired to my room and ordered room service to regroup.
Being a steadfast believer in making myself do the uncomfortable, I returned to the loungey area and found the nightclub (Glorious Art Deco Den) and walked into the sardine can.
A myth was exposed. The readings contained more X-rated material than you can find on Cinemax. Myth: Mysteries do not contain explicit sex.
I managed to stay and enjoy for about 30 minutes before feeling uncomfortable in many ways. Erotica is Erotica no many how many people get murdered.
Takeaway: Write your story
The next morning went much better thanks to copious amounts of coffee and stellar organization.
Loaded up on free books, not free books, and coffee (continental breakfast too) I proceeded to my first session.
The choices were amazing.
I chose the FBI and law enforcement session.
I thought I did so to learn. Nope. It was to see if my background still applied. It did.
I did attend and Author and Agent session, which I fully enjoyed.
As the day progressed, I met people, writers. Turns out I wasn't the only uncomfortable one there or in real life. I am a listener, and I listened, to the echoes of my inner feelings popping up all around me.
Wow. I am not alone.
A fellow writer asked what I write. First, I said, Soft Boiled Noir.
She smiled and said, so Noir.
I told her and sort of inadvertently pitched my story to a nearby agent in doing so. Later she said, You are your story.
See I started with my Vegas story blurb and went from there to telling the writer about my day as an EMT in rural Nevada and my jobs in Nevada. Without realizing it, I pitched me.
Why?
Because I am the story. I don't make this stuff up, well, for the most part.
Takeaway: Write what you know.
Lastly, was the positive energy. Wow. Did I mention the positive energy? Double wow.
Acceptance is a powerful thing. More powerful if it is sincere.
I got to hang with some heavy hitters aka authors. Amazingly, they are people. Really cool people.
My Kindle "to read" pile is overloaded now.
Since returning, I have cherished the afterglow and inner confidence. I am being selfish with my time. My writing time.
Oh, one last thing: 100% of the writers I spoke with said:
Never let anyone read an unfinished work because it will remain so. Apparently, they might be plotters with a bit of pantser stuck in there for good measure. Never let anyone rush you (not even if you have a contract).
Do force yourself to write every day, even if it sucks.
Holly S.
oh and I have struggled for an author name. My family has led to:
Titus Sweany
I like it. Ties that bind. Roots, good solid roots.
No comments:
Post a Comment