Over the weekend, I attended the James River Writers Conference right here in Richmond. It may seem pretty obvious, like something I’ve done for years, since I am a) a writer who b) lives right outside of Richmond. Plot twist: this was my first time trekking to the local convention center’s halls to join hundreds of local writers taking a pause from their typewriters.
I’ve known of James River Writers for a few years but, until recently, I’d never leaned into my local writers’ community. Why? It’s a two-part answer. First, I wasn’t sure if I belonged. Second, as a recovering overachiever, I have a low-level fear of leaning into anything, lest I lean right into overfilling my commitments and calendar.
This is my habit. I find something I enjoy and lean in just a little before frantically putting my name on every single sign up sheet that lands in my email.
When I won this year’s Erma Bombeck Writing Competition, in February, I was gifted a free trip to attend the (paired) conference. I had no idea what I was getting into. I had no plans to even attend but my husband insisted that I pick up the award in person and, if I was already making that ten-hour trek, why not test the waters? I agreed with the stipulation that he make the trek with me, an appreciated added level of confidence.
Upon arrival, I quickly discovered that, rather than leaving my comfort zone, I had actually landed right in the middle of a beautiful new one. I belonged.
When I arrived back in Richmond, I made a silent pledge to dig further into local opportunities, such as James River Writers. I paid more attention to the group’s emails and offerings and the coming writers conference whose sign-up sheet sat on my desk for months as a reminder to push the button. It wasn’t that I wasn’t going to sign up, I was just dragging my feet. Then, out of the blue, an email from one of the conference coordinators: “Would you want to sponsor a breakout session? We think, Hi, Honey! (my latest, grief-tackling book) would be perfect for the “Make People Cry” panel!” The session had a much more appropriate name, of course: Honesty & Memory: Writing Truth in Memoir.
As one who firmly believes that things happen exactly when they’re supposed to, it was immediately clear why I’d been dragging my feet. “Absolutely,” I replied, “That would be absolutely perfect.”
I was sent a list of sponsor instructions and clickity-clacked away, ordering tote bag goodies (pack of personalized tissues, of course) and books for the conference bookstore. Then, I added all conference-related days to the calendar to make sure I wouldn’t miss the correct drop off day for those goodies and books. I confirmed the drop-off date, by phone, and was shocked to hear myself agree to the early hour with a “Sure! Do you want me to stay and help stuff the tote bags, as well?
I tend to have only two levels of participation: Not at All or Should I Be in Charge of EVERYTHING?” I yearn to be a person who can simply say, “Sure!” and then stop talking.
A similar thing happened at that first conference I’d attended, months prior. I showed up with zero plans beyond accepting a check and left with thoughts of how I could get involved for the next one and just how involved I could be and would I lead a breakout session or emcee the dinner or serve as a keynote speaker or build an entire hotel, by hand, to house all the writers needing lodging?
Over the weekend, at the James River Writers Conference, I had the privilege of rubbing shoulders with hundreds of gifted writers. I sat through a variety of breakout sessions, occasionally hop-scotching when there was more that I wanted to attend scheduled within the same time block. I took loads and loads of notes that will have to be sifted through in the coming weeks. I saw my books in a physical bookstore, a first for me.
I got a seat at the table and that table was specifically set up for me to sign copies of my book for attendees. I met a real-live literary agent for the first time ever and am still wondering if he thought I was as awkward as I think I was. I met a second real-live literary agent and quickly learned that finding an agent whose personality worked with mine would be essential.
I listened along as the Honesty & Memory: Writing Truth in Memoir (or Make People Cry) session began with a description of Hi, Honey! so beautiful that several gasps rippled through the room. Mom would have loved it.
Today, I am exhausted.
My feet will be achy for days as convention center floors are not made for comfort. My snooze button will likely be getting a workout all week long. My brain awaits a download that will be a mix of applying what I learned with reminders that it all doesn’t have to be tackled right this very minute.
I am exhausted, yes, but it was so worth it.
If you write, you are a writer. I truly believe that. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been published or paid; if you write, you are a writer, and as a writer, I highly recommend dropping out of one comfort zone and into another.