Escape To and From AWP
AWP is impending.
As in doom.
I’ve started having the bad dreams I think only writers have, or maybe just me. Not simple naked-in-a-college-classroom dreams. Or even naked-at-my-first-in-person-readings. That would be too easy. My dreams involve things like wandering out of the hotel (where I share a barracks style room with random people who sing show tunes and steal from the baked potato bar) into long creepy mall corridors, until I’m in a muddy under-construction neighborhood. All with no shoes, phone, or ID. A raccoon is chasing me. The Nothing from The Neverending Story is chasing me. I call an Uber from a stranger’s phone and it arrives just as my husband does. Inexplicably, I decide to get in the Uber to find it filled with clowns and there are no seat belts or windows, but it does fly.
I’m not a dream interpreter. but these feel like pretty transparent, anxiety dream elements. Fear of the unknown. Fear of flying. Fear of getting lost in a place that I haven’t been to in decades. Fear of large crowds. Anxiety about reading out loud in public. I’ve carefully planned the entire trip, so I have no one to blame but myself for attending or panic checking my reservations every day for months. I’m very aware it makes little sense to be anxious about something I’m also so excited about.
I’m not the only one that has anxiety about AWP. Its expensive. It’s a big place with a big amount of people. A packed schedule that feels compelling AND overwhelming. Wonderful literary things. More books and tote bags than I’ve ever seen. I’ve only been to AWP one other time. There was a bit of a dark cloud still hanging over Philadelphia. Everyone was masked with name tags that spun, so we walked around mumbling and pointing at name tags to figure out who we were talking to.
That time, I had zero readings or panels and knew a handful of people from Zooms and social media, but only two in real life. I had a collection that launched at AWP in 2022, but it was simpler. Zero pressure and I still ended up hiding in my room eating a pretzel the size of my head. I went to a wonderful Irish pub and Eric Carle’s house with people, and I also went to a surreal textile museum down the street to escape, without. I wrote a pre-AWP column about packing two suitcases then but that was really all I did: pack.
This time around, I know people. I know the region and the city. I have scheduled readings, off-sites, and a signing on the official AWP calendar. I grew up in Kansas, but haven’t stepped foot in Kansas City (MO or KS) in decades. My OWN adult kids are the same age I was when I went there last. It honestly feels scarier because I can’t really hide this time. I have commitments. Exciting, wonderful things to attend and to do. But, that also means I have to plan ahead and be present.
And so, I am here to say, I get you. I got you. All the newbies. All the people that have gone many times, but still get fluttery when they think about 10,000 people in one place. The introverts. The extroverts. The people who don’t know what kind of -vert they are. The cold people. For you I’m bringing extra gloves because I live in the South and hate having cold hands. The people that are afraid to approach someone that is writer-famous. The bad dreaming dreamers. The people that are packing now. The people packing the same day their plane leaves. Note: you can and should ship back the books you buy. It’s cheaper and much easier than trying to hoist them in the overhead bin. The people with kids texting to ask where the cereal is, while you’re on the plane. The people taking vacation time to follow a writerly dream.
It’s okay to take breaks. It’s okay to break away entirely. There’s probably an off-site where you can break dance, if that floats your steamboat. There’s something at AWP for everyone. Quiet. Eating. Reading. Listening. Escaping. Most importantly, you are a writer even if you never make it to AWP or you go twenty times.
If you want to find me at AWP, I’ll be at publisher tables, some interesting off-sites, breakfasting. and listening to panels. I’ll be eating BBQ in my room this time, but I’m also going to the Arabia Steamboat Museum blocks from the conference center. They don’t have giant Philadelphia yarn balls or bells, but there are piles of buttons, teapots, and a giant steamboat ship’s hull to hide behind when it all gets to be too much.
