For those not in the know, let me explain that AWP is shorthand for the annual Association of Writers & Writing Programs conference, which this year takes place in Washington, D.C. And every year at about this time, the writers who are going to AWP start chattering wildly about it, listing off all the book signings they've arranged, the parties they're planning to attend, the pals they can't wait to go drinking with, the panels they'll be hosting, the choral readings they'll be giving, etc., etc. I might imagine, from these accounts, that AWP is a heaven on earth for lonely novelists and poets, an Elysian Field dotted with like-minded readers and word-players, all of whom already adore my poems.
Alas, I fear this is not the case. Like any academic conference, the real AWP is no doubt packed with anxious seekers who are desperate to sell books, tout manuscripts, have their photos taken with famous people, and find jobs. Yet, as in years past, numbers of attendees will come back overflowing with Facebook joy about the experience. Something good, or something disguised as good, seems to take place at these events. I'll probably never know what that something is.
The reason I don't go to AWP is because I can't afford to. With neither a full-time job, nor academic backing, nor a publisher who can pay my expenses, I cannot justify spending a chunk of the family budget on the more or less vain hope of selling my books, touting my manuscripts, and shaking hands with famous people. And really, I'm not complaining. For the most part I've come to terms with the parameters of my writing life, and I'm more than happy to sacrifice an annual AWP binge for the far larger gift of having the time, space, will, and stamina to read and to write.
Nonetheless, the thought of AWP can occasionally rankle. Closeted up here in the subzero hinterlands of the north, I often feel like the only serious poet in America who won't be gaily packing her dancing shoes for the ball. Moreover, this year, for the first time, I was actually invited to attend the conference: to take part in my own book signing, at my own publisher's table, alongside poets who are also my friends. The idea had its intoxications, and I toyed with saying yes. But in the end I said no.
I still have pangs, small pangs, about that decision and the sense that I've sealed my fate as a nobody. That may or may not be true in the factual scheme of things, but symbolically the conference equals professionalism and I?--well, I'm the woman who trudges through the barnyard at minus-12 degrees, with the goal of beating frozen chicken shit out of a water dish. No dancing shoes required.
But, then again, writing a poem doesn't require dancing shoes either.
9 comments:
I've never attended AWP, since I'm not affiliated with a writing program, and also because the best I could hope for when appearing on a panel is not to sound too dumb. Bill Matthews called teaching poets a "subsidized bohemian class." AWP celebrates the persistence of this stratum and I hear they do have some fun. If AWP comes back to Boston, I'll consider dropping in to see for myself. Or maybe just go to the nighttime spots where my visiting writer-friends hang out & not pay the conference fee. Essentially I'm a recluse ... I loved your book on Milton. RS
Ron, it's a comfort to know that there are at least two of us out there. I'm a recluse too . . . but partly by geography. And this time of year it always seems like everyone outside of Maine must be having more fun.
I'm so glad you liked the Milton book. Honored, really. Anyone else reading this should check out Ron's review site "On the Seawall" (http://www.ronslate.com/).
Somehow I got on someone's mailing list and was sent info to join AWP. I haven't. And though I live just outside D.C. and would not have to worry about the expense of coming in from somewhere else, I'm still not going to go to the conference. I can't justify the cost against what I think I'd get from it. There's a side of me that just resists this kind of thing, and that's the side that tends to win out when decision time comes.
"Resists this kind of thing." I recognize that feeling, Maureen; I recognize it very well.
Dawn--Make that 3 of us! Your piece is so familiar I could have written it myself. The one difference is that I did go--once--and I think that will suffice for a lifetime. I went in 07 and then only because it was in NY and my husband was willing to drive me in and out. I spent at least $1000 (no university to underwrite my costs). I did sell 17 books--or perhaps I should say gave away as I had to lower the cost drastically to entice buyers. Like you, each year as I hear everyone else gearing up for it with what seems like mad anticipation, frenetic joy, I feel a qualm. I debate. Should I treat myself, splurge, and go? Then I remember that I really don't enjoy such large events and that I'm quite happy right here at home.
$1,000? As a day visitor? Diane, that's horrifying. Remind me never to think of going again. Oy.
(P.S. Diane's blog is another one you should check out: http://dianelockward.blogspot.com/)
No, I stayed in the conference hotel, expensive AND they charged me $15 per day for internet access. Husband dropped me off at the beginning, came back at the end.
You did know you could have stayed with me I hope! But my colleague who writes novels and has been says it is mostly the strange conference vibe that you imagine and he can still go home to his family at the end of the day (Curtis the dog would try to act like a chicken, but . . . )
When I was toying with going, I was also toying with how fun it would be to spend a few boy-free days with you. XX
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