Dear Writing Friends:

It is Friday afternoon and I am at the Rojo Red Restaurant of Austin’s Sheraton Hotel, waiting for the opening reception of the annual Agents and Editors conference to begin (the conference is a program of the Writers’ League of Texas). My friends and I find a table near the entrance, throwing down our book bags and sweaters to mark our territory, before heading to the buffet to fill our plates with crackers and cheese. We return quickly, however, because we’ve got great seats and we intend to take advantage of them. From here we can watch everyone enter the reception. Conference attendees, marked by their blue badges, look around nervously, trying to ascertain who the agents are and where they have stationed themselves. Four hundred and fifty writers have signed up for this conference in order to pitch their books to the twenty-one agents and editors who are here and the time to start pitching is now. The agents and editors wear yellow badges and, as each one passes, I make mental notes of who they are and what they look like. I have five friends here who are looking for agents, and I intend to help them in whatever way I can.

This was my third year at the conference. I attended two years ago and, with beginner’s luck on my side and because I happened to meet a woman whose interests dovetailed nicely with the subject of my book, I found an agent. Because I wanted to share with other writers the lessons I had learned, I attended last year as a volunteer. As luck would have it (this conference has been very good to me), I struck up a series of conversations with creative nonfiction guru, Lee Gutkind, who became my mentor and who is now guiding me through the process of further developing my book and proposal, so my agent can actually sell it some day. This year I attended again as a volunteer, again to be helpful, especially to my cadre of friends who were there.

I have to admit I like the rush of energy I get standing in the hotel with all that adrenalin pumping. It’s the opposite of what I feel most days sitting in my silent studio with only my notebook to keep company. It’s energizing to get up in the morning and leave the house for a change, to see and speak with live human beings. When I enter the hotel, I feel the blood rushing though my veins. A lot happens at these conferences. In addition to the masses of already anxious writers fluttering about the hotel trying to get face time with the agents and editors, there are breakout sessions with professionals in the publishing industry. This year there were panels on writing book proposals, building platform on the social web, and how to break into magazines. By the time the conference was over on Sunday afternoon, I had a lot of things to do and think about.

Now I’m having trouble settling down. I have too much information to process and a long to-do list. I have to follow up on the contacts I made, I need to write to my agent and thank her for buying me breakfast, I need to go over the notes I made in the sessions I attended, and I need to explore the opportunities I learned of for building platform and getting publicity for my writing. Oh, and I have to work on my book. I’ve been waking up early—5 a.m., 4 a.m., one morning at 3:15. I can’t sleep for all the ideas and inspiration passing through my brain. I write to my acupuncturist and tell her my adrenals are on overdrive. She suggests the self-care basics—eating small meals at regular intervals, hydration, alone time, exercise, meditation, Rescue Remedy.  She offers to mix up some herbs and suggests a massage, which sounds wonderful but I’m so busy with all my conference follow-up, I don’t have time.

I feel far away from the writing life I teach in my workshops. It takes great effort for me to slow down this week. It helps to meditate and to practice my Pilates. Both put me back in my body and breath. And it helps to write. I sit down with my notebook and begin where I am—in my writing studio, looking out at the sycamore tree in my backyard, listening to the call of the mourning doves. As I write, I feel my hand loosen its grip on my pen. My breath slows; my mind opens. This is familiar territory. This is what I do each morning to center myself. I write. I put down in words what I see, hear, think and feel. Before there are books and book proposals, craft and publicity, there is this. Without it, I am lost. Writing practice brings me home, grounds me in the present world. Once I have that, once I know where I am and what I’m feeling, I know what to do next. I pick up my pen and my notebook and begin writing again.

Writing Topic: Where I am.

Quotation: I used to think freedom meant doing whatever you want. It means knowing who you are, what you are supposed to be doing on this earth, and then simply doing it. Natalie Goldberg

Keep your hands moving.

My very best to each and every one of you,

Saundra