From Deadline Hell to Conference Madness

by Kate Carlisle

I did it! I met my deadline for ONE BOOK IN THE GRAVE, the next Bibliophile Mystery. Pretty good, considering that I’ve been working in the midst of a total kitchen remodel and my family visiting. When I reached the final sentence of the final scene, I paused, took a deep breath to savor the moment, and then slowly typed: T. H. E. E. N. D.

Moment savored, moment gone… and instant panic set in.

The Romance Writers of America conference is mere days away, and I have done nothing – nothing! – to prepare. I have nothing to wear. My nails have suffered the double mutilation of hammering away at the keyboard and of being gnawed at while I tried to work my way out of plotting quagmires. My scalp has little bald spots from me tearing out my hair, trying to get the book done in time.

Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. If you’re going to conference, promise me you won’t look for bald spots!

The truth is, I have a lot of work to do to get pretty enough for conference. Because you know that we all want to look good for each other. It doesn’t matter that 98% of the attendees are female. It’s soooo not about the men. We want to look fresh and relaxed so that when we reunite with friends we haven’t seen for a year, they’ll tell us how great we look, and we’ll be able to believe that they’re not just being polite.

(Yeah, I dream big.)

We also want to look professional so that when we see our editors and agents and other industry professionals, they will get the impression that we easily handle the stresses of this writing life. In the hopes, of course, that they’ll pile on more stresses by giving us more, bigger, and better contracts.

(I do actually dream big.)

Which means, of course, that I must go shopping. And I can’t rely on the internet this time. There’s no time to have clothes shipped to me, try them on, realize I ordered the wrong size, return them, and get a second outfit to try on in the comfort of my own home. No, I will have to brave the harsh light of the dressing room.

And don’t get me started on shoes. Ack.

I can’t possibly visit the clothing stores until I get a mani/pedi. Otherwise the sales clerks won’t take me seriously. Getting a manicure is an exercise in patience for me. It’s hard to sit still long enough for the polish to dry. Almost invariably, I end up with at least one ding. So I repair the ding by adding a glop of polish, which leaves a little raised bump on my nail that looks like I have some sort of medical condition.

If you’re going to conference, promise me you won’t look for deformities on my fingernails!

My hope is that all the panic and craziness I’m going through now will pay off in the end. That I’ll arrive at conference looking polished and chic precisely because I am worried about it now. Which means at conference, I’ll be able to relax and enjoy the experience without giving a second thought to how I look.

That is, perhaps, the biggest dream of all.

The RWA conference is part professional networking event, part high school reunion. When is the last time you attended a big conference or reunion? Did you stress about what to wear, how your hair looked, how your nails looked, whether your shoes were scuffed… ? When you look back on that event, what sticks out most strongly in your memory?

Dream Chaser

by Beth

I'm back from DC and loved spending time with my fellow Banditas, BBs and other writing friends I only get to see once a year. I miss you all already! I especially enjoyed taking my niece Blaire with me to the RITA/GH awards ceremony. Blaire, sweetheart that she is, said afterwards that she wished she could've seen me accept my GH when I won two years ago which reminded me of how far of I'd come since my first National Conference.

I attended my first RWA National Conference in 2002 in Denver. Having never been to National before I was excited, nervous, and a bit overwhelmed. I’d completed one book and had attended a regional conference the year before but being at National, surrounded by so many aspiring authors, published authors and editors and agents was thrilling. I attended as many workshops as I could, taking copious notes and soaking up the information my fellow authors so generously shared. I met many new people, some of whom have since become dear friends. I saw some of my favorite authors in the hall and in the bar. I even got to sit in the reserved seats at the RITA/Golden Heart ceremony. Oh, not because I’d finaled in either contest--heck, at that time I didn’t even know what either award was about--but because the published author who’d generously sponsored the conference scholarship I’d won was up for a RITA. And since she couldn’t attend, who did she ask to accept on her behalf should her name be called?

Me.

