word/nerdfest (part 2)

my second day at the conference was a return to reality. for one thing, i was pretty exhausted. (i know, after just one day of schmoozing!) and then there was the inevitable 180 in my attitude: i went from convention cheerleader to an outsider who wanted something less...conventional.

i arrived in the morning, pretty thrilled that there were three classes that focused on poetry that day, including one called "how to become a successful poet" -- rhetorically appropriate for a conference, also a good joke. i mean, there are very very few successful poets (remember, only 12 that can afford to attend this convention). ha! funny.

i hit the first class of my day. it was all about how to get your poetry published this year, and it was lead by a few of the folks that i'd met the day before. so, i felt very comfortable joining in the conversation even if caffeine hadn't yet done its job to wake me up.

i have to admit that a lot of the advice was common sense, but once and awhile a great tip would float out there for me to grab. after hearing for a second time that it would take 100-200 submissions to magazines, journals and competitions per month in order to really start creating momentum toward publication, i learned the lesson: i need to approach poetry as if it were a full-time job.

at the next class, i packed myself into a room overflowing with fiction and non-fiction writers, there to get the scoop from a very well-respected editor. and this is when i became depressed. wait, scratch that -- i was jealous! -- that i was not a fiction or non-fiction writer. damn them, and their real hopes for publication! damn them, so smugly wrapped in their warm blanket of potential!

my bad attitude was ridiculous and thankfully short-lived. because all creative writers are truly screwed. the few that are published and have contracts often have to promote their own books, without any of the big budgets we imagine a publisher might have and use. things have changed in publishing, i know that first hand, having worked in the industry for a little while. everyone has had to adapt the way they do business. i guess poets have always been DIY, and so perhaps are more prepared for today's publishing reality.

i mean, if anything, it's easier now than ever to do our work and maintain control over our visions. i bet there's more bad (and great) poetry being published now than ever before. self-publishing is cheap, and yes, there are chapbooks, or even blogs to carry the words aloft when paper is not possible. so there's hope for poets, too.

but i digress.

lunch was a blur of bad salmon, scholarship picture taking (ack!) set to the tune of the longest, dullest keynote speech you can imagine. i was slightly ecstatic to get back to classes. next up:  "how to become a successful poet."

they opened the class acknowledging that the concept of a successful was funny, even impossible. what was success as a poet? we spent a lot of the class flailing around before dreams congealed into something tangible. the most successful poets make a living at their art. that's all. and that's really a lot.

that class was the perfect way to end the conference. i'd found a good horizon to focus on, some kind folks to wander there with, and that was really all i'd wanted to achieve from the experience.

walking toward bart, i realized that the chinese new year parade was getting started. it's the year of the hare. wow, life is just endlessly inspiring...