The I'm Not at AWP Blues
I've got 'em. I've got 'em bad. All of my friends are there, posting their smiling faces at the bookfair, their smiling faces in front of their panel posters, their smiling faces with authors' faces I only know from the back of their book jackets. And what am I doing today? Well, I spent the majority of my day in my bathrobe. I snuggled my cats. I ate an enormous bowl of ice cream. Ok, this doesn't sound so bad :-) I remember my own stint at AWP a few years ago. My palms were sweaty nonstop. I was so nervous, awkward, and felt just plain lost in that sea of writers. It was intimating, overwhelming, and, of course, exhilarating. I'm terrible at networking, but I did my best and met a handful of editors and publishers. I saw old friends, squeed like a teenaged girl after meeting Alison Jospeh. I moderated a panel, though my heart was inside my throat. During my book signing, I remember feeling utterly desperate for some fresh air, some peace, some quiet.