Day One 2024 SFWC
"To need to be seen, to be heard, to be understood, is simply to be human."
― L.R. Knost
Walking up to the crowded hotel bar tucked in the southwest corner of the lobby is brave. Beyond brave if you ask me.
As what often happens in life, I am confronted with ruthless confirmation of what I already know to be true, and of course, I'll unabashedly share every gory detail with you.
After checking into the San Francisco Writer's Conference at the Hyatt Regency and claiming my participant badge, I attended the welcome talk before returning to my peaceful room, where I methodically organized my outfits for each day.
I'm nervous. Go easy.
They informed me at check-in that the group dinner was full for tonight (and tomorrow night as well), but I could always come down to the lobby and find someone to eat with on my own.
This is a writer's conference, we're all introverts. No one is going to meet in the lobby in the hopes of finding a dinner companion. What is wrong with these people?
After checking myself out in the mirror, I confidently (total lie) leave my safe harbor (hotel room) and make my way to the lobby bar.
My approach is slow as I scan those seated on the dozen or so stools, frantically looking for a few approachable females. This must be how males scan a bar before selecting a seat.
I sit down next to a middle-aged woman sipping a glass of white wine, her outfit is nondescript, but she is wearing that all-important SFWC participant badge. Maybe she couldn't find someone to eat with too?
After ordering an exquisite espresso martini, I bill it to my room, and that alone feels rather savvy.
Slowly, I turn to this total stranger (I hope you appreciate how much deodorant this takes) and say, "Hi, I'm Cheryl. I see you're attending the conference. What do you write about?" Seems harmless.
She says, "I'm actually an agent," oh shit, the royalty of writer's conferences.
"Well, aren't I lucky?" My attempt at humor.
She smiles but doesn't make eye contact.
I say, "What type of writers do you work with?"
"Popular science writers."
I really should think before I speak, I say, "Oh, people who write stories about pig-to-human kidney transplants?"
As I search for something to talk about besides pigs and kidneys, she says, "Not exactly," and spews something about the environment and how, ultimately, science with be our Savior.
Me, "Well, that's a fresh take on salvation." No, I was not going to pick apart her savior complex.
She sips her wine.
I sip my martini and take another stab at this painful conversation, I say, "What a treat it is to have a room all to myself. It's so peaceful."
She nods. Wow. This is going so well.
I say, "Do you have children?" I realize I'm sounding desperate.
She finally has a humane response, "Yes, two boys, they're five and seven," and she actually shows me a picture on her phone.
"Adorable. Well, you must be enjoying the quiet too."
"I am." I think I'm finally connecting with my wine-drinking, popular science, writer's conference royalty. Not.
And then she says, "Well, I have dinner plans later tonight, so I'm going to finish reading," she actually opens a book hiding in her lap and adds, "Before I need to get ready."
I'm absolutely flabbergasted, "Oh, of course," and she proceeds to focus on Ann Patchett's latest novel while sipping her wine and completely ignoring me. Ruthless confirmation of my consummate social skills.
I add something lame, "I love Ann Patchett," before I turn back to my drink, which is also sweating, and search my phone for something to read. Mortifying much?
The bartender hands me a bag of fish tacos when I finish my martini, and prepare to leave.
This is when she says, "It was nice to meet you. Enjoy the conference."
"It was nice to meet you too." I'm sure I look totally confused.
I practically sprint back to my room, berating myself mercilessly as I move down the formidable hall, "Who the hell do I think I am? "Betsy Devine?"
Yes, I call my sister, who does what is needed. She claims the woman has deplorable manners, and she adds, "Who goes to a bar to read at a conference?"
"What does Ann Patchett have that I don't?"
"Nothing."
I spent the rest of the night watching reruns of Friends.
I'm Living in the Gap, more conference news to follow, please let me know I'm not the only one whose social brilliance is rather dull.
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