I wasn’t able to attend AWP this year. I’ve only actually ever been once–2013 in Boston–but for some reason this year when my Instagram feed began to flood with shots of fellow writers in lanyards and the piles of books and journals they acquired, I had serious envy. The thing is that AWP is my niche conference soulmate: a bunch of (mostly literary) writers coming together to talk about writing, meet with journal editors, and geek out over iconic panelists. It’s my jam. And I was sorry to miss it. Again.
But rather than wallow, I decided that I’d use the weekend to research some literary agents for my recently finished novel. I sent out a short story to five places. I (gasp!) actually wrote. Now that I know I wouldn’t have done if I’d gone to AWP.
Still–hopefully next year I’ll get there again.
the hurl and gliding 