The Muse and the Marketplace is a sublime event for writers that took place at Boston’s famous Parker House (think rolls and Boston Cream Pie) Hotel last weekend.
As the title implies, the conference paid attention to the creative end of things (the muse) and to Mammon (the Marketplace). My particular interests in writing somewhat literary historical fiction were well-served by Jeff Talarigo’s and Sylvia Sellers-Garcia’s offerings. Randall Peffer’s audience-interactive “Drag Queens, Dead Goats, Sula and Peter Pan” helped attendees figure out some ways to craft literary mysteries.
Lisa Scottoline shared her agent’s name, some past rejection letters, and her upbeat advice. These days, upbeat advice makes me want to weep, but so it goes.
Michael Thomas quoted T.S. Eliot and James Joyce and played some cool music and the session almost transported me back to my undergraduate days.
Jonathan Franzen rocked with his keynote luncheon speech, which was a prime example of show, don’t tell. He provided me (unknowingly and inadvertently) for a quote for the opening of my new novel. He’s a funny man, and a literate man and his address did not make me want to weep. I bought a copy of The Corrections, at long last and am mid-point in the book. Wonderful writing, conflicted characters-- so enthralling to read such a fine novel.
D.Y. Bechard talked about creating “bad” characters, always a tricky thing for a writer, since all bad characters need some redeeming features, unless of course, one is deep, deep into genre.
When I am at these events, I am always reminded how invisible I have become due to no longer being a young woman. Once I had long blond hair and was skinny and wore all the trendy clothes (see photo) and I smoked like tires on fire and felt generally miserable, but I always got a lot of attention from males. Now I am one of the hordes of middle-aged women who frequent these events, and I can meet an editor 3 or 4 times and he still might not remember me. Whatchagonnado?
But The Muse, etc. rocked and I took away good information, inspiration and the urge to write. Kudos to Grub Street for a great event, and the food was extra-yummy, too, although I must be one out of one hundred who find bagels for breakfast a huge yawn. Sunday's scones were, however, delightful. One cannot live on bagels alone, although there is a place in West Stockbridge that makes you think maybe you could.
So say I.
Grapeshot
As the title implies, the conference paid attention to the creative end of things (the muse) and to Mammon (the Marketplace). My particular interests in writing somewhat literary historical fiction were well-served by Jeff Talarigo’s and Sylvia Sellers-Garcia’s offerings. Randall Peffer’s audience-interactive “Drag Queens, Dead Goats, Sula and Peter Pan” helped attendees figure out some ways to craft literary mysteries.
Lisa Scottoline shared her agent’s name, some past rejection letters, and her upbeat advice. These days, upbeat advice makes me want to weep, but so it goes.
Michael Thomas quoted T.S. Eliot and James Joyce and played some cool music and the session almost transported me back to my undergraduate days.
Jonathan Franzen rocked with his keynote luncheon speech, which was a prime example of show, don’t tell. He provided me (unknowingly and inadvertently) for a quote for the opening of my new novel. He’s a funny man, and a literate man and his address did not make me want to weep. I bought a copy of The Corrections, at long last and am mid-point in the book. Wonderful writing, conflicted characters-- so enthralling to read such a fine novel.
D.Y. Bechard talked about creating “bad” characters, always a tricky thing for a writer, since all bad characters need some redeeming features, unless of course, one is deep, deep into genre.
When I am at these events, I am always reminded how invisible I have become due to no longer being a young woman. Once I had long blond hair and was skinny and wore all the trendy clothes (see photo) and I smoked like tires on fire and felt generally miserable, but I always got a lot of attention from males. Now I am one of the hordes of middle-aged women who frequent these events, and I can meet an editor 3 or 4 times and he still might not remember me. Whatchagonnado?
But The Muse, etc. rocked and I took away good information, inspiration and the urge to write. Kudos to Grub Street for a great event, and the food was extra-yummy, too, although I must be one out of one hundred who find bagels for breakfast a huge yawn. Sunday's scones were, however, delightful. One cannot live on bagels alone, although there is a place in West Stockbridge that makes you think maybe you could.
So say I.
Grapeshot
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