For those who know me, the situation was laughable to say the least. I’m what you might call…unassuming. Quiet. Watchful. And definitely not someone who’s comfortable accepting an award in front of two thousand people. Unfortunately, my benefactor didn’t win that night so I didn’t have to leave my seat. A fact for which my nerves were mighty grateful, but by the end of the night, after watching so many talented, gracious women accept their awards, my viewpoint changed and I was certain of one very surprising fact:

I wanted to be up on that stage. And I wanted to be up there accepting my own award.

So, naturally, I did what anyone would do in my situation. I wrote a book (my second) and entered it in the next year’s Golden Heart contest. It didn’t final. Neither did either of my two entries a year later. Or the year after that. I wrote more. I revised. I entered chapter contests and seriously considered each and every comment given. I found some fabulous critique partners. Most important of all, I found my voice. And I entered the Golden Heart once again.

That year I was lucky enough to be a double finalist in the GH. I had a blast at the National conference in Atlanta, meeting my fellow finalists for the first time, proudly wearing my GH ribbons and buttons. I joined The Golden Network and attended their wonderful dessert reception and famed Boot-Out ceremony as well as their informative retreat. There was a champagne reception for both RITA and GH finalists, rehearsals and finally, awards night.

I honestly didn’t expect to win and therefore didn’t experience more than a twinge of disappointment when my name wasn’t called. After all, it was an honor just to final and I was determined not to be eligible for the GH again. I was ready to sell.

Yeah, I hear you all laughing out there.

I knew it didn’t really matter that I was ready to sell, what mattered was that an editor was ready to buy me (or in this case, my story). But I thought my story was good. Really good. Alas, while the editor I was working with agreed my story was good, it wasn’t good enough to buy.

Not one to let a bit of bad news get me down, I forged ahead, entered the 2007 GH, and hoped like the dickens that lightening really could strike the same place twice. It did.

With that third final came the same excitement as the year before, along with healthy doses of relief, gratitude and, to be honest, a sense of validation that perhaps I was going in the right direction after all. I truly thought that this story, a story I’d worked so hard on, a story I’d received an eight page revision letter for, a story that had been sent up to the senior editor with a recommendation to buy, was THE ONE.

And then, a week before this year‘s conference, I was rejected.

It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. But, since rejections are a part of this business, I didn’t let it get me down (the hot fudge sundae I had for supper that night helped too). Instead, I focused on making this conference the best ever. I was going to network and take workshops and enjoy being a finalist. Like the other year I'd finaled, I met my fellow finalists, enjoyed the retreats and receptions and even had a productive meeting with the editor I’ve been working with these past few years.

I was inspired by stories of authors who wrote for five, ten or even twenty years before selling. Awed by their persistence, determined to achieve my own success and unable to imagine doing anything else but writing, I vowed to work harder, write better and to never give up.

But by Saturday, the combination of too little down time and way too little sleep caught up with me. Mid-afternoon, I sat down waiting for a friend when the doubts hit. What if I was fooling myself? What if I never sold? How many times will I be able to push on after the door’s been slammed in my face again?

It was pitiful. I was pitiful. And I hate being pitiful.

That night at the award’s ceremony, I had no hopes of winning. So when the presenter announced my title and my name, I was shocked, humbled, and a bit breathless from the bear hug Tawny gave me. I learned I can speak in front of 2,000 people and not make a total fool of myself. A partial fool, maybe, but not a total fool. Back at my seat, staring down at my shiny new Golden Heart necklace, I knew I would defeat those pesky doubts that had invaded my brain earlier in the day. Not because being a GH finalist or winner guarantees I’ll get published, but because I realized that no matter how hard this career might be, no matter how disappointing, I don’t want to do anything else.

My GH win gave me a boost, an ego stroke if you will, and the realization that while I was still anxious, maybe even a bit impatient to sell, I needed to take the time to appreciate the steps along the way.

A month later, I received The Call for that GH winning book. And the rest, as they say, is history :-)

But I learned to celebrate my successes and mourn my failures (for short amounts of time). And I’ll never stop writing, believing or dreaming.

How about you? What dreams have you achieved?