Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Conferences, Part II

I have been thinking (run!) about Alex’s post on conferences, and my comment. Fine, let me admit why I really do not go to writers’ conferences:

Because I am an immature brat, that’s why!

Come on, people. A writer’s conference? With Anthony? Seriously? Can you imagine the chaos? The utter horror? I can.

Talking to the unpublished writer:

“Hi, I’m Anthony.”

“I’m Dee Dee, nice to meet you, Anthony.”

“This is a pretty good conference, are you going to attend the How to Get an Agent talk?”

“Naw, I just got an agent last week.”

“Wow! Can we shake hands again, so, like, some of the agent-ness rubs off on me?”

“Ha ha.”

“No, seriously.”

“Um, well, it is flu season.”

“That was last month.”

“I would rather not.”

“Can I pet you hair? You can always wash it later.”

“No!”

“Please Dee Dee! I am getting desperate here! Please, just a little rub, a bit of your mojoo, that’s all I ask!”

“Let go of my legs!”

“Oh hey, there’s a run in your stockings.”

“Security!”

Literary Agent Janet Reid advised against not being a yahoo when talking to an agent at a conference. I shall endeavor to take this advice seriously by avoiding the conference all together.

“Hi, I’m Anthony.”

“I’m Sarah, nice to meet you, Anthony.”

“Liking the conference so far?”

“Mostly. The pitch sessions are a little rough. Authors are so nervous.”

“Well, they are a nervous bunch.”

“Are you an agent or an editor? I don’t recognize you…”

“Nope, I don’t get nervous very often.”

She laughs. “Well that’s good! If I see you in a pitch session, we can continue our nice chat.”

“Yes.”

I eye the agent.

The agent eyes me.

She is nervous. Time to put out the charm. “So, I always thought the best way to land an agent was babies.”

“Babies?”

“Yeah, if I had your baby, you would be more inclined to represent me.”

“Ha ha ha. For a moment there I thought you…”

“But obviously, as a male, you couldn’t get me pregnant.”

I eye the agent.

The agent eyes me.

“But you can have my baby.”

“Security!”

“Wait! Don’t go!”

“Let go of my legs!”

“Just think… hey you got a run in your stocking too. OW! The stiletto heel! It hurts so! I write with that hand! Take it out!”

STOMP!

“Ah! My other hand! Wait! Don’t go! Think of how closer we could get with a baby!

Editors, I feel, would fare no better.

“Hi, I’m Anthony.”

“I’m Leanne from Fox Publishing, nice to meet you Anthony. Oh, I’m sorry. I did not see your hand was injured under the glove.”

“No no, I’ll be fine. If I didn’t want to shake hands, I would have waved.”

“Ha ha. So, what do you write, Anthony?”

“Smut!”

“Smut?”

“Yeah, I call it like I see it.”

“No no, I wasn’t judging, believe me. We at Fox Publishing wallow in smut. What kind of smut?”

“Smutty smut!”

“The genre? I’m in the market for paranormal romance smut, that’s pretty hot right now, especially if the manuscript is polished and doesn’t need a lot of work.”

“Well, I got a character-driven smutty sci-fi story with a strong female lead that isn’t a total sociopathic bimbo with an IQ of 36D.”

“Really? Is that your manuscript right there? Mind if I can read the first few pages?”

“Awesome! Here you go.”

“Thanks, uh, did you know your manuscript has a…”

“Yeah, I figured what better way to show that it is smutty by…”

“Ewe!”

“Hey, you dropped my manuscript! Wait! Don’t go!”

“Let go of my legs!

“I can reprint it! The first ten pages. Well, also pages 167 through 178. That’s the hot lesbian scene. Oh my God, what is it with you women and runs in your hose?”

POW!

“Ow! My eye!”

“Security!”

Meeting a published author, would do me in.

“Hi, I’m Anthony.”

“I’m Melanie, nice to meet you, Anthony. Oh, I see you have my book! Would you like me to sign it?”

“Actually, I’ve come to spank you with it.”

“What!?”

“The message you sent to thousands of young girls was deplorable. That they should just drop everything that matters to them and be a total bitch to the people who love them so they can pursue some hunky proto-abuser and have wild monkey sex at the end of the novel.”

“What? There is no sex in my book!”

“Oh come on now, really? Did you think nobody would catch you using the ‘curse of the werewolf’ as a poorly disguised metaphor for forbidden wild monkey teen sex?”

“How dare you!”

“Obviously, you have some serious issues with men, probably because all the men in your life put up with your crap. Well I’m here to put a stop to that. Turn around and hike up your dress.”

“Don’t come any closer or you’ll need another eye-patch!”

“You know, if this was edited better it would not be so hea—OH MY GOD, THE PEPPER SPRAY! IT BURNS US! IT BURNS US!”

“Security!”

Yeah, sorry, I think I will avoid writer conferences.

For now.

3 comments:

  1. Anthony were you following me around at the last writer's conference I went to? Is that where you got the material to write this? (kidding)

    Very funny stuff.

    ReplyDelete
  2. oh boy. well, if you *did* attend, at least you'd distract all of the hyperventilating attendees, huddled in lines and waiting to talk to agents, trying desperately not to faint.

    ReplyDelete

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