Post-AWP thoughts

The last time I attended AWP¹ was in 2020, the ill-fated San Antonio year. At the time, I decided that that experience was all I would need of this particular writing conference. It was a weird year, small because so many people had decided not to attend (since AWP had not made the decision for them by canceling the conference when COVID began to spread precipitously), but I was already overwhelmed. I only went to a few panels, and most of my time was spent working the table for Flyway: Journal of Writing and Environment. I am not an extroverted person, but at the time I was extroverted enough to call out, “Are you interested in environmental writing?” to get people to stop and talk. I still have memories of one person who had stopped and asked about the capaciousness of our definition of environmental writing (though I, sadly, do not remember the person’s name). I loved the question so much that I yelled, “I love this question!” before launching into a response. And honestly, that was the height of my experience; I wanted that memory to remain untouched, in a way, by other memories of AWP.

All this is to say that I felt my first AWP experience was already enough. I decided that I didn’t really have any desire to go again if I didn’t need to.

But I did need to go this year. It was in Kansas City, well within a reasonable drive’s distance, and I had signed up to work the book fair table for UNL’s creative writing program. I did a similar, occasionally asking people who were walking by if were interested in PhD or MA programs. And I talked with people about their writing. Working the table was a surprising reprieve from the overwhelming nature of the book fair. The panels, too, had this function for me. I wasn’t there to network or buy things. I was there for a breather, and to listen in on some conversations.

This, perhaps, was much of the “value” I got from AWP. Most of my book fair purchases were books that are a few years old, not the latest releases, and my purchases were also pretty limited because I, frankly, don’t have much money. I also didn’t go to any offsite events because there were so many to choose from, and also because the day left me exhausted and wanting to relax in my hotel room. But a few of the panels I attended featured writers reading their work, with a Q and A afterward. And I listened, for the first time in a while, to people’s excellent writing in a quiet, attentive place. And it made me want to write. It made me want to fill in the gaps I perceived, or that the panelists described, in the current literary fabric. It made me think about my writing, my works-in-progress, and how they might already be filling those gaps, I just haven’t put that writing out into the world. I felt refilled, refueled, to pursue my creative work in a way that was different from the solo work of making my way through my comps list.

It wasn’t a perfect conference. AWP isn’t a perfect organization.² And I ended the week very tired and immensely grateful that my teaching schedule this semester means I only teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays, not Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But I am also grateful that I got to attend. I am grateful that I got to listen to writers share their work; now that I’m out of course work for my degree, I feel as though my opportunities to hear people read are few and far between.

When I wasn’t at the convention center, I was likely avoiding eye contact with people at the hotel gym or exploring Kansas City with a friend in my PhD program. We took the free streetcar up to the River Market district twice: once to have my ice cream craving thwarted by a long line at Betty Rae’s, and a second time to eat a delicious farm-to-table brunch at The Farmhouse on our last day in Kansas City. I did enjoy the moments when I got away from the convention center. I did (to a small degree) enjoy getting turned around whenever I stepped out of a different exit/entrance to the convention center—because it meant I was out of the convention center. I didn’t get a chance to explore San Antonio all that much when I was there in 2020; I’m glad that I did get to go out into the city and remind myself that there’s more to the world that what does or doesn’t get onto a blank page.

Notes

1. For folks who might be unfamiliar, “AWP” refers to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, and the corresponding annual conference that brings together an estimated 10,000 writers, writing programs, and publishers. From what I understand, it’s the biggest writing conference, and a place where many people make connections to the literary publishing world more broadly.
2. Among the ways AWP is imperfect was the response to the statement emailed to panel moderators from the Radius of Arab American Writers. It was at the very least, embarrassing for AWP, and, more harshly, employing the kind of oppressive tactics that AWP purports to oppose. See this tweet thread (I’m still calling them tweets, don’t @ me) for more info.