Role Models, aka, imposters

A writing conference where the writing seems an accessory, and I become 1 out of 10.

I’m not an expert on Howard Zinn but one of the overriding messages in A People’s History of the United States resonates with me. The con game of the “ones in power” behaving in ways to manipulate the less powerful into doing their bidding without turning riotous. A plan that ensures, through the use of the least amount of effort a select few grandeurs, but for many, the loss of hope and dreams.

I just participated at AWP in Kansas City as a vendor. This gathering of the Association of Writing Programs (AWP) is where my mind began to wander on topics of “power and deceit.” At first glance, this conference seems as liberal as liberal could be. It’s as open-minded as the Declaration of Independence up until you understand what was really intended (“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…”). AWP is a pop-up village for and of the poets (and other writers): enlightenment above/below/within and all around, it’s a living breathing Oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ. And therein is the sleight of hand.

Like the results of any good dentist study, 9 out of 10¹ writers at this thing are firmly convinced they are on the way to somewhere, they just can’t quite tell you where, and for good reason. They are surrounded by lanes of fool’s gold, schemes, and ephemera; fly-by-night ideas, and an odd focus on the extreme possibilities of fame & fortune which they are led to believe will be vital and normal parts of a writing career. Most writers I work with would see nothing but foul-smelling BS and piles of jive filling the aisles at AWP. Not to mention, first and foremost, there is no sure thing in publishing (another column for another day).

One of the goals of AWP is the achievement of an MFA (Master of Fine Arts), and/or a well-reviewed NYTimes novel. But that can’t be all of it. The booths and talk appear to take paths of varying directions just short of, sometimes beyond, and usually around reading and writing.

And then there are the teachers. Nothing personal, I know some of them, but it probably wasn’t their primary goal when they began putting words on paper: I think of it like Woody Allen’s line in Anne Hall, “Those who can't do, teach. And those who can't teach, teach gym.” They are a sad lot for the most part. To my mind, most of what goes on at AWP is meant to encourage and inspire, just not too much: the few maintaining their wee bit of grandeur and the rest just grateful for a modicum of hope. Deep at the core of AWP is a system designed to create way more MFAs than the world will ever need. Honestly, you talk to enough of these people, and writing quickly feels like an accessory.

Anyway, I arrived at the conference, as I always do, with a bit of imposter syndrome. I mean, I’m a self-made publisher: no MFA, no MBA, and no degrees in design, or marketing. I don’t even have a legitimate Instagram account <gasp>. My display has no pricey gizmos, free book bags, note pads, tall pull-out displays, bowls of gold-colored candy, etc. I do, however, arrive with an ample supply of joviality and enthusiasm for the written word. I believe the further away you get from the book being good enough, in and of itself, the less value the writing has. Any other way feels like the old misdirection play.

I stand in front of my booth and seldom look at my phone. I talk with people. After all, I could sit alone and ignore people back at home. People walk by and I invite them to stop. Why come to a writing conference if you aren’t going to look and talk? If you really want to get a book published, I mean, seriously, talk to publishers, like me.

I’m a bit of a closet extrovert. I am both excited and perplexed to run a steady stream of conversation at these things. Many vendors openly admit they are too scared to speak to people like I do. Maybe I am brave. But honestly, I am there to make money by selling kick-ass books I’ve dedicated my one and only life to. As Mary Oliver says, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” It may seem idealized and trivial, but this is what I care to do with my one precious life. Why not, what’s better? I try and give this back. They want me to respect their submissions, I want them to respect my end game, the books. I do my part as best I can.

I seem to blow someone’s mind when I explain a book on my table is about sunsets. I picked it because it reminds me of how I make time each day to watch the sunset if possible. The world calms down, the colors come out, the birds settle, and the air changes odors, what’s not to long for and crave in this? Beauty and complex simplicity all at once. “Interested in a copy?”

I frequently make transition comments (it is a writers’ gathering after all) which baffle most, until I explain I’m using writing techniques as conversation starters, a “novel” concept right? Case in point: I spot someone wearing a shirt that has a river printed on it, so I ask, “I see you’re interested in rivers. Did you know we are having major issues with water quality here in the Midwest?”

“What do you mean? Why would you think this?” they reply.

I explain I used their shirt as a transition. Just like good writing.

“Hm, you’re pretty clever.”

Then I tell them about one of the books on my table about water quality. Ask what they like to read, and what they’re writing about. Pay my respects to their hopes and dreams. I may not say yes to publishing many books, but I do understand what writing a book means for a writer, they aren’t written by accident.

