Ok, so the short version of this story would be to say that I came, I saw, It rained. A lot. But short versions aren't nearly as fun as the long ones. So grab a cup of coffee, or a bottle of wine, depending on what time of day you happen to be reading this (and no judgement here - it's five o clock somewhere), and allow me to tell you the tale of the Atlanta Writer's Conference, Monsoon Weather Edition.
Friday, November 6, 2015
It's raining.
I make the hour drive in the drizzle and fog up to Atlanta, wander around the poorly laid out hotel where our conference is booked, finally find my table, and check in. Up first on the agenda was a seminar.
Bob Mayer was the guest speaker and, while I've never read any of his books, I have heard of him and he gave a really good seminar. Mostly about the differences in traditional, indie, and self-publishing. He's done them all over his 25 year career so he really knows his stuff.
At 4:45 that afternoon, I had the first critique that I signed up and paid extra for. The query letter critique.
AWC always has 5 literary agents as well as 5 editors ranging from the Big 6 (or I guess it's the big 5 now that Random House bought Penguin) Publishing houses to smaller Indie presses. For the query letter critique, they put one editor and one agent together and then randomly assigned everyone who signed up. I printed out three copies of my query letter - one for each of them and one for me. The sessions were 15 minutes long, and for the first five minutes I sat outside while they looked over my query letter and made their notes. Then I went inside and discussed it with them for the next 10.
The editor in my room was a man who works with an indie press. He specializes in African American literature, so I knew my stuff wasn't really up his alley. He was smart and savvy and gave me some really great points to make my query letter stronger. The agent was with Folio Literary Agency. She was really on her game. They both said that my query letter was very strong - which came as a surprise to me. I went in thinking it was pretty weak. But they advised me to move some paragraphs around to change the structure, and then to be more specific about my target audience. The rest, they said, was really good.
So I asked the agent if my query letter would stand out in a slush pile and, if she saw it, would it make her want to ask for it. She said, "Yes! I was just getting to that part." Then she pulled out a business card and handed it to me and said, "I want you to send this to me when you're finished."
Gah! I wasn't expecting that. For some reason I just thought they would give me feedback and I would leave. So it kind of blew me away that she asked me to send her the ms! You can imagine I walked out of there pretty high.
After that, the conference broke for dinner. My friend John was there and I met up with him and we waited for two other members of our writing group to arrive. They are both teachers, so they couldn't take Friday off, but they met us for dinner a couple of blocks down the street from the hotel.
From 8pm-12am they had a mixer back at the hotel for all the conference attendees and the agents and editors and guest speakers.
Remember the monsoon reference earlier? I don't know what things have been like in the rest of the world this fall, but we down here in Georgia have not seen the sun at this point for over a week now. And our temps are decidedly un-November-like. It is about 75 degrees, but it is that muggy, sticky, yucky atmosphere that makes you feel like you'll never get fully dry ever again. (And also makes things like carefully done hair and make-up pretty pointless).
We headed back to the hotel, walking through the drizzle and getting damp and sweaty in the process. Then we find the "ballroom" that we are mixing in and are a little stunned to discover that this "ballroom" is actually more like a conference room on steroids. The room was small, the ceiling was low, the lighting was horrible, and the room was packed wall-to-wall with other damp, sweaty bodies. There was no air circulation. No one could move unless someone in front of them did. And with the low ceilings, the noise volume was ridiculous. It was like being in a club, with no music playing.
In short, it was awful, and my claustrophobia kicked into high gear. I quickly ordered a glass of white wine to calm my nerves. We met George, the man who heads up the AWC, a few steps in. He apologized for the room, told us how disappointed he was in this particular hotel (it's the first year they've had the conference at this location), and then informed us that he wouldn't be bringing the AWC back to this establishment again.
Anyway, we stand around and try to locate all the agents and editors among the throng of fellow writers. We each had certain people that we wanted to approach and chat up. I had two manuscript critiques the next day with different editors, and my friend Krista wanted to chat with one of those editors at the mixer. We finally found her in the crowd. She is an associate editor at St. Martin's Press. Krista went to chat with her and she motioned me over after a minute. I ended the conversation I was having with another writer and pushed and squeezed my way over to them.
I said hi to the editor (actually I yelled it - it was the only way to be heard in that room), and she said that she was looking forward to meeting with me tomorrow at the critique. I thought she was just being polite, but after we moved on, Krista said that while she was talking with the editor, she mentioned the writing group that we are a part of and some of the members that were attending the conference. She mentioned my name and the fact that I had a session scheduled with her tomorrow. Then apparently the editor said, "Karlee? Is she the one with the historical fiction piece set in Revolutionary France? I cannot wait to talk to her tomorrow!"
Of course, I was like, "Girl, you are exaggerating." And Krista said, "No. All I said was your first name and she knew exactly who you were and was genuinely excited to meet you."
I'm sure half of this was the glass of wine I had just downed, but I got so excited at that point I felt a little lightheaded. Another agent, with Prestige Literary Agency, was standing next to us and so we started chatting with her too. She asked me what my book was about and I pitched her the premise. Her eyes got big and she said, "That sounds amazing! You have to send it to me. I'm sorry, I don't have any business cards because I just changed literary agencies. Let me give you my email address." So I saved it in my phone.
Two agents in one day have asked me to send them my ms! I'm pretty much on cloud nine at this point and decide to leave because it's almost 10, I have an hour drive home, and I feel yucky and disgusting.
