by Gil Mansergh
Before you sign up for a writer’s conference, there are a few “trade secrets” that conference organizers don’t want you to know. I directed the prestigious California Writers Club Writers Conference at Asilomar for five years, and have been on the faculty of conferences in San Francisco, LA, Fresno, Marin, Stanford University and Santa Rosa, but I never signed a non-disclosure agreement—so here is the nitty gritty.
First off, a writer’s conference can change your life. I went to my first conference as a “Program Consultant” for nonprofit agencies, and left that same weekend as a “Writer.” This resulted in over three decades working as a syndicated newspaper columnist, a writer for hire (over 70 books and counting), a novelist, and the host/producer of the NPR radio show, Word By Word: Conversations With Writers.
But (and this is a very important but), I am the exception. 95% of conference attendees never become professional writers. They may, after dozens of rejections, self-publish their own book(s) or have some pieces appear in literary journals, but earning mega-bucks from having a best-seller remains as elusive as having Publishers Clearinghouse arrive at your door with a big check.
Writers conferences are, first and foremost, business ventures based on selling wannabe writers a dream. I was (and still am) part of this marketing scheme. I made sure that every conference I directed included the all-important, money-maker, Agents and Editors—numerous opportunities (including manuscript critiques, Q&A panels, and pitch sessions) for attendees to interact with professionals who (ostensibly) hold the keys to success. I also included “name brand” keynoters (Pulitzer Prize winners, NY Times Bestsellers, Disney Writer/Directors, etc.) for advertising and publicity purposes and offered practical, hands-on workshops in diverse genres (presented by teachers I had personally seen in action). As an added bonus, we had entertainment: comedians, singers, dancers, musicians, and a California Park Ranger portraying Jack London. And free wine—great Sonoma County wines were served from vineyards eager to have their product appreciated by “influential” writers. The trick is to have the pouring staff keep full bottles behind the table, and place only empty bottles on display.
Despite all this careful planning, it turned out the most important part of the weekend was something I did not control. Since the conference grounds at Asilomar State Park in Pacific Grove include meals with the cost of the rooms, everyone (attendees and faculty alike) ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together around large circular tables. Voila! Instant opportunities to interact with other writers.
I shared this phenomenon in a piece for Writers Digest Magazine I called “The Nudist and Lana Turner’s Shoes.” Named after information two other conference attendees shared about themselves, I wrote the following:
“The secret for getting the most out of a writer’s conference is simple. You don’t have to study and annotate the conference schedule or take notes at the workshops and think up insightful questions for the panelists. All you have to do is go to meals and ask the people on either side of you ‘What do you write?’ You’ll quickly learn that writers are interesting people with fascinating stories to tell. What’s more, they will freely share their successes and failures with fellow writers.”
I went on to describe some of the writers I talked with: the kayaking wine expert who reviews computer hardware for MacWorld, the travel writer recently returned from Western Australia, the woman in the lunch line who commented how it reminded her of waiting for a crust of bread in a Ugandan prison camp, the nurse who crusades against female circumcision, the mystery novelist who tries out her new characters in short stories, and, of course, the naturist fireman writing about his photo safari to Africa, and the woman searching for someone to write about her make-up artist husband’s collection of movie stars’ shoes and clothing.
What I wrote all those years ago still holds today: “When you go to a writer’s conference, you can learn at least as much from your fellow writers as you will from the formal program.”
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Author Bio:
Gilbert Mansergh is the psychological educator internationally acclaimed for utilizing Hollywood movie clips as teaching tools. Author of over sixty non-fiction books, two syndicated film columns, and movie blog, Gil is also the producer/host of the Word By Word: Conversations With Writers radio show on Sonoma County’s NPR station, KRCB-FM. Gil’s first novel, The Marvelous Journals of Miss Virginia Pettingill is fictionalized from true stories told by his mother about her childhood in Gloucester, Massachusetts after WW1, and has received glowing reviews from critics and readers.
Amazon Buy link: The Marvelous Journals of Miss Virginia Pettingill
By Ed Meckle, Retired LAPD
Then came that one chance comment that put everything in perspective.
As we begin this new year it’s totally appropriate that we take a look at the conference scene and ask that pertinent question: How do I get the most bang for my buck?
