Agonies of a Young Author

I admit it-- I'm an elitist misanthrope. And nothing makes me hiss and spit with ruffled fur faster than other writers.

I'm not sure why writers as a particular breed can drive me crazier than a young kid on caffeine (with a puppy), but every conference I realize this.

Disclaimer: Writers are fascinating individuals, but get hundreds of them in limited square footage and those intriguing quirks turn into rage-inducing tics.

I both love and hate writer's conferences.

I'm the kind of girl who hugs that shadows in the back corner of the presentation room, claiming the same seat panel after panel. I listen, take notes, and write. I'm not particularly interested in promoting myself, and only somewhat in talking to people. I'm really bad at talking to people. Two or three will stand out, and I will consider approaching them. Maybe. If the right opportunity comes. If they are alone and bored, and if they casually catch my eye and seem willing to chat.

I'm not particularly shy, I just think that sometimes

I'm totally shy, in the sense that I don't like putting myself out there. I'm more reserved than inhibited, but either way, it means that I'm pretty quiet. I will talk to people, it's just hard to do.

I asked for the business card of one of the panel presenters today. This is a. big. concession. I also asked a question in a Q&A, talked to an editor at breakfast, exchanged business cards with another Y.A. writer, talked throughout the entire luncheon with both an older gentleman and an alum from my college, and asked questions after two classes.

Whew. So I have come out of today with two/three people to email and try keep in touch with. Eep!! o_0

However, insightful self-reflection can't erase my elitist tendencies.

I mean, people, you're writers. You CAN'T possibly think that you pronounce it JOHN-ruh. Genre, people, genre.

*snort* Writers. You love to hate them.

Write now:
What I'm listening to: Cell in the Sea by A Fine Frenzy
What I want most: an agent. lol.