Everyone has a story

I’m excited about the next season of Only Murders in the Building. I don’t know when I’ve laughed harder than watching this show on Hulu. One episode last season hit a bit close to home, when a screenwriter character stated that the first and most important part of being a writer is looking the part. He puts on glasses and a fake beard to try to look like Charlie Kauffman. We see him ironing elbow patches onto a corduroy jacket, and the look is complete.

I have to admit, as I was packing for a recent writer’s conference, I wondered what in my wardrobe made me look most like a real writer. When I picture that real writer, I’m right there with the Kauffman-aping screenwriter—I see the beard and the corduroy jacket with the elbow patches. And a pipe and a hot cup of coffee.

A beard? I’m not imagining myself as a woman writer? I censure myself for my internalized sexism and then realize I’m picturing my own father circa 1989, in his job as a writer/editor of The American Baptist Magazine.

Unfortunately, I don’t smoke a pipe, but the hot coffee is a must. I land on jeans, Chuck Taylors, a stack of climate message-Ts, and a blazer with no elbow patches. I figure you probably need to earn the elbow patches.

It must have worked, because no one asked me why I, obviously not a real writer, was at this writing conference.

The characters bring this problem to Maya Rudolph, the all-powerful Judge. Her solution? Destroy it all and try again.

I was not alone in my imposter syndrome. One woman said to me, “I hope they know I’m not just a hobbyist.” Does that mean this is your full-time job? “Oh, yes. I was a travel agent for the state, but I quit my job last April to write romance full-time.” Oh. Yeah. I’m definitely a hobbyist, I guess. My regular job isn’t going anywhere.

Most of the conferences I go to are public health conferences, where I know a lot of people. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been to a conference where I didn’t know anyone.

Chatting with strangers over a cup a coffee was a delightful part of this conference. It’s like my other favorite hobby, chatting with Uber drivers, minus the subtle threat of kidnapping.

As part of the standard small talk, one writer asked where I am from. I’ve been in Washington for about 20 years, but I grew up outside of Philadelphia. “Well! You’ve done wonderful work on your accent!” Have I? Maybe he thinks we all talk like Rocky Balboa in the Philly suburbs. Is there something wrong with the Philadelphia accent? Have I really lost it? Probably if I went home and argued with my mother it would come back loud and clear. Really, I think a lot of our regional accents are increasingly erased in favor of the media English spoken by national media broadcasters and sitcoms. Which is why, to the bafflement of us both, I responded with, “Thank you, I watch a lot of TV.”

I just loved asking people what they were writing. Sometimes I was surprised by imaginations that didn’t quite seem to match the writer’s vibe. I sat down at a table to introduce myself to a very elderly man, hoping to provide some social media advice. He had mentioned in the previous session that he had three followers on social media, but one recently died. So, two. I asked him what he was writing. Then I repeated myself louder into his hairy ear. “Romance,” he said.

My favorite writers were the memoirists. Chatting with a memoirist is a fast track to intimacy and wisdom. You hear about the most difficult part of a person’s life and how they made meaning of it. I learned about abortions, infertility, divorces, family secrets, and transformations. One woman told me about her husband who passed away after building an idyllic family life with her, leaving her drowning in grief. Eventually, she met a wonderful man from New Zealand, found herself more adventurous than she knew, and lived a sunny and spectacular second act. About a year ago, he passed away too. Now her book is helping her make sense of her losses and set goals for the rest of her life, all seven of which start with the letter F—fun, friends, family…none of them were that F-word, but now that I’ve thought that, I can’t remember the rest of them.

I left the conference with helpful tips for my book, lots of new contacts, and a sense of belonging I did not expect to feel. Hearing people’s stories brings you closer together. As Brene Brown says in Braving the Wilderness, “People are hard to hate close up. Move in.” Tell your stories. Ask for stories and listen closely. Build your community.

(Oh, some people had apparently earned their elbow pads already, but not as many as you would think.)