Life is Better Outside Your Comfort Zone

In early 2020, I signed up for my first writer’s conference. I was extremely nervous. Terrified is probably more accurate. This was way outside my comfort zone. But someone had told me that attending conferences was the next step in being a serious writer. So I signed up for my local chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (joining a writer’s organization was another step they advised) and registered for their spring conference.

In April 2020.

Too bad the world fell apart first.

Plan B is Better Than Nothing

SCBWI did an amazing job pivoting to a virtual conference in just over a month during that insane time where the world was actively shutting down but everyone acted like it would be back to normal if we just all stayed inside for two weeks. And honestly, most of the pressure was off once I learned I didn’t have to go anywhere. I didn’t even have to turn my camera on. Sitting in my apartment, listening to others talk about writing from a screen wasn’t scary at all.

It took three years for me to learn that wasn’t actually a good thing.

Full disclosure, some good absolutely came from my first virtual conference. I was sent to a private Zoom room with three other writers for my first ever peer critique of my writing. One of those writers offered to critique my entire manuscript and loved it so much that she very persistently kept inviting me to her monthly critique group. Spooked by the idea of constantly opening myself up to feedback, anxious about the state of the world, and overwhelmed at work by the disintegrating supply chain, I put her off for a long time.

I’m eternally grateful she didn’t give up on me. Because eight months later (not an exaggeration) I finally joined her critique group, which will forever rank in the best decisions of my writing career. Those ladies have helped me transform Phoenix Falling from an ambitious yet flawed manuscript to an ambitious, less flawed duology whose first part is still longer than agents want it to be, but only by 15,000 words instead of 54,000. They also mourned with me when I erased my computer and wouldn’t let me give up because they needed to know what happened to my characters. If not for their encouragement, I really might have stopped writing forever, or at the very least abandoned this particular universe I’ve been working on for the past nineteen years.

Another peer at that virtual conference also offered to read my entire manuscript. Afterwards he bluntly told me that even though I had a lot of interesting ideas, the book needed a lot of work before it was ready for submission. I’d already been submitting the book to a few agents – with no bites – and this was not the feedback I wanted to hear.

He was, of course, absolutely right.

All this to say, although there were some interesting and motivational talks at that virtual conference, what I really took from that experience were the few moments of personal connection that happened despite the fact we couldn’t be in the same place.

But My Comfort Zone is So Comfy

Fast-forward three years to our current state of affairs, where COVID’s still a thing but we’ve mostly realized that we just need to live with it. A few months ago, my local chapter of SCBWI announced that for the first time since 2019, their conference was going to be in person.

Full disclosure: I did not want to go.

I knew that I was supposed to go. Here I am, living the full-time writer life I couldn’t even imagine when I signed up for that first conference. Of course I should go to a writer’s conference. What excuse do I have? I don’t have to take off work. Oh right. I have very limited disposable income at the moment. Well… That’s basically my own doing.

Truthfully, as I confessed last time, I was kind of in a funk. My novel was “done” but no agents wanted to read past the first ten pages. And I was thoroughly distracted by my plot twist project, which no, alas, I still can’t tell you about.

So the conference registration email came out. I read the conference registration email. I ignored the conference registration email.

And then, once again one of my amazing critique partners came to the rescue when she asked if I was going and reminded me I ought to register soon because spaces were filling up fast.

She was harder to ignore. I knew I’d see her on Zoom in a couple of weeks, and since she knew all about my writer’s journey and current circumstances, she’d see right through my flimsy excuses.

Registration turned out to be a comedy of errors. But after a few technical difficulties and a brief stint thinking I had waited too long and could only secure a day pass, I was finally signed up for my first in-person writer’s conference (take two).

Maybe I Should Have Prepared More (Nah)

A positive about attending my first writer’s conference online is it took all the terror out of the experience. This time around I had somewhat of an idea of what to expect. Best of all, three out of four of my critique partners were going too, so I wouldn’t be walking in without knowing anyone. I’d have people to sit with at meals! One of my critique partners had even asked me to room with her, which was a blessing from both a financial and a social standpoint. I wouldn’t be facing this conference alone.

