Pippi Longstocking or My First Writers Conference

I used to go to academic conferences all the time. Two or three a year. I always wore the same professional clothing. In black. Because that’s what French scholars do. They wear black. Sometimes with a jaunty little scarf around the neck for color.

Today I wore thigh-high red and black stripey socks with clunky black shoes. It was the first day of the Society for Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators conference in Los Angeles. This was my first non-academic conference and it could not have been more different from my other conference experiences.

First, the people are friendly. Midwestern-covered-casserole-let-me-cut-you-a-slice-of-pie friendly. Smiley friendly and make eye contact and introduce yourself right away friendly. I was astounded. Flabbergasted. It’s not as though the French conferences were frequented by cutthroats and cold shoulders but, well, actually they were. Well, un peu. But these children’s writers! I walked into the elevator this morning, already stiff and wary waiting to be assailed by chilly, once-over glances and every one in the crowded car said, “Hi!”

Hi?! You mean… you can see me? I’m not invisible?

“Oh I LOVE your socks!”

Oh. Yes. I suppose the socks made me fairly visible.

“How cute! You look like Pippi Longstocking.”

“Where are you from? What do you write? How long have you been writing?”

People actually ask each other these questions! And they stay and listen for the response, not glancing around looking for bigger fish to follow. And they make eye contact. They hand out business cards. Funky homemade ones. And they don’t seem to care if all you hand back is a scrap of notebook paper with your name and coordinates hastily scribbled on it.

Coordinates. Coordonnées. That’s a term from my French conference days.

And they don’t care if you’re published or not. Most of them aren’t published either, or they’ve sold just one manuscript, or they’ve illustrated one or two things. And they’re happy to share their experiences. They’re just so darn happy to be at the conference. I was beginning to wonder if there was something in the coffee…

But then again I was the woman who showed up looking like Pippi Longstocking.

Maybe it’s the subject matter. Childrens books. KidLit. Young Adult fiction. It’s so awesome to be working on these stories. It just lightens everyone up. Even the keynote speaker, Sherman Alexie, who is an adult fiction author as well as the author of the acclaimed YA title The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian, remarked about how friendly and helpful and collegial the childrens writers world is.

I felt buoyed up the entire day even though I took in so much information that I will have to buy an extra suitcase for my return flight. I still have a lot to learn. And a lot to write. And it may take me a long time before I ever sell a story. I went to a peer critique group this evening and read one of my stories to 5 strangers. Their reactions and feedback were extraordinarily useful.

So I’m happy about the feedback, happy to be learning new things about writing and publishing, and happy that I haven’t been skulking about the conference halls feeling like a poser. Oh I did enough of that at all those academic conferences to know how sickening it feels. You want to blend. You want to fit. You want to belong. You want to become. You wear black. You don a jaunty scarf.

Today I am happy to be “out” as a writer. No longer skulking around invisible. And I didn’t worry one whit today about whether or not I belonged. Everyone belongs. Or no one does. Most people here have some other job or two. Some other story. Some other life. And it doesn’t matter if the pieces don’t fit together neatly.

Yes, I used to be an academic. In French. Yes, now I write childrens stories. Yeah, it doesn’t really fit. And yes, I am wearing thigh-high red and black stripey socks. Because I thought they were cool.