Good afterevenmorn, Readers!

There is nothing to rant about this week. I have exhausted my disbelief and incredulity on the four issues I noticed last time. I have also not been on social media all that much since then. I’m gearing up for a SFF convention this weekend, and I am very far behind on that front, so I’m a little stressed.

I am, however, extremely grateful that conventions exists. They can be terribly scary and extremely stressful, but they’re also a really good time. At least, Can*Con is. If you’re trying to break into the writing world, finding conventions that focus on what you’re writing is a really, really good idea.

There is no better space to connect with people in your field, find mentors, make friends, and, most importantly, learn just about everything you need to in order to make a good shot at becoming a person who can make a living from their writing. I’m still working on that last one.

I’m pretty sure I recounted my story on here before, but I’m going to do it again, for any new folks reading this who are feeling as lost as I was when I signed up to sell at my first ever Can*Con. I hope doing so will encourage those folks in particular to start going to conventions.

Let’s get into is, shall we?

Alright. I first went to Can*Con many, many moons ago, having, just for fun, written and illustrated a small anthology of stories. The Dying God & Other Stories was the first thing I had published (hey, self-publishing counts), and it was the only thing I had to recommend myself to the folks who might be dropping by the vendor’s room where I was hidden. I had not considered, up until then, that I could make a serious attempt at becoming someone who was a writer, instead of some weirdo emptying the voices in their head on the page in the wee hours of the morning.

I mean, I’m still that. Though it’s not in the wee hours of the morning. It’s usually after work.

Not the point. The point is, I showed up with like, twenty (I think) copies of the book (because that was all I could afford to have printed), and some prints of the sketches that appear in the book. I bought a table. And spent that first convention sitting behind it.

I was genuinely too afraid to introduce myself to anyone. I felt like a failure in a room of tables with authors who had multiple books, publishers with multiple authors, and folks who all had readerships. I feel outside it all, as I frequently have in life, and not a little like a fraud. Who the hell was I to claim the title of ‘author’ and attempt to sell my one piddly little book?

That has changed. So much. And it started at my very first convention. One of the folks who was helping running the thing dropped by my table and asked how I was, and how things were going. They were so warm, and kind, and didn’t seem to look down on me at all… And in the space of one brief conversation, I suddenly felt less like a fraud. I felt that maybe I might be able to do this writing thing.

With every successive Can*Con, I opened up. Their gentle encouragement (including telling me I should apply to be on panels) has been the main reason I’ve kept at this thing, despite my relative lack of success… well, outside markers of success, anyway. I have been quite successful at getting the stories in my head down on (digital) paper.

I have made good friends at Can*Con, found a bright and vibrant community that has always been supportive. I honestly would have quit a long time ago were it not for the support I have – from my friends, family, but also very much from this community I found

As someone who gets anxious in crowds, and finds large numbers of people and a lot of noise really stressful and exhausting, I find myself always eagerly awaiting Can*Con. Yes, I am always absolutely exhausted at the end of it. I schedule a recovery day every time (learnt from the first time), in which I spend the entire day asleep reconverting from all the peopling. I’ve never once regretted going, though.

I say again, if you’re writing, and you have the opportunity to, you should get yourself to a relevant and related convention. You do not need a table. You don’t have to try and sell anything. But get yourself to one (if you have the means, obviously).

First, this helps expose you to the folks in your field. If they’re decent folk (and there are some stinkers, let’s be honest), then you’ll be very welcome. Few writers I’ve met have ever dismissed someone who is looking to break into the industry. That said – be respectful and mind your manners while you’re there. Poor behaviour, brash displays of entitlement, or cruelty, will be duly noted, and you’ll find your start iced out before you get the chance to get your feet off the ground. That should go without saying, but there have been some stories…

Anyway, heading to a convention as an attendee will get you into some really impressive discussions about all kinds of aspects of the publishing industry. I’ve seen panels of taxes and creative work, exploring various tropes and reactionary movements against some tropes, fascinating discussions on the history of certain genres, how genres manifest in other cultures… the list is endless. There is almost always a panel for writers and readers alike to learn from. It’s so great!

You also get to rub shoulders with writers you admire (Can*Con’s author Guest of Honour this year is Chuck Wendig), but publishers and their representatives, agents, and readers who might just be the folks who will start to follow you and buy your book when it finally comes out.

Of course, you only get out of any event what you put in. I hid behind a table in the vendor’s room my first couple of years. It took a lot of encouragement to get me out and on panels (that’s me in general, though. It took four years of training at martial arts in the beginners’ class before my Sifu got sick of me and kicked me up to the next level). So go prepared to say hello to strangers, and ask questions, and, if you’re very brave, practice pitching stories to publishers and agents.

If you’re like me and can easily get overwhelmed by loud sounds and many people, plan around that. Can*Con is exceptional in which they usually have a “quiet room” set aside for folks who do struggle in crowds and noise to go somewhere quiet to decompress. This year, I have saved up enough to afford a hotel room at the convention centre, so I can disappear into my room if I need it. I’m usually okay in the Vendors’ Room, though. Most places will have somewhere a little quieter and out of the way where you can retire to if you find the panic starting to build, even if it’s not official designated that space. Do look for that at any convention you attend, so it’s there if you need it.

A good convention will welcome writers of all stripes, from those just starting to get the words down, to seasoned writers.

If you’re looking to get into the industry, or even if you’re a reader who really wants to learn more of and from your favourite writers and discover new favourites, fiction conventions really are the place to go.

Get thee to one (if you can. I understand there are an awful lot of reasons why one might not be able to. I mean, I haven’t gone to more conventions because they require funds to attend that I simply do not have. I get it).

Alright, I have a lot of work to do before Can*Con begins. Wish me luck (I’m going to need it)!

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When S.M. Carrière isn’t brutally killing your favorite characters, she spends her time teaching martial arts, live streaming video games, and sometimes painting. In other words, she spends her time teaching others to kill, streaming her digital kills… and sometimes relaxing. Her most recent titles include Skylark,  Human and The Timbercreek Incident.