"The Write Time" Teens 'n Twenties Writers Conference

“MEET ME NOW:”
Notes on Working A Writer’s Conference
By Bob Yehling
© 2009 Word Journeys, Inc.

(NOTE: I originally wrote this article for another writer’s conference, and it was received warmly by organizers and attendees. It serves as a constant reminder to be aware and alert to all conversations, opportunities and networking possibilities that you will experience at The Write Time Teens ‘N Twenties Writers Conferences, and other such events you may attend in the future.)

In 1999, like a couple hundred others, I carried my pitch letter, proposal introduction and sample book chapter into the interview area. I’d spent a solid month writing, polishing and tweaking the chapter and proposal intro. I’d also made sure the pitch letter stated everything I needed the agent to know about my book idea, writing style, professional background, ability to reach the market (platform), and knowledge of the subject.

I carried a piece of my life into what is affectionately called “the pit.”

A dozen literary agents and editors were sprinkled throughout the area. It was the afternoon of day one, and already, a glazed look started to reflect from their eyes. It had better be your best, Bob, I said to myself. The editors and agents heard fiction and non-fiction book pitches from writers who, like me, took their dreams of being published into the pit. In 15-minute bursts, writers presented their material, answered agents’ questions and either were told:

a) “We’re not looking for this particular genre;”
b) “This looks promising, but needs some more work;”
c) “I’ll keep you in mind, but we’re filled up in that area right now—do you have anything else?;” or the far preferable
d) “I’d like to see more chapters and a proposal—send as soon as you can. Here’s my card.”

My first experience was different. Let’s call it “e”. The agent asked me if I knew or talked with the subject of my proposed book; she wanted to know if my book was authorized. I ran to my hotel room, grabbed my cell phone, raced downstairs and called the subject in the agent’s presence. Her eyes lit up. Turned out she was a big fan. “Meet me in the bar tonight at five,” she said.

Attending Presentations

But first, a few words on the staple of any good writer’s conference: dynamic presentations, or mini-workshops. Conference organizers spend months planning topics that cover the art, craft and business of writing. They negotiate with dozens of potential presenters to find those who will not only offer informative presentations, but mesh well with other conference faculty and attendees.

The most important quality of a presenter, which astute organizers seek, is an intangible: the ability to motivate and inspire participants. It doesn’t matter how esteemed the presenter is if he or she isn’t willing to (or cannot) light fires within writers and to impart everything they can squeeze into a one-hour presentation. One can be realistic about the difficulty of getting published—it is difficult—without flatly stating, “You’re not going to make it.” Which, believe it or not, I’ve heard presenters say to roomfuls of open-mouthed writers who thought they were spending hundreds of dollars to receive tutelage and encouragement.

Presenters have two jobs at writers’ conferences: to share their direct experience with a particular subject; and to inspire and motivate writers who carry a dream, are willing to work for it, and are seeking tips and inspiration along the way.

When you attend a presentation this weekend, prepare to listen intently and jot notes (or tap them out on your laptop) at the same time. Many presenters will offer handouts; others will shoot straight from their wellspring of experience. I work it both ways, providing handouts for background but then breaking into an extemporaneous discussion, often spurred by comments or questions from participants.

I stand before you for one reason above all: to give you an presentation that fulfills as many of your writing needs and answers as many questions as possible. I will invest all of my creative energy and knowledge in you for that time. I’m not only a writing mentor, but a high school track and cross-country coach. This is my style: It’s all about you.

When you select presentations, determine what you need most from the conference. Is it a creative burst? Information on writing proposals or pitch letters? Marketing and publicity tips? Background on a genre in which you haven’t written before? Editing secrets? Tips on writing fiction, memoir or essays? Make those presentations your first choices. Follow up with a presentation taught by someone whose work or personality you admire; that’s always inspiring. Finally, if your plate isn’t already full, pick a subject—any subject—that interests or tugs at you for an (as yet) unknown reason. That might be the dawn of your next calling as a writer.

How many presentations should you attend? As many as you can. Certainly, sign up for every presentation block at a one-day conference. If your conference is two or three days, then perhaps skip a presentation block or two – but be sure you know what you’re skipping. The “right” number is up to each person. If you miss a presentation because it conflicted with another desired presentation, ask the presenter for a handout and provide your e-mail address. Also, some conferences tape presenters and make those cassettes available for sale.

In any event, don’t oversaturate yourself. Create breaks in each day.

At the presentation, listen intently. Take notes, but not as you did in college. When you write the note, think of how the point works for your material or marketing needs. Brainstorm your next thought while in the enriched environment of the presentation. Or, write tickler comments—and get back to them the minute you leave the room. I can’t tell you how many essays, articles, marketing ideas, sales letter points or pieces of dialogue started in my notebooks during and immediately after presentations. You’re there to be studious, but you’re not a student. You’re a working writer, looking for specific information that will assist you. Begin integrating it during the presentation.

Ask specific questions. Most presenters offer room for questions; I make it a point to offer 10 to 15 minutes per hour for question-and-answer. You’re at the presentation for a reason; I want to make my entire experience available to give you what you’re seeking, if I can. The best presenters know that Q&A sessions with thoughtful questions turn into rich discussions that, sometimes, help the presenter as much as the participant. A lively forum is a valuable forum for everyone, for two reasons: a) the knowledge imparted from direct experience; and b) the energy moving in the room.

