What Not to Wear…or Say…or Do
I mentioned I was at a Novelist’s Inc. conference two weeks ago, but I hadn’t had time to discuss the great things I learned, relearned, and was reminded of again forcefully until now. Priorities. First comes catch up. Then comes look ahead and plan the next few weeks. And, finally, comes thinking about how to use all the wonderful stuff the conference churned up. I’m going to talk more about various and sundry insights and information gleaned in the intensive four day conference of published authors, most of whom are trying to figure out where we are going to fit into the changing world of publishing (highlights: the internet makes it easier to reach our audience, in multiple ways; options are wider, even if it takes more research to find the best ones; the media can be your friend if you think outside the box and find a way to connect with viewers that isn’t all about pushing you and your book; going for the big deals take a lot of planning, flexibility, determination, planning, and luck; death investigators in St. Louis don’t consider it suspicious if you die at 50 or above — unless you have a knife sticking out of your back, or a visible gunshot).
But first, the most important thing on my mind — did I get caught talking with spinach in my teeth? Not literally, of course, as I stayed away from spinach (although St. Louis lettuce seemed to have a similar texture), just figuratively, as in ask questions or say things that made me appear dumber than carpet lint. One of the pitfalls of spending the majority of my time plotting in my head, or attached to my computer via the keyboard, is that my social skills are…rusty, shall we say. I have to prime myself before conferences: remember to smile, remember that small talk is not evil, remember to say hello and goodbye, and, check the blouse for coffee or food drips.
You might think that I should not have to prime myself to remember such simple things, after all these years. Hah. Even with the priming, I still forget. I’m giving myself a B+ for saying hello and goodbye and avoiding turning small talk into a “how to save the world” discussion. There was one incident with a speaker who both inspired and intimidated me where I could not figure out how in the world to muster a polite hello (does it help to explain that one of my children has high-functioning autism, and that backtracking suggests that just may come from my side of the gene pool?). After several minutes of dithering, I finally swooped in for a hello/thanks for the inspiration comment. I think I interrupted someone else. But, still, in the elevators and hallways, and at lunch and dinner, I managed to say polite hellos and goodbyes 95% of the time. I only lapsed into “how to save the world” discussions with two strangers (my poor roommate got more than that, but she knows we well enough that small talk doesn’t cut it with us).
However, I have to admit that while I smiled in conversation, I belatedly caught myself giving my “fiercely serious” face to the world in between sessions and when I wasn’t talking to someone else. Part of this was because I had just had my fabulous new idea, and all sorts of ideas and bits and pieces of the story were tumbling around in my brain, demanding that I sort and note them for the future. Part of this was because I was busy processing the influx of great information coming at me from all directions (we had a news reporter, a publisher with mucho experience, FBI and police experts, several great agents and editors — not to mention bestselling writers with decades of experience to share). Unfortunately, some of my scary-serious face is due to the fact that expression is my default face. I look like I hate the world when I’m thinking. I don’t know why. Sometimes I blame my mother (she dropped me off at school for years, always reminding me to smile…even though I always scowled when she said that, because I thought I *was* smiling). But once I had children, I realized exactly how lame it was that I was blaming my mother for something I could change. If I concentrated really hard. Really, really hard. Maybe I should take a class? Anyone know where they teach “How to smile and think at the same time”?
In the meantime, if you see me around and I’m looking like I have sixty seconds to save the world and you shouldn’t interrupt me — pretend I’m smiling and say hello.
Kelly
