ACFW Conference 2016

With the encouragement and pressing of my counselor and dear friend, I gathered up my courage and resources and flew across the country to Nashville, Tennessee to attend the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) Conference.

To be honest, I had no idea what I was getting into. I think I had some vague idea of workshops/lectures about how to write (in a general sort of way; I hadn't thought what exactly they'd be teaching) and meeting other writers who are working on their stories. Also, though I didn't realize till I got there, I think I had assumed that a good number, if not most, of them would be fantasy writers like myself. Granted, this latter assumption probably came because most of my good friends are fantasy writers and/or enthusiasts so I thought the rest of the world was the same.

Boy was I in for a surprise.

Now to debunk all the assumptions I held coming in:
1) "workshops/lectures about how to write": OK this one wasn't actually wrong. Most of the sessions I went to were about how to create believable characters, compelling stories, realistic settings, and tasteful presentation. However, there were also lots of things like points of view (called POV and referring to whose view/head you're telling from) and platform (how visible you are, mostly via social media, to people not family and friends) that I hadn't really considered or even thought of. Also, Ted Dekker, the key note speaker, imparted some fantastic advice about writing/story sources, that the greatest stories are those about transformation and come from a place of self-discovery, learning a truth or lesson with and through the characters. By the end of the weekend, my head swam with everything I'd learned and wanted to implement. We'll see how I do in integrating them.

2) "meeting other writers who are working on their stories": Again, not entirely untrue. Everyone that I met was working on something. However, what I hadn't expected was for many to already have finished one if not several novels and a good number of the authors already published. I had thought that many would be like me, coming to this conference with very little finished and desirous of learning how to finish well. It was very humbling, and a bit intimidating, to meet people who are so much further along in the writing process than I. One thing I must say though is that everyone I met was encouraging and friendly to the utmost. While I felt a bit inadequate being there in terms of my writing, I found it comforting to be surrounded by so many who hoped, even in a casual way, for my success out of a sense camaraderie.

3) "that a good number, if not most, of them would be fantasy writers": This was probably the most erroneous of everything I thought. Most of the people I met wrote romance in some form (contemporary, historical, suspense, high-adventure). In some ways, I suppose this shouldn't have surprised me since romance is apparently the most popular genre because everyone wants love. In reality, the fantasy/sci-fy/paranormal crowd (called speculative apparently) is one of the smallest and less desireable than many of the other genres to publishers and agents. However, I was still able to meet several other fantasy writers who were lovely and encouraging.

Overall, an amazing adventure that I am very glad I took. I have returned with so many new tricks to try and processes to practice.

However, I have also returned with questions. Seeing all the complications of the publishing world and the dedication that many of the others around me possessed, it made me look at my own desire for writing. Do I want to pursue this more intentionally or allow it to stay as it is, an occasionally dabbled-in hobby? But not only was my writing passion questioned but even my relationship with God. Throughout the conference, people talked about how the Holy Spirit encouraged their writing or how their stories came out of their searches into problems with God's help. It made me face the fact that not only is my writing largely done on my  own strength but also most of the rest of my life. While I have been learning to live in grace over the last year and a half, I still have well-ingrained habits of trying to do things on my own that must go if I am to grow not only as a follower of Jesus but also as a writer. So lots to ponder.

On the River and the Road

I really should get around to writing when I am not requested to if I really want to be a novelist but such is the way life is at the moment. This is a poem I wrote for an event at school that was held on the feast day of St. Christopher. Professor Gaelan Gilbert, who organized the event, asked me to write something with the theme of travel since it was the end of the semester and people would be travelling and since St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers.

On the River and the Road

I read “The road goes ever on and on.”

Great wisdom did it sound, in truth, so I

Upon the threshold stood and looked anon

To see if some small path I could espy

Run forth from hearth to meet expansive sky.

But all was dark and overgrown, much more

Like some great wilderness from times gone by.

I dared not venture forth, alone and poor;

'Tis dangerous to step outside one's door.

On route far off, a man with burden great,

Two beams of wood upon his bended back,

I watched him stumble, fall beneath the weight

Behind a hill. I ran for fear his pack

Had overwhelmed its bearer and through lack

Of strength, the man now lay alone and hurt.

However, I was taken quite aback

To see not man nor beams upon the dirt,

Instead, to find a child very much alert.

The clouds drew cloaks of grey o'er Phoebus' face

And threatened storms with rumbling thunder drums.

I tried to lead the child to a safer place

But he continued on the road, past slums

And farms, past ruling king and man who plumbs,

With something like warm kindness in his eye.

But then he came to where the road becomes

A shore upon the riverbank. Nearby

The ferryman with ugly face rose high.

Upon his shoulders climbed and sat the child.

The man began to cross the river broad

As winds convulsed the waters as if wild.

With every step, the storm grew loud and cawed

While he seemed to lean longer on his rod

'Til midway through, it looked as if they'd sink.

Yet he still walked and reached the shore. I, awed

By strength of will and faith pushed to the brink,

Was left on further shore alone to think.

But lo, the child turned 'round with hand outstretched,

A hand, I saw, which had been scarred by nails.

His eyes drew mine with love and sorrow etched.

The ferryman returned amidst the gales,

Extending to me a hand that never fails.

I took that hand and found myself alone

Beyond the threshold, on the road, with dales

And mountains growing clear 'neath sun that shone

Anew betwixt the clouds that soon were flown.

So there I stood without my haven’s door,

Exposed to all unknowns that could befall,

Whate’er that man or Nature had in store.

Fear gripped my heart with thoughts of pain and gall.

But then a wind blew past my face, a call,

A whisper spoke my name within the breeze,

Which calmed and courage brought to my heart small.

I found I need not be at such unease
When unseen hands will hold in troubled seas.