The “Lords” at the top have no clue how the publishing system is supposed to work. The Lords are, since they have managed to find employment within the realm of writing, the professors of writing, or administrators, I suppose. They are the gatekeepers of the writing programs that enable this conference. They appear to neither support publishers nor encourage the concept of independently run entrepreneurial presses. It’s evident all around me. Funding for them comes elsewhere, they have pensions, get summer writing gigs, and have health care. The owner of a press near me walked over more than once, upset, explaining, “that guy I just spoke with is a rich rich man, telling me of his world travels and glorious meals, how much he respects me, yet cannot part with $10 for a book it took me years to write.” Exactly, my friend, exactly. People show respect through their actions not by what they say. As I say, over and over, the golden rule of publishing is: “Do for another author what you would want them to do for you.” Pretty simple. Standing By Words is the name of my game.

Instead, the Lords think they’re gracing me with short, pretty much insincere moments. Demonstrations of lip service and support. “Oh my god, we need to get together, or I’ll come back over and see what you’ve done, or you’re so nice, or I’ve been telling everyone how great you are…..” Translation: Please exist just enough to make me look good, to publish my book which I feel entitled to. Or worse, I should be honored to even receive their compliments. Blah blah blah, the system shall thusly move as such, I’m to be grateful for my thin slice of vacuous hope.

Sometimes a student or old-fashioned writer will stop by. Foolish enough to purchase books from me. They still seem to know it’s reading that best teaches writing and vice versa. They’ll learn soon enough though. Stop buying books. Use your money for tuition, your professor’s summer (aka, research, wink wink) trips, and conferences.

"The bubbling of change under the surface of obedience," H. Zinn

Snapshots of various conversations:

“I wouldn’t be here if my college didn’t pay for me to be here.” I ask: Do you care about the press/booth you’re with? “Not really.”

“I only showed up because I got a scholarship.” Me: So, you’re not interested in writing? “A little bit, but this trip was a good excuse to get out of teaching for a few days.”

“I’d love to have a book published by you?” To which I ask, “Have you ever purchased a copy of an Ice Cube Press book before? Do you know what we do?” Their eyes have already wandered to another booth, and they reply, “No.” “Well, how do you know my books don’t literally fall apart?” They don’t usually buy a book, but I promise you they’ll send me a submission.

I ask, “Oh, you’re a writer. Cool. Have you had a book published?” “A few, but just university and really small presses, you know, they don’t really sell very many. I don’t expect to make any money. I mean, that’s not the point.” I shake my head in disagreement.

I can count the number of books purchased by the leaders of AWP on one hand. Even though I met and shook the hands of so many who said they love what I do. Heck, I’m planning to, or have published several of them and yet, they can’t see the light from being blind. The assumption is that I: don’t make money, receive grants, must be associated with a school, or that I just don’t care one way or another. It’s like a line from the movie Crash, “You embarrass me. You embarrass yourself.” I’m sorry, but these leaders of the AWP do not want their students to rise above them. They prefer the power structure that is. To run a booth, dine with, and have panels with friends who all cling to each other as Linus does his blanket.

Look, I get it, I willingly choose to attend this thing, I’m guilty of some caressing the system. But that’s because I do belong. I may be out of tune and a wrinkle in the larger picture, but I do have a role. I mean, for the record: I do pretty well at publishing. It’s been my money-making job for over twenty years now. I am not complaining about my life, but observing AWP in action took me by surprise this year.

After three days I heard it all.

Do you run this whole thing by yourself? Yes.

I didn’t know people like you still exist. I do. Implication: no one here gives a real hoot, what’s your problem, why are you working so hard? It’s always about the work, how could I do so much work? I think that says less about me and more about others.

Like I said, I’m the one out of ten dentist who didn’t approve of sugar-free gum. However, the one out of ten is my crowd, they have maintained their fierce independence and write for a reason. They stand and listen, notice I’m not a game piece on the path to an MFA, but a lover of words, a writer of books myself, a person who’s making a living and committed to what I care about. The one-of-ten writer shakes my hand and purchases a book or two after I’ve told them what they are about. Like a good bookseller, it’s called hand-selling. I listen to them tell me what they read and write. It’s the full circle of publishing in action. I offer a real place within the chaos. I firmly and consistently stand with words.

Write on.

Surprises me but I’m a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Please support our work by sharing and subscribing to the authors found at the link above. Please consider a paid subscription to them, and or myself.

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1. Stock phrase in commercials for non-prescription products with some purported health benefit — especially items that are not health care items, such as sugar-free gum.