It monsoon rained the whole way home. I could not go faster than 30 mph on the interstate because no one could see more than a few feet in front of their vehicles. It took me almost an hour and a half, but I finally made it home, took a shower, fell into bed, and then found I could not sleep because of all the excitement.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
I had to be at the conference by 10:30 for my first manuscript critique. Because of the nasty weather and unpredictable traffic, I left around 8:30. I probably got about 3 hours of good sleep because of excitement and over-stimulation. But I still felt good.
I got to my assigned room about 45 minutes early and saw the editor from St. Martin's Press while she was on her way in. She said again that she couldn't wait to talk to me.
When it was finally my turn, I was really nervous. We were in a nice cozy conference sized room across from each other at a table. She pulled her notes out and said, "I actually have very little critique to offer on your piece." She asked me a few questions about the story and the characters, pointed out some transitions in chapter one that were a little confusing and need work, and then proceeded to tell me how much she enjoyed reading it.
I should probably mention that, for this manuscript critique, we had to write a one page query letter, a one page story synopsis, and send the first 19 pages of our manuscript. She said my query letter was good, and offered me some tips that were very similar to what I heard the day before in my query letter critique - which made me feel good because I know that those things are actual problems now and not one person's subjective opinion. She said my synopsis was really good too - that I gave her just enough information to make her want to read the story.
Then she said that she doesn't normally represent this type of fiction.
All of a sudden, I recalled some important information. I had signed up for these slots way back in July. And I remembered going through all of the agents and editors, trying to decide who I wanted to send my submissions to. You could sign up for two maximum. I had chosen one editor, and I was about to choose another that really seemed to be a better fit for this type of fiction, but something in my gut just made me choose the editor from St. Martin's at the last second. In her bio, she listed the types of fiction that she was looking for, and I remembered thinking that mine didn't really fit. But she seemed really reputable, and I wanted good editorial feedback while I still have the chance to apply it to my work in progress.
So she's telling me all of the things she loved about the piece. My opening line is great. She loves how I dive right into the action, how I give information as I go along and don't dump it out all at once, how great I am at writing tension into a scene.
Then she tells me, "Now, I don't really represent this type of fiction. When I first got your submission and I was reading through your query letter and synopsis, I was thinking that this wasn't the kind of thing I was looking for. But then, I started to read your pages, and I just got so into it. It is so well written and I love the characters and the story. And if the rest of your ms delivers on what you promise in your query letter and synopsis, then this would be the book that makes me dip my toes into this area of fiction."
I think I completely spaced out at that point, trying to process everything she just said to me. Hopefully I wasn't a complete space cadet at the end. Then she gave me her card and told me to send the whole thing to her when I was finished.
I like to think that I managed to stay completely cool, but inside, I was definitely Freaking Out.
I left and had about 30 minutes to compose myself for the next critique session. This one was with an editor from Harper Collins. I remembered thinking that my book would be right up her alley. And it was. She was so encouraging. She absolutely loved it. She said she loved the writing, that her whole family is obsessed with Napoleon so I really hit on a good area with her, and she loved the characters.
One of the nicest things she said was, "You say exactly what you need to say to tell your story. No more and no less."
Then she gave me her card and told me she wants to see the whole thing.
THAT'S TWO AGENTS AND TWO EDITORS WHO WANT ME TO SEND THEM AFTER EVER!!!!
Needless to say, I was grinning like a ninny for the rest of the day. I wanted to hug and kiss every single person I saw. (And I am a massive introvert, so that should give you some perspective on the absolute high I was experiencing).
At the end of the day, they had a little closing seminar. They brought the 10 agents and editors in the main conference room and sat them at two tables at the front of the room. Then each agent and editor gave out two awards - one for Best Pitch (you could pay for a pitch session, but I didn't) and one for Best Manuscript Submission.
Both the editors from St. Martin's Press and HarperCollins gave me their awards for best manuscript submission.
My head was spinning. (not in a creepy exorcist kind of way, but more like...oh, you know what I'm talking about) I mean, if I thought I had even the smallest chance at either one of them, it would have been with the editor from HarperCollins. But the editor from St. Martin's Press, who does not represent my kind of fiction, and probably got 11 other manuscripts that fall in line with what she is looking for, picked me out of all of her submissions and gave me her award!!
I was done. I couldn't have gotten any happier. Krista also received the Best Manuscript Submission award from the agent she met with so we were both ecstatic. I accepted my certificates and then went to the tables afterwards to thank everyone I met with again for all of their time and feedback. Both editors reminded me to send them my MS again. And so did both agents.
So that's it. I drove home, in a fog of happiness and actual fog because the weather was still nasty. But that didn't dampen my mood.
And I know that none of this means anything other than, "Please send me your MS." And that once each of these people has it, they can very well say, "No thanks. Not interested. Not for me."
But it's so validating. It's so encouraging. To work on something for such a long, long time (I started on this in 2007), and to constantly be wondering if all I'm doing is wasting my time. Wondering if this idea, or my writing, just isn't any good. Wondering if I'm delusional or crazy.
And then to have people say, Wow! I want to read that! That sounds amazing! I've never heard anything like that!
It just makes gives me the biggest dose of encouragement. It's like walking down a long, lonely road, without a map, never knowing if you are actually headed in the right direction. And after going for so long without seeing another soul, people start showing up and saying, Yes! You're headed in the right direction! In fact, you're almost there! Just a little further! DON'T GIVE UP!
So that's my AWC story. Sorry it is so long, but if you stuck through all the way to the end, you're actually doing me a huge favor because I've been wanting to write all of this down so I don't forget anything. So I've just written it in the form of a blog post.
And maybe in a few months (or weeks) (or days) (or hours), when I'm freaking out or self-doubting, you can kick me in the pants and remind me of everything I just told you. (And also tell me to suck it up and get back to work - whatever floats your boat.)
The End