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| The Desperate Writers Conference
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March 21 2008
Despite the fact that Toronto is a large cosmopolitain city, writers conferences are rare here, for some reason. Consequently, when I saw an ad for The Desperate Wtiters Conference, I decided to go.
During the day of the conference, there were at least a dozen seminars and workshops at the hotel about how to become a successful writer. I dropped in on three or four of them and found that all of the advice given could be boiled down to two points. Write what people want to read and find the right agent. To me, this advice seemed to be on a par with the stock market tip to buy low and sell high.
At the end of the day, there was a wine and cheese party, so I thought I'd at least get to compare notes with some of my fellow starving authors. Usually, I'm very shy at parties, but I willed myself to be more sociable this time because these were my comrades in arms, so to speak.
First, I found myself talking with a thin, nervous looking woman.
"Writing is so hard," she said. "I've been working for five years now on my book How To Be Super Happy."
"Why is it taking so long?" I asked.
"I've just been too damned depressed to finish it."
"I can see how that would be a problem," I said.
"What do you write, George?"
"Mysteries and science fiction."
"Oh, so you're not a real writer."
"Apparently not," I said.
Next, I met a bearded man who wore a tweed jacket with leather patches on its elbows.
"I've written the definitive biography of Elmer Bootsnoot," he said. "All the publishers to whom I've sent copies act as though they've never heard of the man."
"Phillistines are everywhere," I said.
"What do you write?"
"Mysteries and science fiction."
"My word!" the man said. "I thought you were a serious writer."
"Not serious enough, I guess."
I decided that, when the next person asked me what I wrote, I'd make up the silliest thing I could imagine. As I was about to get my coat, a young man in horn rimmed glasses walked up to me.
"I got some great ideas today on how to market my book," he said. "It's titled Two Hundred Poems About Jello. For some reason, it hasn't been selling. What do you write?"
"Well," I said, "I've just finished a novel. It's called Kiss The Bullet and it's the story of a one eyed gay parrot who is driven to madness by his addiction to crackers."
"It's refreshing to finally meet another serious writer here," the young man said. "You wouldn't believe the trash that most of these other people are trying to peddle."
"Actually, I might," I said.
George
Visit my web store at: http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=893655
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Posted by gjcondon on 2008-03-21 14:58:13 | Rating: | Views: 82
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