I’m beginning to shift my emphasis from attending conventions (expensive, time consuming, exhausting) to smaller, more local activities like speaking to book groups and gatherings of writers. So far I have one class scheduled through the Muse Writers Center of Norfolk in April and another presentation through WriterHouse of Charlottesville in May. I’m in the process of arranging a second presentation through Chop Suey Books of Richmond (since the first one went sooooo well–thanks again to everyone who showed up!). One of these days I’ll get around to talking with the local library about arranging a presentation there. Options are beginning to pile up, now that I’m committed to this way of doing things.
I’m feeling a whole lot happier with this path. Conventions will always be an essential, useful, and voraciously fun part of my life–but given my recent burnout, it makes sense for me to scale back on such massive events and focus on smaller venues where I can really talk to people, the way I loooove to do. There just isn’t enough time at a convention, and there are just too many people wandering about to focus on any one conversation properly.
However–or howevahh, as Ash Ambirge would put it–that brings me face to face with another dilemna dilemma –dangit–problem…(yes, I run into how the hell do you spell that it looks wrong no matter what I type every so often, just like everyone else. Sometimes simplest is truly best. This blog is not where I practice perfection. It’s where I practice get it out there. Nitpicking is for novels and stories.)…
That problem being: selecting a topic. At a convention, I’m generally told what panels I will be on, and I prepare for them accordingly. And I have a built in audience. Doing it yourself, you got to get them folks a-settin’ in the chairs all on your own.
How does one go about putting together a talk that brings people out; how does one build a reputation for being worth coming out to see, even in icky weather; how does one select a topic that will appeal to others?
Well, it’s all one, for me. What would bring me out in icky weather? What would make me want to listen to someone ramble on about writing in the first place? What topic would I want to hear about?
The answers, for me at least, pretty much all come down to community and sincerity. If I get the sense that the writer is going to be blathering on about themselves for an hour, I don’t waste my time. But if the writer is genuinely seeking to give back to the community, and is talking about something they sincerely love (other than their own work), I’m usually willing to risk a couple hours of my time.
So once the writer has had that initial chance, what makes me want to come back?
If they’re clear that their suggestions are just one approach to the overall. If they leave lots of room for other ways of doing things that tie into their basic suggestion. If they’re cheerful, and articulate, and cogent, and don’t ramble off topic (much). If they invite audience participation and can springboard from a wildly off-topic discussion back into the main theme without being obvious about pulling the room back together. If there is little to no talk of their own books along the way, unless it’s totally relevant–and brief, even then. If they’re fun, and attentive to the audience’s shifting mood.
Of course, it never hurts if they put out a good pot of coffee and maybe some decent cookies. (No store brand generic crap, puh-leeze. I mean, really? I get having a tight budget, but this isn’t where to skimp.)
So, since that’s what attracts me, that’s what I try to offer at my presentations. And that same approach applies to choosing the topic–I look at what I love, and where those things intersect my writing. For example, I love cooking and all things foodie; I’m therefore developing a series of presentations based around food in writing. Biiiig topic. Lots of possibilities. I’ll be playing with that one for a while.
For you beginning writers out there: start thinking about what draws you out to events. Start thinking about what you love to do for hobbies. Start writing notes to yourself about how those things weave into the craft of writing. Because one day… maybe sooner than you think… you’ll be faced with an invitation to stand up in front of folks and talk about writing as though you know what the hell you’re talking about. And that’s scaaaarrrrryyyyy.
Only it’s not, if you’re just talking to a few people about stuff you genuinely love. If you take that approach, why– it’s fun! It’s worth jumping out of bed in the morning and racing to the computer to work on. It keeps the joy in what can be an incredibly stressful process. And that will keep you from burning out… or help you recover from a burnout, if you’re already past that point.
Remember, always: you’re in this to have fun. If you’re not having fun–what the hell are you doing here? Seriously? Sure, there’s slog times and beat your head against the wall times and pits of despair–but you get that in any job. If, at the deepest, most basic level, you’re not totally and insanely in loooooove with writing (or any creative endeavor)–you’re wasting your time. Go work at an office, where everyone expects you to hate the job.
For those of you still here–what are you doing? Get back to writing already. 
P.S.: I think I might just be getting my zazziness back. Wheee! Let’s hear it for lots of naps in pools of sunshine. 
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