AWP: A Retrospective (Part 2)

So I promised I’d post yesterday, but, well, I didn’t. See: multitude of jobs. But I did have a bit more time to decide what I wanted to say about, arguably, the most engrossing and enlightening part of the AWP conference…

The Bookfair

I work at a bookstore, so when I found out there would be a bookfair at AWP, I thought I knew what to expect: a roomful of tables, small stacks of books from different presses for purchase, a leisurely stroll through a corridor of literary journals. Ha. How wrong I was.

The AWP bookfair consisted of four giant hotel conference rooms full of tables, representing literary journals, MFA programs, small presses, and grant/fellowship programs from across the country. A good friend and I decided to brave the bookfair our first day, but ended up perusing only one room, walking down rows and rows of tables without stopping, overwhelmed, barraged with “swag” (pins, erasers, notepads, pens, etc.), calls for submissions, contest announcements, and occasionally, free journals (thanks, Lindenwood Review!). We both admitted it was a little frightening, but braced ourselves and returned the next day bolder, wiser, and ready to take advantage of all the bookfair had to offer.

A classmate of mine summed up the bookfair experience by saying it simultaneously made her feel better and worse about the chances of getting her stuff published, and I mostly agree. On one hand, you come to understand how much competition there is. You look around the room, and you see that everyone is like you, looking at the same journals, submitting to the same contests. You realize you are a better writer than some of them. You realize some of them are much, much better writers than you. You realize these journals only accept a few fiction pieces per issue. You must not only be better than the person standing next to you. You are one of thousands. You must be exceptional.

However, you look around the room, and you also see hundreds of tables of literary journals, all different, all searching for a variety of aesthetics, many finding new, creative ways to get your work to the masses. Hoot Review enticed us to their table with a giant dice game, and I won a free sample of their monthly magazine – one piece of “mini” poetry or prose printed on a beautiful postcard. We missed the University of New Orleans MFA program’s yo-yo contest, but got a free swag bag from their summer abroad program in Edinburgh. I bought a journal from the Cincinnati Review (one of my favorites) and got free journals from, among others, Crab Orchard, the Missouri Review, and the Mid-American Review, whose staff enthusiastically encouraged me to resubmit to their journal after I told them I was forced to withdraw my last piece. (I managed to refrain from informing the editors of the Missouri Review that they rejected one of my pieces, as I’ve heard some people tend to do at AWP. Yikes.) I also worked at the table for UMSL’s lit journal, Natural Bridge, and met a ton of really cool people.

So overall, I left the bookfair optimistic. I may have an obscene amount of competition, but it’s better to realize that sooner than later. I also realize I have options. So many options. If my work is good enough, it will find a home. It’s now my job to make sure the work is good enough.

Chicago Miscellany

• I've never seen/smelled a hotel room more disgusting than ours after eight people lived in it for five days.
• The Modern Wing of the Art Institute of Chicago is gorgeous.
• I can now hail a cab like a pro.
• If you've had your fill of Chicago style pizza, try Gyu-Kaku Japanese Barbecue (specifically the enoki mushrooms) and Jitlada Thai House.
• The University of Tampa knows how to make a bunch of awkward writer-types socialize: open bar. Liquor us up and let us dance. I danced so hard I got a mysterious wound on my forehead.
• Stop by George's Louge on Wabash. Awesome dive bar, jukebox, good strong drinks.
• I have very lustful feelings for the city, as a whole. It's big and loud and exciting. I always leave thinking, I could move here someday. But could lust turn to love? Would the feeling last? Chicagoans, what say you? 

In other random exciting life news: I'm applying for a pretty awesome job for next school year. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

AWP: A Retrospective (Part 1)

A little over a week ago, I stumbled off a bus downtown St. Louis, hauling a duffel bag, a backpack, and two totes full of lit journals – some I’d never heard of, some I dream of one day being published in. I was exhausted and disoriented and I smelled sort of bad, and I kept thinking to myself, Where am I? What day is it? Did I just disappear into an alternate dimension and emerge in a different time/place/reality?

Fear not, intrepid readers. I didn’t fall into a wormhole, nor did I hitchhike across the Midwest or get kidnapped by a band of rogue literati. I did, however, attend the AWP conference in Chicago, and the experience felt much like I would imagine getting dropped into an alternate reality would feel.

For those who don’t know, AWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) hosts an annual conference for writers, students, and teachers – and anyone, really, who wants to shell out the $230 non-member, non-student fee. AWP is Mecca for writers, and this year, Mecca came to Chicago. This was my first AWP conference, and I had no idea what to expect. This is what I experienced.

