Have you ever experienced such loneliness you resorted to befriending a ghost? I recently finished a short story about a girl who does just that after moving to a new high school. Granted most of us don’t have that option, but I’m hoping the story captures a feeling we’ve all known, one of being different, isolated and excluded. Being the outsider is never easy, but lately I find myself craving new experiences. Maybe it’s a reaction to the past two years—staying close to home, limiting travel and avoiding crowds. Several writer friends have shared with me this same sense of stagnation, of needing to branch out or break free. Whatever the motivation, I recognize a pattern of choosing to make ourselves the new kids again, especially in the writing world.
Mental health experts tout the extensive benefits of trying new things, especially to combat our self-imposed limits. For the person who suffers from low self-esteem, imposter syndrome, or anxiety, tackling a new experience unlocks courage and instills a sense of pride for having tried. Even failure provides an opportunity to normalize disappointment and over time helps minimize the fear of “losing.” On the opposite end of the spectrum, for people struggling with arrogance and perfectionism, attempting something outside of one’s expertise or comfort level promotes humility, resilience and cooperation. I for one often boomerang from one end of the confidence continuum to the other and therefore find forcing myself to try new things extremely helpful. Rather than lamenting all the things I don’t know, I’m learning to value the opportunity for growth and exposure to a diversity of ideas.
In January, I started a low-residency MFA program, primarily based on my respect for some of the newest faculty members. Despite the fact that our workshops have thus far occurred entirely online, I’ve already made a good friend who will travel with me to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs conference in Philadelphia this month. I also learned our program will host a table at the book fair. Suddenly, I feel like one of the cool kids. In May, I’ll attend StokerCon for the first time as well. Since that conference happens right here in Denver this year, I will know quite a few more of those writers personally. When my mentor invited me to stay with her at the Stanley Hotel for the pre-party (I refuse to stay there alone), I got to feeling pretty cool again.
Here at RMFW, my status has shifted in four years from new girl, to volunteer, and this year, I have the honor of helping select the workshops for the 2022 Colorado Gold Conference. All because I kept coming to events and folks were kind enough to invite me to their tables. Of course, there are still those awkward moments when I’m trying to find a familiar face at the bar, but unlike the half-formed fifteen-year-old I was when my family moved midway through my sophomore year of high school, I’m better equipped to handle new kid syndrome now, because I’m less preoccupied with what others think of me and more interested in meeting as many quality, fascinating humans as I can.
One of my favorite parts of making friends with writers in Denver and beyond has been that when someone signs with an agent, or publishes a book, or wins an award, I get to celebrate, too, and not just in the way we all do when our favorite famous writer releases another bestseller. I get to celebrate good things happening to good people. And we could all use more of that right now, don’t you agree?
When I look back over the past few years, I see all the ways our vibrant writing community is connected. Some of you probably have to work hard to find another writer you haven’t already had an interaction with at one event or another. For veteran writers, maybe the new thing to try is taking different kinds of risks in your craft process or passing the reigns of a long-held volunteer post to the next person so as to free up more time for travel. Different challenges serve different people at different stages, as my fellow blogger Mary Gilligan recently observed in her post on retirement. Whatever new things you try, remember to share them with your community—perhaps in a workshop proposal, hint, hint! And if you ever see me or other RMFW members standing around awkwardly at an event, come say hello. We’ll form our own cool table.
Image by silviarita at pixabay.com
Yes. Promotion is puzzling and creates fear of spending too much on it. And socializing can make me very self conscious. Even when doing it the way I like, I’m draining the life out of me. Being so socially “turned on” socially leaves me so wilted I go home after conferences too tired to even sleep. Then I gain my strength back, attend another conference again. It’s masochism but it’s the career we’ve chosen.
If it helps, I doubt there exist many careers that don’t demand some level of “masochistic” networking. I had the unique opportunity to go directly from one of my own writers conference to one of my husband’s (he works in strategic communications) and the similarities were remarkable!