AWP: A Numerical Reckoning

By Brian Watson

Morgayne Kelley and Brian Watson

A couple of months have passed since I attended the 2023 AWP Conference in my beloved Seattle. The serotonin high has worn off and, after a glorious vacation, I am at home and settling back into my writing practice. Time to reflect.

Although I was intrigued by Allison K Williams’ post here on the Blog that described the AWP (Association of Writers and Writing Programs) Conference as an event easily simulated at home, I ignored that advice. I went for the full, in-the-flesh experience with a complete lack of expectations. As my three days at AWP unfolded, however, I began keeping count of a few things.

∞

patience expended by my husband throughout the AWP long weekend as he fretted about my time spent away from home in advance of our trip to Japan. (We left Seattle the weekend after AWP.)

Thirty-thousand six-hundred four

steps taken during the conference. This includes walking from the car to the light rail station, from Westlake Center to the convention center, and back three times, plus hurrying from session to session each day.

Thirty-four

photographs taken. I originally met Morgayne Kelley (pictured with me) during a virtual writing seminar in May of 2021, and even though we both live in and around Seattle, this was the first time we got to meet in person, and it was glorious.

Twenty-seven

escalator rides. The new Seattle Conference Center is stunningly beautiful but it’s six stories tall and there was AWP activity on every floor. Even with motorized help, it took forever to get from session to session, anxiously racing the clock.

Seattle Convention Center

Twenty-six

hours spent comfortably wearing a mask.

Twenty-one

notes taken on my iPhone, ranging from two words (the name of a publisher in British Columbia) to 175 words (notes from the session on podcasting).

Ones that stand out include:

-Subjunctive memoir as speculative non-fiction

-Grief annihilates the person you were when your beloved was alive

Nineteen

business cards given to other people. It’s a small number, I know, when taking the 13,000 attendees into account, but I’m an introverted extrovert. However, I did not offer business cards to my writing idols—I couldn’t possibly summon the courage to present myself in card form.

Twelve and six-tenths

miles walked over the three days. Surprising, given my predilection for sitting at home.

Eleven

new Twitter followers. This proved (to me) the value of my business card.

Nine

elevator rides. Elevating was faster than escalating, but there were long lines, and my inner New Yorker is impatient.

visits to the book fair on the ground floor. I had a list of publishers and magazines to visit, and the book signings I ABSOLUTELY had to be there for. The poet Chen Chen and Edgar Gomez, author of High-Risk Homosexual, were highest on my list.

hugs shared among writing friends.

Eight

presentations and panels attended.

Two of my favorites:

• The Future of Queer Publishing. Hearing how independent publishers were making space for other rainbow-dwellers inspired me to no end.
  
  
• The Future of Queer Aesthetics: How to Write Authentic LGBTQ+ Characters. Venita Blackburn had the room in stitches when she said: Maybe try the second person. Never mind that. Don’t be crazy. This panel gave me hope for a future where I try my hand at fiction.

Seven

staircases ascended. I am very much an escalator person, but here again my inner, impatient New Yorker took over.

Six

authors signed books for me. The phrase, can I fanboy?, worked wonders, even after waiting patiently for Matt Bell to exit the washroom. Chen Chen signed his two poetry collections, and when I asked after his chapbook, he retrieved his own copy from his bag and signed it for me on the spot.

Five and four-tenths

average hours slept in the nights leading up to the event. Excitement woke me at three or four AM all week long.

Five

times I said, with full sincerity, you inspire me.

new writing friends made; our yet-to-be-told stories lighting our eyes.

Three

negative COVID-19 home test results, after receiving an exposure warning on my iPhone Saturday night.

magazine publishers I thanked for previously sharing my work.

publishers I spoke to about submitting my memoir and proposal, all of whom encouraged me to submit, asking me to remind them that we met at AWP.

Two

authors who complimented me on my nails.

overpriced lunches consumed at the conference center.

One

person told me that I had inspired them.

author recommended I pitch my memoir to their publisher after hugging me.

moment when I realized that I finally understood the why for writing my memoir: I revisit the past to correct the present because I can help others do the same. Young queer people need the power I discovered within me, and I can teach them how I did it.

time I cried.

Zero

regrets.

———

Brian Watson (@iambrianwatson on Twitter and Instagram) has been a leader and mentor within the gay community both in the United States and Japan for more than thirty-five years. His craft essays and book reviews appear in Brevity and Hippocampus, and his first creative nonfiction essay, “Bending Time,” was selected by White Enso for their nonfiction award. A subsequent essay, “Unfolding,” was named a finalist for the Montana Prize for Nonfiction. His memoir-in-progress is Crying in a Foreign Language: The Deity that Answered My Plea. Find his other writing here.