I was thrilled about meeting my critique partners in real life. We’d all been sharing our work and encouraging each other for nearly two and a half years, and I’d never been in the same room with any of them.

I wasn’t that excited about the rest of it, though. I’d signed up for a few critique opportunities, including a ten minute consultation on my first ten pages and synopsis with a REAL AGENT. But I was still distracted and grumpy.

In typical Amy fashion, I put off packing until the last minute, which this time wasn’t even the night before. It was the morning of. Though I intended to take Friday off, I really wanted to finish something for my mystery project, so after packing I dragged myself to my coworking space for what was supposed to be a productive hour and a half. By the time I’d finished the five minute drive I’d remembered two things I’d forgotten to pack. I then discovered I’d left the key to my desk at home and had to drive back anyway. Fifteen minutes later I finally settled in to only accomplish half of what I meant to. Then I watched about half of the optional but encouraged pre-conference webinar while scarfing down lunch before heading out the door about fifteen minutes late.

Basically, I left for the conference feeling like a mess. But at least I was a mess that was only moderately nervous. So that was something.

The Magical Yet Muddy Highlights Foundation

Do your remember Highlights magazine? Though I don’t think I had a subscription of my own, it was a staple of my childhood, possibly from libraries and doctor’s offices. It’s a magazine for elementary kids that had stories, jokes, and those puzzles where you had to find the hidden images in a drawing. Like “Where’s Waldo?” except you were looking for an umbrella and a shoe.

Fun fact – Highlights magazine used to be headquartered in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, just shy of the New York border and about two and a half hours from where I live. I had no idea. The founders of Highlights also donated their old homestead to become an idyllic retreat and conference center for children’s writers and illustrators, which has hosted the Eastern PA SCBWI writer’s conference for several years.

The Highlights Foundation was utterly charming, from the exposed wood barn where the majority of our programing was held, to the comfy yet upscale lounge area in the lodge where most faculty roomed. I slept upstairs in the farmhouse, which was, indeed, very rustic farmhouse-y. They also had umbrellas and even rain boots at every doorway, in a “take an umbrella, leave an umbrella” type situation. This turned out to be very practical, as it rained – often quite heavily – nearly the entire two days of the conference.

From the moment I stepped into the barn for registration, I overheard people talking about the food. Food is often a safe topic of conversation, but they seemed to be going a little overboard. Several people knew the chef by name. “I come here for the food,” was an oft repeated sentiment.

Next year, I will be one of those people. The food was outstanding. Fresh, locally sourced, with options for any type of dietary restriction. Sometimes meals also included a show, as the chef and the rest of the kitchen staff riffed off each other as they explained what they were feeding us and who made it. Turkey and stuffing. A wide variety of homemade pizza. Blueberry pancakes. Cinnamon buns to die for. The best carrot cake I’ve every eaten. Amanda deserves a medal.

Sometimes you should leave your comfort zone because the food is great there.

Agents Are People Too

A wonderful yet intimidating thing about writer’s conferences is they’re attended by industry professionals – that means agents, editors, and published writers and illustrators.

In virtual conferences you get to learn from these professionals. But there’s no chance you’ll casually encounter them at dinner or during a mandatory icebreaker.

I think a lot of unpublished writers (like me!) are scared by agents. Because an agent that’s interested in our writing is like an illusive white whale. They hold all the power to make our dreams come true – whether that’s quitting our day job, topping the New York Times bestseller list, or becoming the next JK Rowling. Or, you know, getting a book published. But once you actually start querying your work, agents become impersonal autoresponders who will wait a few months before dashing those dreams. Yes, you stalk them online to see what kind of books they’re interested in, but despite their headshot and their views on literature, they have all the humanity of a generic email address.

My biggest, most important take away from my first in-person writer’s conference is that agents are people too. With dreams of their own. Former jobs. Career successes and failures. Insecurities. Family. Pets. Vacation plans. Hobbies that don’t involve reading.

And how did I realize this?

Well, maybe SCBWI lucked out and invited the two most approachable, helpful agents in the entire industry, along with an amazing editor and a couple of outstanding children’s writers.

Or, more likely, there are far more agents out there just trying to do their best like us, and the pedestal we’ve set them on isn’t as high as we think.