Michael A. Black is the author of 29 books, the majority of which are in the mystery and thriller genres, although he has written in sci-fi, western, horror, and sports genres as well. A retired police officer with over 30 years’ experience, he has done everything from patrol to investigating homicides to conducting numerous SWAT operations. Black was awarded the Cook County Medal of Merit in 2010. He is also the author of over 100 short stories and articles, and has written two novels with television star, Richard Belzer (Law & Order SVU). Black is currently writing the Executioner series (Fatal Prescription, Missile Intercept) under the name Don Pendleton. His latest novel under his own name is Blood Trails.
This is in the heart of Watts, an area of extreme violence. There was still some daylight left on arrival and we find a male on the sidewalk, deceased of gunshot wounds. His gun surprisingly was still in his hand. About 8 to 10 feet away was a considerable pool of blood indicating the deceased probably wounded his killer. The blood trail, heavy therefore very visible lead north on the sidewalk.
By 
Nancy J. Cohen writes the Bad Hair Day Mysteries featuring South Florida hairstylist Marla Vail. Titles in this series have made the IMBA bestseller list, been selected by Suspense Magazine as best cozy mystery, won a Readers’ Favorite gold medal, and earned third place in the Arizona Literary Awards. Nancy has also written the instructional guide, Writing the Cozy Mystery. Her imaginative romances have proven popular with fans as well. Her first book in this genre won the HOLT Medallion Award. A featured speaker at libraries, conferences, and community events, she is listed in Contemporary Authors, Poets & Writers, and Who’s Who in U.S. Writers, Editors, & Poets. When not busy writing, Nancy enjoys fine dining, cruising, visiting Disney World, and shopping. Follow her here:
My first real job other than mowing lawns was at Jack in The Box. I lived in Eagle Rock a suburb of Los Angeles. Eagle Rock was only six short miles from Pasadena and the Rose Parade and Rose Bowl game.
A couple of years later I was working at another hamburger stand, Twin Castle, not White Castle, and it was about two hours after the Rose Parade was over. No buses this time but I guessed that the Goodyear Blimp over the Rose Parade had a sign on it that said go to Twin Castle for lunch. I cooked burgers for over two hours until the rush subsided.
When you are assigned to patrol on the LAPD, it’s mostly working the field with a lot of coppers. The situation also depends on the watch and division as well as the number of units in the field. In specialized unit assignments, the number of coppers is limited, depending on the task. I worked Northeast Division vice from 1978-1980. We had two supervisors and eight vice officers. In 1979, both of our supervisors took vacation at the same time, so patrol loaned us a patrol sergeant to watch over us. Now this supervisor wanted to make good on his loan, so he was very critical about us “doing it right.” I think you can see where this is going.
The first hooker to go down bought Gary’s accent and his want of “Elpoah.” That was a made-up thing, but the girls knew what he wanted. After a couple of arrests, the word got out. We hit a dry spell, Gary got out, and were about to call it when the sergeant asked me to drive the boulevard to check for any girls.
“G#d D—n it, G#d D—n it, holy s**t, G#d D—n it!!! You, you, G#d D—n it!”
I’m not even sure when I first attended a conference. It was probably better than forty years ago. It was a conference on Women’s Rights (I’d been appointed to the Attorney General’s Commission on Women’s Rights by my state senator) and the guest speakers were Delores Huerta and Jane Fonda.
Michele Drier was born in Santa Cruz and is a fifth generation Californian. During her career in journalism—as a reporter and editor at daily newspapers—she won awards for producing investigative series.
For the last ten years, I have worked Christmas Eve for any young sergeant who should be home with his wife and babies. They don’t know until December 23rd, and then I tell the chosen one, “I got it.” Tonight, is the last one for me. I will be 6L20 watch 3. Start of watch is 1815 until 0700 Christmas Day. I got a true story to tell you about Christmas Eve 1992. Its’ a really good one.
Here is where it gets good, but at the time I did not know it was good. There are several hills in Rampart that allow some cool views of downtown L.A., so I go looking for one to enjoy the view and have that smoke. I found myself going up a side street off Temple Street that I’d never been on before and could see that I was going to have a really neat view of downtown. The street is steep, so I know I will get a great view. About three quarters of the way up I see this small-framed woman pushing a shopping cart up the hill. Well heck, I am there to “Protect and Serve,” so I stop the cruiser and get out to help. The look on her face told me I was the last thing she expected.
If only it were that easy and glamorous.
Telling the lieutenant, “That’s not my field/specialty/responsibility/job,” earns the response, “There is nobody else available, handle it. Like it or not, you are a good soldier. You do what you must.”