When the presentation ends, take another 15 to 30 minutes to dump all of what you immediately remember into your notebook or journal—if you’re not racing to an agent/editor interview or another presentation. If you have a burning question you didn’t ask, find the presenter and ask it. Don’t let the opportunity slide by. When you go home, spend a little more time with it. If you came up with a first line, or a story idea, write it out for an hour or two. If a book publicist rattled off five techniques that resonated with you, map out the ways you can apply those techniques to your book, in your marketplace, with your target media. Act while it’s fresh and your fires are burning.

Expand the ten-hour, two-day format of the conference into a 24/7 weekend. The benefits you receive make the temporary lack of sleep well worth it.

Back to the Coffee or Tea (or, if you’re over 21, maybe The Bar)

I met with the agent in the bar. After a relaxed two-hour conversation that bore no resemblance to the 15 minutes of speed-talking in the pit, she invited me to send sample chapters and a proposal. Three months later, I received a contract.

From this, I learned two vital unwritten rules about writer’s conferences:

Make your interview count. You’ve got one minute to seize the agent or editor’s initial interest, and five to seven minutes to develop your initial pitch and describe your project while the agent/editor sprints through your material. This is marketing, not creative brainstorming. You’re in the meeting to sell. The remaining half of the interview works best if you answer questions, produce additional material requested, and absorb the input you’re given; and

Much conference dealing takes place away from the interview area, in the refreshment area, hallways, hotel rooms, Jacuzzi, or across the dinner table.

In my years of presenting, I’ve seen countless arrangements develop after conference hours end, when agents and editors can relax and think through a promising prospect while getting to know the potential author. It is a good conference indeed when you’re “invited to the bar.” As a magazine editor who has purchased pieces or assigned articles to authors in that literal and metaphorical bar, and as a proposal consultant and freelance book editor who has connected authors and agents away from the center of activity, I can assure you that the side meetings produce new author-agent or author-editor relationships.
Which leads to the next unwritten rule about writer’s conferences:

Do not leave the building the second your appointment or workshop is finished. Stick around. Rub elbows.

Chat with fellow authors, agents, publishers, editors and consultants on the premises. You never know who will like your idea or see the marketing potential of your hard work—or your potential in the writing business. You might have a book idea you didn’t originally pitch that they like. Or, they might have a lucrative ghostwriting project involving a well-known client who doesn’t write. You don’t know—nor will you, if you don’t ask and remain open to new possibility.

Let me give you two examples. An editor from a major publishing house saw the sample chapter for a book I was pitching years ago. “Who book doctored this for you?” he asked.

“I did.”

“This is clean. You should think about becoming a book editor when you’re between books.”

Ten years and nearly 100 edited books later, I thank him for opening an avenue of vast enjoyment (and earnings) I never saw myself traveling.

Let’s revisit the agent in the bar. She asked for a book proposal. I’d never written a full book proposal, but I’d read a few articles, including the invaluable front end of Writer’s Market (these 60 to 80 pages are required reading for all working writers, in my opinion.) As a former public relations executive with marketing experience, I already knew how to write sponsorship proposals. I also asked a couple of agents at the conference what they liked to see in proposals.

Within three days of receiving my proposal, the agent called. “Where did you learn to write this? This is excellent!”

Another light bulb flashed in my head. Out of nowhere came another service that keeps me out of the 9-to-5 punch-the-clock work cycle (every writer’s dream): consulting with authors on their book proposals, or completely writing them to be pitch- and sales-ready. Agents love it, because they’re getting market-ready proposals. Authors love it, because who really wants to write a book proposal, which is a business plan for the book, after months writing a whole or partial book?

It all started at a writer’s conference, which brings me to the next unwritten (until now) rule:

Be sociable, conversational, and mindful of why you’re here—to learn, to network, and/or to sell your work. Use the salesman’s credo: If someone is within three feet of you, introduce yourself and shake his/her hand. Your future might be shaking back.

Don’t Be Intimidated – Be Interactive

Sometimes, we feel intimidated or insecure around attending agents, authors, editors, keynote speakers and publishers—the faculty. That’s natural: They are living the dream we’ve carried for years or decades. They’ve made it, or so we think. We tend to be sheepish around the conference faculty, withholding questions “because they’re stupid,” refraining from sharing our wildest book ideas “because they’re too ‘out there’ for the mainstream” (as if we really know), pulling back sample pages we prepared for the editor interviews “because they’re not polished enough.”

For this, I offer two final tips:

The conference faculty is there to impart knowledge and wisdom, engage in conversation, and expend energy for your benefit. They are at your service—not the other way around. Take advantage of this opportunity to visit with knowledgeable professionals whose answers to your questions might ignite or even define your future; and

Ask the “stupid” question. Show the sample pages. Share other book ideas if asked. Case in point: An agent told me about an author whose prepared material was well written, but the potential audience was too narrow. However, when the agent asked about the author’s other ideas, a dialogue began that, six months later, resulted in the author selling a trilogy.

Finally, think about this: You’re investing time and money to be at the conference. You’ve spent months, or even years, developing the material you plan to present. Or, you’re here to unlock a dream you’ve always held close to you. For a weekend, you will occupy the same space as respected book publishing professionals. To equal this experience, you’d have to fly to New York and stay for two weeks—if they took meetings with you. Not likely. Also, not likely you’d spend $5,000 or more to create that opportunity.

Work the conference and absorb the presentations as though your future and career are the prizes for your efforts. They often are.