By Heather Frese

AWPed, verb. To be strolling through the Washington D.C. Marriott, heading to a panel, a bookfair, or a reading, only to be happily diverted from your target by running into a former classmate, friend, editor, or mentor. Usage: “I was headed to this panel on using witchcraft to get your book published when I was AWPed by the poetry editor of my undergrad journal, and somehow ended up at an Irish pub with Mary Gaitskill and Sandra Cisneros.”

I was AWPed more times than I can count at this year’s conference (though I never did end up at a pub with Mary Gaitskill and Sandra Cisneros). The term was, in fact, coined by a dear friend of mine who is now doing her PhD in Florida; we AWPed each other a lot. Sponsored by the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, the annual conference and bookfair takes place at a different location in North America every year. According to the AWP website, “The Annual Conference typically features 350 presentations: readings, lectures, panel discussions, and Forums plus hundreds of book signings, receptions, dances, and informal gatherings. The conference attracts more than 8,000 attendees and more than 500 publishers.” Dang. This year’s AWP in Washington, D.C. saw record attendance. The list of panel descriptions literally filled a book, and the keynote address was given by Jhumpa Lahiri. Other readings were given by Junot Diaz, Charles Wright, and Claudia Rankine, among many other literary luminaries. Many of WVU’s faculty and MFA candidates attended the conference, soaking up four days of writerly chaos, bliss, and canvas bags.

Panels are scheduled at back-to-back intervals during AWP, so it was usually a sort of roulette game to see where I ended up, as I’d often plan on one panel, get AWPed, and end up somewhere completely different. With the undefined116122.undefined116123.undefined116124.undefined116731.undefined213152.docket full of everything from publishing, teaching, editing, agent-ing, and craft-oriented panels in every genre, decisions were difficult. I ended up having two favorite panels of the conference. The first was a panel of first-time authors talking about the practical issues surrounding publishing a book, things like when to listen to editors (most always), how to promote your book (nicely and genuinely), and what to do if you hate the book jacket the publisher gives you (use one of your two shots at standing your own ground and ask for a new one). The panelists were friendly, funny, and very helpful. My other favorite panel was hosted by the Southeast Review’s Katie Cortese, and was structured around the idea of falling in literary love with an agent, and the agent with you. Full of practical tips and hints, the panelists addressed such things as how to write a good cover letter, what to do if you and your agent fall out of literary love, and how to find a match in the first place (think Match.com for writers).

If you imagine two or three football fields filled with tables, and these tables piled with literary journals, books, and swag like pens, bookmarks, and magnets, then you’ve got an idea of what the AWP bookfair is like. I used the map, and I still got lost. I think I would’ve gotten lost even if I’d had Gavin, my GPS (I usually do). A person could spend the entire conference at the bookfair and still not see everything. It’s overwhelming, in a noisy, crowded, yet wonderful “I’m surrounded by books” sort of way. My personal highlight of the bookfair was having a conversation with someone (nametag hidden) at the Michigan Quarterly Review table, only to realize midway that I was chatting with the editor-in-chief. My other highlight was meeting a girl named Hannah Fries, talking about our similar last names, and drinking the Dunkin Donuts coffee she had at her table. AWP necessitates much coffee.

And then there were the readings. Jhumpa Lahiri gave the keynote address, encouraging us to follow what we love and write. Junot Díaz gave a hilarious reading of a new story that he’s still working on (props for second person, Junot), and the poets tell me that Charles Wright and Claudia Rankine were equally fantastic. That’s not even touching on the multitude of off-site readings, my favorite of which was sponsored by Bat City Review, featuring a colleague of mine from Ohio (and Michael Martone!). And Mark Brazaitis’ mother opened the family home for a party and reading in celebration of our MFA program’s tenth anniversary, featuring readings by faculty, alumni, and current students.

The panels, the bookfair, the rubbing elbows or staring in awe at successful authors whose work you admire, all of this was amazing, yes. And I learned a lot, yes. But I think the biggest thing I took away from this year’s AWP was how important it is be part of a thriving community of writers. It was incredible to be surrounded by 8,000 other people who also used to be the weird, quiet kid who lived with his or her nose in a book. It was affirming to know that it’s not just a pipe dream to get a book out into the world, and to meet people (the formerly weird, quiet ones with their noses in books) who’ve done it, who are doing it. It was amazing to realize that I’m part of this weird, wonderful, world of writers.