First Conference: A Student View

You know what they say: You never forget your first conference. My guest post below is from a new creative writing student of mine who recently attended her first conference. Her report was so funny that I asked her if I could share it here, and she generously agreed. Enjoy!

A Beginner’s Traipse Through The Writer’s Digest Conference

By: Jessica Rae Pulver-Adell

Wednesday, August 10th, 2016: 11:46am

I’ve deleted 47 and a half recordings from my iPhone’s voice recorder. The half? That’s when I stopped recording midway through and burst into tears and laughter- in equal measure. Rehearsing pitching to literary agents and editors for a book I’ve wanted to write for years, without the final book proposal? No sweat. No pressure. Those three other book proposals I want to crank out before I board the plane at 6:00am on Thursday? No problem.

    It’ll be fun. I’ll test my resolve and stretch my boundaries. Like when I wrote my first play, Hounding Elias, in three months. Or when I wrote the first draft of my book, Holistic Healing for Addiction, in a month in a half; a work I swaddle as a newborn and rage against as fervently as any parenting an unruly teenager.

 I’m qualified. I can do this. I have several weeks- within the course of 24 hours. I have all the books. I’ve done my research- I know exactly who I’ll pitch to at the slam session I spent an extra $100 on- because who needs to eat when anxiety will make you wretch anyway?

    I’ve worked on my proposal for Crystal Pendants - the third title iteration- for a week, precisely five days over the deadline I gave myself, and I only have a partial first draft, with the gaping maw of a “suggested table of contents.” Not to mention sample chapters.

    That’s okay. I still have 21 hours and 14 minutes to kick out proposals for Hounding Elias- the novel- and Natural Healing for Addiction- a quasi follow-up to my first book.

Maybe just one sheets, then?

    Work? You want me to work right now? Okay boss guy. I will not read interviews featuring the agents I’m going to meet in a handful of hours. No siree.

    I’m lying. I’m sorry. You should probably fire me.

    I’ve packed and unpacked. And I’ll pack again when I get home. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this. Fledgling writers don’t get agents to represent them. Not me anyway. But I’ve got to try.  I have the business cards- the custom bookmarks, credit card sized USB flash drives to give agents when they request my proposal the second they do. I even ordered stickers for them. Working in the marketing department has paid off after all.

    They’re all beautiful. Except of course where I screwed up the PNG upload, and my dragon-laced logo isn’t as sharp as I know it should be. Every person I ask keeps saying no one will notice. But I notice. I know it’s there- or rather, not all there.

    I know my proposal is too long. 31 pages of desperation. Fumbling fingertips continue blithering on because I’ll edit it later dammit. Oh and the Hounding Elias proposal? I know you’re not supposed to pitch unfinished manuscripts- but I think I’ll pay myself the enervating honor of being laughed out of the pitch slam.

    Maybe I’ll switch back to the larger suitcase so I can bring more books home.

Friday, August 12th 6:44pm

    I only have eight books so far. But it’s only the second day of the conference. I have faith in my Barnes & Nobles Mastercard.

    Thus far the Writer’s Digest Conference has been an incredible self-study like experience. Sure, the lectures are from 9:00am to 6:00pm, but every minute spent in those halls of wonders makes light in the far-reaches of my terribly wanting self.

Saturday, August 13th 6:52am

    Today I pitch Crystal Pendants and Tissue Paper Skin: Self-Harm and Mental Illness Unearthed. I think I’m puking. I’m definitely puking.

Saturday, August 13th 6:54pm

    Bleeding from the pathetic nibs that were my fingertips, I waited in line to the Pitch Slam chanting: Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Red blotches of skin dethroned my milky hues. That’s just a nice way of saying instead of my normal too-pale skin, I was a lobster. With no claws.

    Armed with one-sheets, the pitches I nearly memorized- giving way to casual conversation- I met with seven literary agents. I realized agents and editors are just flesh. Powerful flesh, to an aspiring author, but flesh nonetheless. Warmly greeted, and overall well-received, five out of the seven agents I met with requested manuscripts for both books I pitched. (That is, I pitched either one or the other to each agent.) But I’m still puking. This isn’t happening- and somehow, it’s still not good enough.

    Is this what shock is? It can’t be. Everyone’s work must have been requested. I know there must be a conspiracy between editors and literary agents who tell writers not to get their hopes up for an invitation of a proposal or manuscript. Is this a product of extensive research? Undoubtedly. I thought being invited into the secret crevices of literary agents’ inboxes would fill me with joy-- but I’m mostly filled with dread. What if it’s not good enough? It’s definitely not good enough. But even though I know I’m a little girl playing dress-up with mommy’s scarlet lipstick and flowered kitten heels, I can’t stop smiling.

Bio: JessiRae is a freelance writer and editor, author of Holistic Healing for Addiction, and cat enthusiast. You can connect with her on her website.