Nyc part one
Still unwinding from the tornado trip to New York City, a mind-altering weekend, and an experience I was drawn to by a force inside. From the book that spilled out of me which commenced in February, like a forgotten bank account just waiting to be spent, I tumbled into the plan of forging my way into the jungle of the publishing world. I moved from my kindergarten knowledge garnered from Writer’s magazines and books and a little experiment I did one summer years ago trying to get published, to full immersion in the fast paced real world of today’s publishing world, replete with controversy, myth and opportunity. Seven hundred industry people – writers, agents, and would be writers clutching to their baby manuscripts and proposals – mingled and simmered among brilliant presentations, editors with enticing offers, all eyeing each other trying to categorize whether they were looking at the competition, a great mentor, or a crazy person that writes about ufos on yellow lined pads for weeks at a time. The setting of the Grand Central Station Hyatt could not have been more hermetically-sealed-hotel-conference with its silver pots of coffee and piles of – for me – non edible pastries, crystal chandeliers, comfy upholstered chairs with enough give in the backs to make sitting tolerable, and stacks of handouts and media for sale everywhere. All of us would have rather been outside on the first and most heartbreakingly tender spring day the northeast has seen in a year, but the draw of the presenters and the potential fuel for dreams keep us inside most of the time.

The cliché of Grand Central Station kept running through my head, a phrase I grew up on, but is anachronistic to youth. As I might have expected, the new Grand Central Station everyone was talking about, and traipsing through at lightening speed, was the Internet. Aside from a few die hard, typewriter-using holdouts, everyone agreed that’s where the action is, in so many ways relevant to writers. Since the participants were generally my age, with a lesser contingent of older and younger ones (presumably, the younger ones are getting the same info on the web and needed not attend), There was a lot of fast note taking about web sites and blogs. The best was a Columbia Journalism professor, who was not as young as my kids, so gave me hope I could keep up with him, who talked exclusively in cyber speech, but with handouts that pointed to the ocean of info we would later explore at home. The gist was: you don’t have the excuse of – hey, I’m too busy for this stuff, I have a real life. That to him would be like saying, sorry, I don’t have time to eat, I have to go to work, or sorry I don’t have time to tune up my car before a big trip, I have to get going. You pay later.

Yet one of the most endearing die hard typewriter user speakers was the other book end to my experience – a seventy something essayist whose style reminded me of my writer grandfather – every word carefully chosen, with the wisdom of his years shining through like golden sunsets in every color. I was in love! As much as I coveted the knowledge of Sree the cyber guru, I felt a symbiosis with David that tapped into my deep love of writing, the real reason I came. I was afraid to blink or cough in case I missed a nuance of his talk which took us from eighteenth century essayists that sound like they were written yesterday, to his modest foray into modern technology: creating pod casts of his essays for NPR. Trying to put my jealousy aside and just bask in the chance to be with great people in my hoped for field, I could pause with David and realize, its not a race, its tapping into ones deepest self that makes a writer successful.
The room was filled with 80% women, and I relaxed when I realized what writers are. They are hundreds of versions of myself. They are preoccupied with thoughts, often a little out of style fashion wise – except a few who were obviously New York fashion writers – and basically smart and about as uninterested in small talk as I am. They were friendly, but got to the point of conversations quickly, and most were modest about their talents and accomplishments. Compared to the average social crowd they were high minded, thoughtful, and humble. I relaxed and could be myself, which was great, since the scariest part I anticipated was having to be fake and put on some kind of act for others.