Writing Workshop
A couple of times a year, I get a hankering for a writing retreat. Because, y’know, all I need is a cabin and I can write an entire novel. I mean, I don’t DO cabins or bugs or wilderness or anything, but still.
Every fall, I see that I’ve missed the April “Kentucky Writing Workshop.” So this time, I signed up in January for the April 2026 event. Ha!
And obviously from January to April I can finish this cozy mystery manuscript, right?
Ha!
Registration was from 8:30 to 9:30 a.m., so I got there around 7:50. Not on purpose, but I was awake and all. Security dude at the convention center said hi. “I’m here to beat the rush!” I said, having watched a bunch of videos about the mayhem at BookCon in NYC.
“You are the rush,” he said, pointing me down that way and around those big steps and down the escalator.
There were three or four of us early birds, chitchatting and waiting for the official registration setup.
After getting my nametag, I had time for coffee before the first breakout session, so I walked back to the hotel for a Starbucks and sat on the patio.
Only person there at that hour of the morning. Beautiful day, lovely breeze. I began workshopping how I would introduce myself to the literary agent, whose 10-minute pitch session I had booked. “Hello” or “Hi”? It would probably come out as “Hilo.”
Then I heard a guy say, “Can I sit with you?” I said sure, looking around at aaaaaaaalll the empty chairs.
He took a chocolate donut out of a Dunkin Donuts bag and asked if I knew this person and that event (something to do with NASCAR, maybe?) and told me all kinds of stories from the past involving his family, and I was sitting downwind, and he wore one sock but no shoes, and had soulful brown eyes, and his fingernails were really long, and then he finished his donut and kinda sat there. And I sat there, and then it was time for me to go to the first breakout session, so am I a monster for just taking his paper bag to throw away instead of asking his name and trying to change his life or something?
Sigh.
I headed back to the Kentucky International Convention Center. Security dude laughed again, as there still wasn’t a throng.
I’d paid an extra fee to book a pitch session with a literary agent. This is gold, y’all. Highly recommend if you ever have the opportunity for a one-on-one with an editor or agent at these conferences.
Ran into a few attendees who purchased more than one. (Interesting!) It was a good experience. Got some good tips. She liked the fact that I’m writing a cozy mystery. And said she liked my personality.😁
The afternoon sessions started off with the First Page Critique Fest. Those of us who participated made seven copies of the first page of our manuscript (on a piece of paper, no name or identifying information other than the genre at the top of the page) and submitted it during the morning registration. They would randomly choose first pages to read. Then a panel of agents would critique it, in front of God and everybody.
Doesn’t that sound terrifying? And exciting?
Two people took turns as the out-loud readers, while five agents read along silently. At any point an agent had questions or concerns, they raised a hand. Three raised hands and the out-loud reader stopped talking.
It was brutal.
Have no idea how many they received, but they critiqued 14 during the session. Y'all. Mine was first.
I was sitting next to Melanie, one of the first people I met that morning. I squealed at the first words and she grabbed my arm.
We were sitting in the back and couldn't see all of the agents’ faces, much less a hand being raised, but all of a sudden the out-loud reader quit talking. Less than halfway through my first page. I started scribbling as they spoke.
Doubts and concerns included:
Info dumping.
Listing.
Not the best place to start this story.
I got lost.
Too much back story.
This was out of place.
I stopped listening to the person reading because I was confused and went back to reread the dialogue.
Among other specific comments (almost all of which were delivered with great fervor). One did say she enjoyed the humor. (whew)
"Don't confuse the agent!"' one of them said, kinda strongly but kinda laughing.
Melanie clutched at me like a Miss America pageant down to the last two. "Are you okay?"
I'm fine, I know how to channel my inner Meryl Streep and act like it's fine, I'm fine, everything is fine, my cheeks burn like this all the time don't you worry about me.
Over the next 13 first-pages, some were also excoriated. One got a "see me after because I want this" (which was very cool) and all manner of in between. Maybe three of the 14 got their first page read all the way through with no raised hands? Maybe two?
During one read, Melanie whispered, “I wonder whose that is?” Being a veteran note passer instead of whisperer, I wrote: Look for who’s crying.
Brutal.
But hey. I think singers who go on stage with their full government names are far braver. At least we were anonymous.
Would I do it again? Yes, yes, yes. Agents are people and they all have different preferences and pet peeves, blahblah, but there’s always something to learn from a panel of experts. Always a way to become a better writer.
Best line of the day was from Sarah Fisk’s presentation on “The Modern Author’s Press Kit,” when someone asked about using AI for an author photo. The answer (duh) is no.
“Never take a job away from other creatives.”
P.S. Um, is the photo in my business card AI-enhanced? Yes. Am I a raging hypocrite? Also yes. Do as I say, not as I do, hahhahaha. Also, this is for my business card. I am nowhere near ready for an author photo and bio. Ha!
Hyatt Regency Louisville. Such a nice place and an even nicer staff. (Pretend this caption has left-aligned text and is closer to underneath the four pics of the hotel.) (Because I am tired of messing with Squarespace at this point.)
Kentucky International Convention Center is a lovely venue. Melanie’s coffee cup is so cute! I handed out maybe three business cards, oops, and now have 247 extras.