This past weekend in Boston was utterly gorgeous, and I spent about 94% of it indoors. You know what, though — I loved every minute of it. The sun is bad for you, after all, and writing is not. So instead of lying in the park with my T-shirt rolled up, I was at Grub Street‘s Muse and the Marketplace writing conference.
The Muse is two packed days of workshops, readings, signings and lectures. The whole event is pretty rigorously paced, with three workshops or lectures each day. As a participant, I could have also signed up for lunch with published authors, meetings with agents and query letter evaluations (last year I met with an editor to discuss my work) but this year I specifically chose lectures that addressed topics I needed to tackle with my own writing.
Here’s what went down:
Got to registration a little later than planned and therefore missed the free breakfast. This didn’t bother me but I was sweating profusely from walking to the Park Plaza and desperately needed something to drink. Bumped into Farrah from my writing group before heading to my first lecture, “Time Travel In Fiction: Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” I chose it because I’m working on something with a lot of flashbacks, and besides, who doesn’t like a Joyce Carol Oates reference? The class — which was both incredibly fascinating and terribly helpful — was led by Alix Ohlin, who was clever and a great speaker and very smart, and as I took notes I realized my pen’s ink matched my shoes exactly, teal. My only other pen was, um, light teal. Grabbed a coffee before “Traits, Quirks, and Habits: Crafting Characters from the Inside Out” with Lynne Griffin. Took more notes with teal pen. Caught up with my friend Terry over lunch; we took a great Grub class last summer with Kate Flora, and now Terry has a fantastic and funny idea for a book I can’t wait to read. Poked at a dry piece of chicken and stole extra rolls while Alan Cheuse and Dinty W. Moore read excerpts from their work, and Mr. Moore described the conference as “the grubbiest” he has ever attended, which got lots of laughs. Met up with Farrah again at Rakesh Satyal‘s “Culture Clubbing: How to Write About Ethnicity Without Beating Your Readers Over the Head.” Farrah and I are both of Lebanese descent, and apparently equally interested in including this is our respective work. Afterward went to an hour-long lecture on “The Art of Column Writing” with Suzette Martinez Standring. Braced myself for the heat, began perspiring as soon as I left the hotel.
Got to the hotel with enough time to grab a cup of coffee and a marble bagel, which I promptly wrapped in napkins and stuffed in my bag, before bumping into Steve Almond; tried to have a chat before getting separated in the elevator, but learned his four-month-old is named Judah Elijah, which I think is a nice name, particularly with the reverse alliteration. Attempted to balance my notebook on my knees during Merrill Feitell “Mechanical Physics for Fiction Writers,” which was so straight-up good that I filled pages with notes when I wasn’t too busy laughing at her jokes and stuffed bunny prop. Immediately afterward, ran downstairs to the Porter Square Books table to buy a copy of her anthology, Here Beneath Low-Flying Planes, along with The Missing Person by Alix Ohlin, The Silent Boy by Lois Lowry and Naming the World by Bret Anthony Johnston. Ran back upstairs for Steve’s lecture on “How to Achieve Sudden Impact,” and am pleased to report his sense of humor in front of an audience is the same as his humor in front of one person. Farrah and I ate lunch together (soggy chicken) and listened to Ann Patchett‘s keynote speech. In the middle of it, I sent a text to Marcella and Keith: “Ann Patchett should be my spirit guide.” She spoke for something like forty minutes without notes, and bluntly about writing. This is the best job you’ll ever have, this is hard work, there’s not such thing as doctor’s block so why writer’s block?* Clapped until my hands felt sore then made my way back upstairs for “Diving Into the Novel” with Vyvyane Loh, who was so full of information that I could practically see the story I am working on come together right in front of me.