And away we go! AWP24 is about to descend upon Kansas City, and maybe we won’t be as adorable as Taylor Swift cheering on the Chiefs from a toasty luxury box, but I'm pretty sure 10,000 writers can cut a wide swath through a town….
Time to update my AWP survival tips, honed after (yikes!) 20ish years of attending AWP conferences. "Survival guide" takes on a different feel in what is being called a "post-pandemic world," so my main point is to do what you need to feel safe personally and to take actions to protect the safety of others. For me, the risk of eating in a restaurant might feel personally worth it, but then how hard is it to sit quietly in a large room, listening to other people speak and wear a mask? My main tip here is to be thoughtful with regard to mask etiquette.
Ten thousand writers is a lot of angst, need, and glory to pack into one convention center…here are my tried & true & freshly updated tips for success, based on my experience at past conferences:
Wear comfortable shoes, at least most of the day. There’s
lots of traipsing around long hallways and the long (sometimes uncarpeted)
aisles of the book fair. It’s also inevitable that the one panel you really,
really, really want to see will be in a teeny-tiny room and you’ll have to
stand in the back…or sit on the floor; see the following tip:
Wear comfortable clothes, preferably taking a layer approach. Wherever you go,
you will end up either in A) an incredibly stuffy room that will make you melt,
or B) a room with an arctic blast directed at you. Bulk up and strip down as
needed. Also, as noted above, despite their best efforts, the AWP conference
staff has a knack for consistently misjudging the size of room required for a
subject matter/speakers (i.e. Famous Writer in room with 30 chairs; grad
student panel on Use of Dashes in Obscure Ancient Greek Poet in room with 300
chairs). I suppose it’s hard to determine who is “famous” and so on…in any
event, you don’t want to find yourself scrunched into a 2’x2’ square on the
carpet, and so see the following tip:
To avoid being stuck sitting on the floor, arrive early to panels you really,
really want to attend. And, in fact, official AWP does not sanction sitting on
the floor because it’s a fire hazard and you’ll be creating a barrier to
those who have accessibility needs. Not sure how they feel about standing
in a herd in the back? The point is, don’t sit on the floor—be mindful of
others if there’s a herd of standees, and arrive early.
If a panel is bad, ditch it. Yes, it’s rude. Yes, everyone does it. (Be better
than the rest by at least waiting for an appropriate break, but if you must go
mid-word, GO.) I can’t tell you the high caliber of presenters that I have
walked out on, but think Very High. Remember that there are a thousand other
options, and you have choices. The only time you have to stick it out is if A)
the dull panel participant is your personal friend or B) the dull panel
participant is/was your teacher or C) the dull panel participant is your
editor/publisher. Those people will notice (and remember) that you abandoned
them mid-drone and punish you accordingly (i.e. your glowing letters of rec
will flicker and fade). Undoubtedly this is why I have never been published in
Unnamed Very High Caliber Magazine, having walked out on that editor’s panel.
There are zillions of panels. And there's an app. Sadly for me, I dislike apps
and I miss the massive tome of information and the smaller printed guide. BUT!
Time marches on. If you're not an app person, and maybe even if you are, I
suggest taking the time NOW to go to AWP’s website and scroll through the
schedule and select EVERY panel that sounds even moderately interesting, and
load those into the “my schedule” feature. Keep that stored on your favorite
technology (mine is a sheaf of printed paper…which may be smart since I often
forget how/where to re-access “my schedule,” which requires logging in and
somehow finding “my account”; I assume app people are more adept than I
am). Anyway…no point waking up early on Friday if there’s nothing you
want to attend. I checkmark panels I might go to if nothing better is going on
and star those that I will make a supreme effort to attend. Give yourself a
couple of options at each time slot so that if a room is too crowded, you have
an interesting alternative.
Someone will always ask a 20-minute question that is not so much a question but
a way of showing off their own (imagined) immense knowledge of the subject and
an attempt to erase the (endlessly lingering) sting of bitterness about having
their panel on the same topic rejected. Don’t be that person. Keep
your question succinct and relevant. Also, everyone is groaning inwardly
anytime someone says, “I have a question and a comment” or anytime someone
starts out by saying, “Well, in my work-in-progress, the main character is….”
