Community and Competition
I went to my first writers conference this past weekend, put on by the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. As I made the drive up I5 from Portland to Seattle,* Scottish folk music blaring because it was that kind of day (unlike now when I’m listening to Dead Weather), I kept trying to guess what I’d gotten myself into by comparing the coming weekend to what I had known in the past.
I’ve been to various conferences and conventions over the years. I’ve been to countless RPG conventions (especially DunDraCon and Pacificon), but I knew this would be different. At gaming cons, people get together and play games. I was pretty sure I would not see a bunch of writers get together and write. That would be called a retreat.**
I’ve been to a convention for professional audio engineers. Well, sort of. I was young and broke, but I had a free pass that admitted me to the exhibit hall, so I forwent the hundreds of dollars I would have had to pay to attend the sessions. Instead I settled for playing with equipment that I hoped to use in the studio over the following year. I figured the PNWA conference would not have as many toys. (I was right.)
I have been to five residencies for my MFA program, which are structured much like writers conferences, except with homework and no pitch sessions.*** But how big a deal could the pitch sessions be?
Godzilla comes to mind.
Everyone was talking about pitching, testing their pitches, listening to each other’s pitches, and critiquing pitches. They compared notes about pitches, asked how pitch sessions went, and fretted over upcoming pitch sessions. They craned their necks at possible agent and editor sightings and talked about which agents and editors were looking for what kinds of stories (so no pitch would be wasted).
I was surrounded by at least six hundred people, all of whom had a book to sell and most of whom wanted to find an agent. Now consider that every editor must prepare for only so many publication openings, and that every agent can handle representing only so many authors, and one conclusion stands out: every one of these six-hundred-odd people (or just six hundred odd people) was in direct competition with some or all of the others around him or her.
And yet I felt no sense of competition all weekend.
As far as I could tell, everyone sincerely tried to help each other, improve each other’s pitches, relax each other, wish each other luck, and generally keep the atmosphere positive and fun. This could have been a madhouse of frayed nerves, but I had a great time and met a number of people I’d have loved to have more time to talk with.
In about a week and a half I go off to my final MFA residency. I’ve been a little worried about what I would find waiting for me after graduation. If last weekend is any indication, I’ll be just fine.
*Technically I think it was in Sea-Tac.
**Which means, I guess, that we hope retreats will prepare us for big advances. Does that mean their tactical application improves one’s strategic position? Perhaps I should consult Sun Tzu.
***For those of you not insane enough to attempt a career in writing, let me explain: a pitch is an opportunity to cram your entire work of art into thirty seconds of sales copy that must knock the socks off of an agent or editor.