The Panels

First of all, the conference schedule is almost paralyzing in its number of options. There are over twenty panels you can attend during each hour-and-fifteen-minute block, with subjects ranging from “How to transition from short stories to novels” to “The business of publishing,” to “The poetry of the music video.” My initial game plan involved making myself a rigid schedule of panels to attend, and attending as many panels as possible. I quickly realized this was a stupid, if not impossible, plan.

The first panel I attended was the aforementioned “short story to novel,” in which I anticipated the speakers bestowing upon me some enlightening and specific advice on craft and the writing process. What I got was a mixed bag. Hannah Tinti, author of The Good Thief and editor-in-chief of One Story, was engaging and thoughtful and relatable. Kevin Wilson, author of the absolutely brilliant short story collection Tunneling to the Center of the Earth (seriously, stop what you’re doing and go read it now) and The Family Fang, was funny and charming and had many relevant experiences to share. But another author on the panel (whose name I can’t remember) talked mostly in abstractions, mentioning the cosmos and humanity’s shared neurological experience and a lot of other arty babble, which confused and disappointed me.

Many people already have this conception of writers as pretentious weirdos, sitting around waiting for the world to bestow inspiration upon them, until they vomit words onto a page. That’s not my experience at all. Yes, we are sort of weirdos, but we’re not vacantly sitting around waiting to become a vessel for literary genius. Writing is a craft, which requires a lot of practice, finessing, and working very hard on minor (and major) technical issues. It's not easy for us. Stories are like machines; if one part isn’t working, the entire contraption fails. If we didn’t practice, only waited for the next brilliant idea to come to us, we’d never get anything done.

That’s why I was so disappointed to see published and respected authors treating the writing process like some sort of mystic ritual. Not only does it perpetrate the stereotype, but it’s not helpful to other writers searching for some solid, tangible advice on how to improve their craft. Many of the panels I attended at AWP were like this: some knowledgeable authors and editors giving helpful advice, and some knowledgeable authors saying flowery things that didn’t mean a whole lot. (Not the editors. The editors are very practical about writing. Sometimes painfully so).

So my advice for those attending their first AWP is this: plan on going to the panels that sound like they'll truly help, that really interest you, but don’t expect your life to change. You’re going to get some helpful advice. You’re going to get some not-so-helpful advice. But don’t plan your whole conference around the success of the panels. Leave time open for other activities, such as socializing, perusing the bookfair, and wandering around in an overwhelmed daze.

More on these things tomorrow…

My two loves

So because I have an awesome, awesome job (referring to the Left Bank job, this round), I get to go see Mr. 2,632 himself - Cal Ripken, Jr. - this evening. And you can too! Cal wrote a children's book and is signing that book at the St. Louis County Library tonight at 6:00. It's free and open to the public, and seriously, how many times does Cal Ripken, Jr. waltz through St. Louis? I bet not often. Get there early, because he's only signing for a limited amount of time.

I love moments when my worlds collide like this. Books and baseball - what more can I ask for? 

Is this thing on?

I must be a tad masochistic, starting a blog. My days are already filled to the brim with words. But I guess that’s also the reason the idea of a blog appealed to me. Words are what I know, what I do. I’ve had a long-standing fantasy of tattooing a quill to the skin of my left wrist, so I could remind myself to write always, and to give strangers a glimpse of who I am. But I have a fear of needles (and commitment), so this will have to do. These are the things I want to remember, and the things I think are worth sharing.

Still, maybe one day I’ll get that tattoo.

For those who don’t know me, I’m a twentysomething currently in my second year at the University of Missouri-St. Louis’ MFA program in fiction writing. So there are drafts upon drafts, workshops, readings, edits, submissions, and the eternal mantra: “You must write every day!”  And I do, in some form or another. In order to get myself through grad school, I have a multitude of jobs. I tutor, helping students with everything from basic grammar to literary analysis. I teach a beginning fiction writing workshop two days a week, and sell books at Left Bank in the Central West End on weekends (and Mondays). Each year, from March through October, I usher at Busch Stadium for the St. Louis Cardinals (my first, and therefore purest, love).

So time, I ain’t got. But I still feel like a blog is something worth starting. I’m writing this for my family, so they can get a better idea of what I do all day, every day. I’m writing this for my friends, who are crazy enough to stick by me, despite my best efforts. I’m writing this for the writers struggling through their own MFA programs, or thinking about grad school, so they can learn from my mistakes. I’m writing this for random strangers who are weird enough to want to read about me. Weird is a compliment, trust me. And I’m writing this for me, because I know, despite all the stress and the headaches and the panic and the insomnia, this is where life is changing, maybe for good, hopefully for better. These are the things I need to remember.

Here’s what you can expect from me: general writings about writing, awesome anecdotes about me failing (and occasionally succeeding) at grad school, moments with particularly memorable students, cool things I’ve read, literary goings-on at Left Bank and throughout Stl, general rants about my life, etc. Welcome, and enjoy.