Rather than a check in this week (I say as if I publish one every week), I thought I would tell you about my recent trip to Maryland. I attended the Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity Conference (C3) in Columbia. It ran from September 8-10. This conference was first held in 2013 and has been going strong ever since. It was the 10-year anniversary this year which meant that their turn out was huge. For me, it was an amazing experience. I plan on going back next year. Let me tell you why.
First, of all, this was the first conference that I attended as an author. I spoke on two panels and attended two signings. I also had a poster with my book covers and a QR code on the book table (since I only do eBook at the moment). When I first found out I was sitting on panels, my imposter syndrome hit me hard. All I could think was, “I’m in no position to give anyone advice on anything! What the hell are they thinking?” Turns out, I know some stuff.
Way more than I thought I did. And I had way more to say than I thought I did. I even had people approach me after my panels and ask me follow up questions. I even had people seek me out and strike up conversations about other topics purely because they had sat in on one of my panels. It was enough to give me hope that maybe I am actually going to do okay at this whole author thing. Also, the founders Denise and Austin Camancho and Cynthia Lauth were incredible. They took the time to learn about me as a first-time attendee and author, even checking out my website and reading some of my blog. They made a point to introduce me to other authors and made me feel so welcome. It was the first time that I really felt like a professional author even though I’ve technically been a paid author for going on two years.
Second, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many conversations in such a short time. There was nowhere for people to hide (unless they went up to their room, assuming they were staying at the hotel). The conference space itself was compact, especially because we squeezed nearly 200 people in it. The panel/workshop rooms were right next to the main meeting room. The signing tables were right in the middle of everything, so you had constant exposure to everyone walking by. If you wanted to sit on the furniture, you usually had to join someone and run the risk that you would be interrupting a conversation. The fact that no one seemed to mind if you interrupted and often invited you to join was a testament to how friendly everyone was.
We also all ate together. They feed you. How cool is that? In my research, I don’t think I’ve ever run across another conference that did. I, for one, highly recommend this to anyone who runs conferences if it is at all possible. The food was catered by the hotel. Nothing fancy, but it was good. The room we ate in was also the main meeting area and was full of round tables that sat about eight people. Eating meals together definitely gave the entire experience a much more intimate vibe than the couple of other conferences/conventions I’ve been to. Having all the meals provided (and having a bar on site) also meant that there was no need to leave the hotel once you got there (again, assuming you were staying at the hotel). Sitting and eating a meal with others pursuing the same interests as you is a situation ripe for conversation.
Writers as a group are notorious for being introverts and needing solitude every day to recharge our social batteries so to speak. Our tolerance for this is part of why we can write in the first place. Being in a space like this, surrounded by others, with nowhere to go should have been a nightmare. But on the contrary, I think we all thrived. Which leads me to the most important factor in why I will be returning, and that I’ve already hinted at: the people.
As I said above, writers tend to be introverts, which is good because writing is by nature a solitary endeavor. Even when you collaborate with someone, the bulk of the work is still done on your own. Even if you are an introvert, even if you eschew human contact as a rule, at some point you are going to want to talk to someone who can understand just how lonely, frustrating, and maddening writing can get.
Having a support group is essential. Most of us are already surrounded by our families, friends, and co-workers (for the vast majority of us that still need to work a day job). Statistically, most, if not all of this support group, is probably made up of non-writers. They want to be supportive, so they say, “Tell me about your story,” or “you seem irritated. Go ahead, vent.” So you do and proceed to go off on a forty-five minute rant about how your main character is getting up to all kinds of shenanigans that you certainly did not plan and, that, as a consequence, your plot has completely gone off the rails and you are stuck and have no idea how they are going to get back to where they are supposed to be going. They smile and nod. Then say, “But you’re writing the story. Can’t you just change it?” It then becomes glaringly obvious that as non-writers, they just don’t get it. I don’t say this as a slam to non-writers. Non-writers are good. They keep us sane. They keep us grounded. They help us with emotional support, time management, ensuring that we get some vitamin D, in some cases even feeding and watering us…etc. All while patting us on the head and saying, “I love you, even if you are crazy.” That’s incredibly important and none of us should take that for granted. However, without going through the process of creating, it is nearly impossible to truly understand why we can’t just change it. It is not that simple. It is not that easy. Only someone who has braved the tempestuous journey with the Muse can truly understand what we are going through.
Hence, writers need other writers. We need each other to talk shop with, to commiserate with, to share stories with, to ask advice of. To convince us that we aren’t complete shit at what we do, and we trust that opinion because they know. They’ve been there. They too have been stuck in the page at three am after having woken up with a scene in their head that they just had to get down before they forgot it. They have at one point, or another wanted to scrap an entire manuscript that they’ve spent hundreds of hours on because they couldn’t decide whether the main character’s mother or father is the big issue. I imagine scenarios reminiscent to this happen in most professions. People need other people who truly understand.
Most everyone who attended this conference was a writer. At least everyone I talked to was. And I talked to a lot of people. Not everyone had published yet, or was even planning on publishing, but everyone was a writer. We all got it. It was marvelous. We sat and listened and cheered during the Noir at Bar where fellow writers stood up in front of us and read a story out loud. We laughed and groaned when some of us shared their bad reviews. We all got it. It was amazing. It was everything I needed it to be and more.
The following weekend, I met up with my one writing buddy for a work date and I told her all about it. She said next year she might come with me. I hope she does. I hope every person who feels like they are alone, or who marches to the beat of their own drum gets to experience even a fraction of the acceptance, understanding, and comradery that I felt over those 48 hours in Columbia. We all have a tribe. We all have a place where we belong. Whether that be in a Facebook group, at an open mic night at the local pub, a writing group at a coffee shop, or a conference, we just need to find it. And once we do, we need to be open to letting it work its magic, so we know we aren’t alone.
C3 was this for me. It was a chance for me to spend a concentrated amount of time with others who just get the part of me that no one else in my life really gets. So, next year I will be going back. I look forward to more panels. More laughing. More chats. And more feeling like I’m not alone in this thing that I love so much.
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