Don’t say anything gossipy on the elevator, unless you want the whole
(literary) world to know it. Do listen up to the conversations of others on the
elevator, and tell your friends absolutely everything you’ve overheard during
your offsite dinner.
Same advice above exactly applies to the overpriced hotel bar. Also, if
you happen to get a chair at the bar, or, goodness, EVEN A REAL LIVE TABLE,
hang on to it!! People will join you if they see you’ve got a spot!
Famous people! I mean it: the only reason to ever give up a table in the hotel
bar is because the bar has shut down, you’ve consumed every bit of liquid in
the clutter of glasses, and a beefy bouncer is headed your way. (Also, here’s a
fun fact: AWP alcohol consumption often breaks sales records at hotels.) (Also,
related, don’t forget that Sober AWP offers meetings.)
Speaking of famous people or former teachers or friends…do
not say something like this in one long breathless opening sentence right after
hugging/fist-bumping hello:
“Great-to-see-you-can-you-write-a-blurb-letter-of-rec-piece-for-my-anthology?”
Ask for favors AFTER the conference! I mean, unless you enjoy that
uncomfortable moment and awkward triumph of trapping someone into saying
reluctantly yes in the hopes that then you'll go away.
Support the publications at the bookfair. Set a budget for yourself in advance
and spend some money on literary journals and books and subscriptions, being
sure to break your budget. Do this, and then you won’t feel bad picking up the
stuff that’s been heavily discounted or being given away free on the last day
of the conference. But, please, definitely do spend some money! These journals
and presses rely on OUR support.
Just because something is free, you don’t have to take it. Unless you drove,
you’ll have to find a way to bring home all those heavy books/journals on an
airplane. Or you’ll have to wait in line at the hotel’s business center or the
UPS store at the convention center to ship them home. So, be as discerning as
you can when you see that magic markered “free” sign on top of a pile of
sad-looking journals, abandoned by the grad students who didn’t feel like
dealing with their university's bookfair table.
Try not to approach the table of each journal at the
bookfair with this question: “How can I get published in your journal?” Also, I
recommend avoiding this one: “How come you didn’t publish my
poem/story/essay/screed?” Try instead: “What a beautiful journal. Please
tell me more about it.” Even better: “I’m thinking about subscribing.”
It may be too late for some of you, but it’s inevitable that you will see every
writer you’ve ever met in the aisle of the bookfair at one AWP or another…so I
hope you were nice to all of them and never screwed anyone over. Because, yes,
they will remember, and it’s not fun reliving all that drama as the editors
of The Georgia Review gaze on.
Pre-arrange some get-togethers with friends/teachers/grad student buddies, but
don’t over-schedule. You’ll run into people, or meet people, or be invited to a
party, or find an amazing off-the-beaten-track bar. Save some time
for spontaneity! (Yes, I realize that I’m saying “plan” for spontaneity.)
Don’t laugh at this, but bring along Purell and USE IT often. Even before
Covid, post-AWP social media updates are filled with writers bemoaning the
deathly cold/sore throat/lingering and mysterious illness they picked up at
AWP. We’re a sniffly, sneezy, wheezy, germy bunch, and the thought of 10,000
of us packed together breathing on each other, shaking hands, and giving
fake hugs of glee gives what’s left of the CDC nightmares.
Escape! Whether it’s offsite dinners/drinks/museums/walks through park/mindless shopping or whatever, do leave at some point. You will implode if you don’t. Also, the food on the convention floor is consistently overpriced and icky…you will starve if this is your entire diet. KC is the home of legendary barbecue! An awesome art museum! Baseball's Negro League Hall of Fame! Please leave the convention center!
Bring your cellphone charger and maybe even a portable charger. Or maybe you like huddling around electrical outlets?
This is a super-secret tip that I never share, but I’ll
share it as a reward for those who have read this far: there will be a
bathroom that’s off the beaten track and therefore is never crowded. Scope out
this bathroom early on. Don’t tell anyone except your closest friends the
location of this bathroom. Wear your mask in every public bathroom, and if you
doubt me, google "toilet plumes."
Finally, take a deep breath. You’re just as much of a writer as the other
9,999 people around you. Don’t let them get to you.