Sometime between listening to one agent promise that a pitch session isn’t the high stakes make-or-break career moment that we all think it is and flabbergasting another after Two Truths and a Lie with tales of my former life mailing peacocks around the country (it’s been so long now that I forget how weird people find my Amy’s Peacock Paradise days) all that fear I’d been internalizing about agents disappeared.

Yes, I still want to impress them. Yes, they have tons of knowledge and connections I hope to benefit from in some way. Yes, professionalism is important.

But the rejection isn’t personal. The good ones want to look out for aspiring writers, even the ones they can’t take on as clients. And while they’re probably not all good ones, there are good ones out there.

Time Spent in Person > On Screen

The true highlight of my time at the Highlights Foundation (I’m sorry about that pun, but not sorry enough to edit it out) was finally meeting my critique group in person. Strangely enough, we were all so busy mingling with strangers that we didn’t share that many meals together. But that first night, after all the programming was finished, the four of us sat down in this cute little library, around the same table for the very first time.

There was such simple joy in coming together and talking – about the status of our current works in progress, about what we’d learned that day, about what we were nervous about tomorrow. We celebrated successes – an amazing critique. A book that will be available soon. A postcard hot off the presses declaring herself an illustrator. My secret still unfinalized project I can’t tell the internet about yet. There was no need to reenter the room after 40 minutes (although eventually we got tired and dispersed to bed).

What made that even more fun was that I was rooming with a member of my critique group, so we got to stay up for a few more hours talking about books and writing and life and my unresolved insomnia. Basically everything I didn’t know I needed. I’d forgotten that sleepovers can be so fun, even as an adult.

The second night our group snapped a photo together and dreamed about returning to Highlights for a personal retreat. I cannot wait for that to actually happen, because one of my only regrets about the conference is that we didn’t get to spend more time together.

I’ve talked before about the importance of community and having people cheer you on. It’s so easy to overlook this – because you’re too busy, because you’re too private or introverted, because you’ve gotten used to bunkering down at home and working remotely. There are a lot of ways to build community online – that is how I met my critique group after all. But there was something so much better about spending time in person that left me yearning for even more of that.

If you have to hustle hard to follow your dreams, don’t let that keep you from making connections. You’ll need them to keep going.

Oh Yeah, I Learned Some Stuff About Writing Too

Some of you may be wondering: “Um, didn’t you go to the conference to learn about writing or publishing or something?”

I mean, I guess.

And I did. The keynotes were inspiring. Leah Henderson told a absolutely riveting story about how she became a children’s book author, the real life little boy behind her debut novel, and how so many people lifted her up on her path to publication and believed in her before she believed in her self.

I went to a few good workshops about voice. Whether you’re an agent, writer, or someone trying to pass a high school English class, voice confuses everyone. It’s super important, and super hard to be define. To be honest, it’s still pretty ambiguous, but I did get some tips that may be helpful.

The workshop about great opening lines was definitely helpful. Since I’ve gotten home I’ve rewritten the beginning of Phoenix Falling for about the twelfth time and I really like it now, so maybe the twelfth time’s the charm? So there’s that.

Basically, the programing was good. It just wasn’t the highlight of the experience.

Venture Forth and Leave Your Comfort Zone Behind

All of this to say that the grumpy complacent version of me that almost skipped the conference because I just wasn’t feeling like stretching myself was wrong. I am so grateful for my critique partners for pushing me to attend, because the experience was worth every dollar. The most valuable parts had nothing to do with the jam packed schedule full of relevant workshops, and everything to do with genuine human connections.

I get it. Our comfort zones are comfy. Or we like to pretend they are anyway.

But it’s outside of them where we grow and thrive. We have the experiences we can’t even imagine, and maybe a few we’ve been dreaming of.

Our lives don’t change when we just keep doing the same old thing. And maybe those lives are fine, but are they the best they can be? Probably not. Mine’s never been, anyway.

It all goes back to that funny little word agency, which my amazing critique group also taught me so much about. If you want to rewrite your life, to become the hero of your own story, you have to act. Take charge. Do something different.

You may not be ready to leave your job and strike out on your own. But maybe it’s time to attend a conference, or join an organization. Do something that scares you, and prove to yourself that you’re stronger than that fear.