Author: Karen Odden

 A few weeks ago, I was looking over a new manuscript I’m working on (a literary murder mystery mashup of the Victorian novel Vanity Fair, which I’m co-writing with John Nee), and I felt the writing seemed a bit flat. A bit workmanlike. Less interesting, less nuanced, less sparkly than I wanted.

But on my desk, always, is a stack of half-read New Yorkers. I never make it all the way through one before the next one lands in my mailbox (yes, I still get the paper copies) and yet I can’t bear to pitch them in the recycle bin, thinking that at some point I’ll get through that juicy looking article toward the back.

Anyway … I flipped through it, looking for a particular article I wanted to read and paused at a poem, “An Ocean of Clouds,” by Garrett Hongo. It’s short, so I’ve reprinted it here:

I sing for clouds, constant rains, a fern chorus
of things forgotten, ginger flowers
of sadness my mother bore, enormous 
hollows of the family’s past, my father

the dutiful son come to run the store
by the volcano, called by his father
promising a new life, its open door
that swung shut after barely a year.

They left, me still a newborn in their arms,
wailing in complaint for the swift travel,
headed to Kahuku, the new truck farms,
old plantation, and its steel sugar castle.

I grew to six there, a boy barefoot
on dirt and gravel roads, green temple moss 
by the graveyard. There were shorebirds in suits
of slanting rain, a gray-brown surf pebble-tossed,

not fit for swimming, a tired sandspit’s drift 
that marked the margin of all our dreaming.
And what was that? The green folds of cliffs
chanted our imagined names, caught winds heaving

an ocean of clouds that piled like seawrack
muffling hte mill’s whistle, windrows of rain
gathered upon the mountain’s emerald stacks,
the black crown of the day’s celebration.

Hidden within the sighing sugarcane, here
I first raised my voice in harmless praise.
I lifted my eyes to the moon’s white sphere
And sang a song I hoped would bless all my days.

I read it and reread it. It was allusive, with the unexpected word usages and wordplay poetry often has. It had neologisms and personification; a rhetorical question; and alliteration and comma breaks that linked or unlinked words unexpectedly — and I felt something unlock, loosen, flex in my brain. So I have begun reading poetry for a few minutes (really, just a few) every day before I start writing. Poetry — highly distilled, with words used differently than we do in daily life, is my new pre-game. You might give it a try for a few days. See what you think, and let me know.

Last month I attended my fourth Bouchercon, this time in New Orleans.  It’s a monster of a mystery conference … five full days, with hundreds and hundreds of editors, agents, reviewers, readers, bloggers, and writers of novels, short stories, plays, TV shows, and more.

The first time I attended, in 2019, I had two books out. In retrospect, I probably should have started attending conferences earlier than I did. Why didn’t I? Partly because no one suggested it (I was probably supposed to know about them, but I didn’t); and partly because even with two books out, I was still unsure that I belonged at a national gathering of Real Writers. However, had I gone, I would have discovered an important truth: there are infinite ways to participate in the mystery writing community. There is no one “right” path, and no single measure of success. More important, at conferences, you meet people who are a bit farther along the road and willing to offer advice, share their stories, and lend a hand.

As a side note, one of the smaller conferences might have been less overwhelming for a first-timer — e.g., Left Coast Crime, Thrillerfest, New England Crimebake, and Malice Domestic, to name a few.  

I truly believe it is impossible to foresee what good things will happen, if you talk to people, ask questions, and listen well. At Bouchercon 2019, I attended a panel on secondary characters, with Juliet Grames, along with several other writers. That night, at the Harper Collins party, I told her I appreciated what she shared about spending months in Italy researching the characters for The Seven or Eight Deaths of Stella Fortuna. Not until months later did I learn she was an editor at Soho Crime. We stayed in touch; and five years later, she acquired my book. It’s just one anecdote, but still.

When I teach my workshop on building a community of practice as a writer, I spend a good chunk of the 90 minutes talking about how to attend conferences. It’s more than just going to panels and checking out the bookstore.

So … what are some specific tips for getting the most out of conferences?

First off, leave your shy hat at home. Meet as many new people as you can. Yes, we writers tend to be introverted, but at a conference, everyone in the room is up for connecting. That’s usually why they’re there.  

Second, prepare strategically for connecting. Usually conferences will list the participants on the website in advance. If there is an agent or editor you want to meet, find out if they’ll be on a particular panel or will be taking meetings with attendees. If there’s an author you admire, plan to find them in the book room after their panel; that’s when they sign books.

Third, immerse yourself without drowning. That first conference, I attended as many panels as I could, and when I met people, I asked for their bookmark or card. I volunteered to be a panel timer (a very easy job) and checked attendees in at registration. I attended the dinners and joined the group at the bar afterward. I also took breaks in my room, just to chill. 

Fourth, follow up. The first few days after I returned home, I decompressed. But after that,  I went online and looked people up. I found their books at the library or bought them. I followed their blogs and read their reviews. If there were people I genuinely connected with, I wrote them an email to say I’d like to stay in touch. 

As you build your community of practice, think of every interaction as a thread of a web you are building, in both your web and theirs. Having some of that web in place before you have a book published can be very valuable. And it’s always good to stretch ourselves a wee bit.