And how is that spelled?
I went to a writer’s conference this weekend and had a ball. It was a romance writers get together, which is far different from a mystery conference, or just about any other conference you can imagine. Sure we talk about plot, motivation, character arcs, etc., but the discussion invariably centers on sex. And chocolate. And eating chocolate while talking about sex. Not a bad thing at all.
Of course, I am the Complaining Woman, as my hubby has dubbed me, so I have to have something to gripe about (in a funny, Erma Bombeck way, I hope!).
First, there were the OTHER WRITERS. Now, most of the people I met were wonderful, interesting, professional women fiercely dedicated to their writing and the pursuit of publication (or publishing yet another book)—and that’s just the problem. Being in a room with 200 other writers doing just what you’re doing can be daunting, and I was torn between a feeling of sisterhood and a serious case of PMS—professional murder syndrome. I wanted to kill every last one of them.
I know that there’s room for all of us writers in the wonderful world of publication and professional jealousy (or the less poisonous ‘envy,’ as one of my colleagues wisely suggested I call it) is unbecoming. But I’m human, and humans thrive on competition, with themselves and with each other (except for at my son’s Middle School, where the traditional competition of letter grades has been 86ed in favor of the more PC “achieving/not achieving” rubric; designed so, you know, Little Johnny won’t feel bad about himself if he gets a ‘C.’ Now he’s got no incentive, so he just doesn’t care.)
So at lunch and dinner I looked around at my competition and started to think… Could I slip some arsenic into the soup of that RITA winner sitting next to me? How about an unfortunate encounter with an industrial-strength floor buffer for that 20-something who just got signed—in the bathroom—by the biggest name agent at the conference? Then I forcibly reminded myself this wasn’t a mystery writers conference and went back to thinking about sex and chocolate.
The other thing that irked me was that I made a donation to the giveaways and they spelled my name wrong in the program AND mispronounced it (flubbed up the misspelled version, too!). This bothers me only because it’s another incident in a looooong tradition of my name being misspelled/mispronounced. I don’t know why. Halpin is a simple, two syllable name—HAL and PIN—but people have been messing it up as long as I can remember (in fact, the only one who ever got it right was the immigration official in Boston c. 1880 who took my great-great whatever’s Irish surname of Halpenny and turned it into Halpin.). At least most people get the first name right; I won’t count that letter I once received addressed to “Peanet Hapne.”
Okay, so now I’m energized to get back to work, send out more queries, etc. and to hope that if and when I finally do get published my name on the book cover is spelled correctly!
Janet – No power in the ’verse can stop me…
Of course, I am the Complaining Woman, as my hubby has dubbed me, so I have to have something to gripe about (in a funny, Erma Bombeck way, I hope!).
First, there were the OTHER WRITERS. Now, most of the people I met were wonderful, interesting, professional women fiercely dedicated to their writing and the pursuit of publication (or publishing yet another book)—and that’s just the problem. Being in a room with 200 other writers doing just what you’re doing can be daunting, and I was torn between a feeling of sisterhood and a serious case of PMS—professional murder syndrome. I wanted to kill every last one of them.
I know that there’s room for all of us writers in the wonderful world of publication and professional jealousy (or the less poisonous ‘envy,’ as one of my colleagues wisely suggested I call it) is unbecoming. But I’m human, and humans thrive on competition, with themselves and with each other (except for at my son’s Middle School, where the traditional competition of letter grades has been 86ed in favor of the more PC “achieving/not achieving” rubric; designed so, you know, Little Johnny won’t feel bad about himself if he gets a ‘C.’ Now he’s got no incentive, so he just doesn’t care.)
So at lunch and dinner I looked around at my competition and started to think… Could I slip some arsenic into the soup of that RITA winner sitting next to me? How about an unfortunate encounter with an industrial-strength floor buffer for that 20-something who just got signed—in the bathroom—by the biggest name agent at the conference? Then I forcibly reminded myself this wasn’t a mystery writers conference and went back to thinking about sex and chocolate.
The other thing that irked me was that I made a donation to the giveaways and they spelled my name wrong in the program AND mispronounced it (flubbed up the misspelled version, too!). This bothers me only because it’s another incident in a looooong tradition of my name being misspelled/mispronounced. I don’t know why. Halpin is a simple, two syllable name—HAL and PIN—but people have been messing it up as long as I can remember (in fact, the only one who ever got it right was the immigration official in Boston c. 1880 who took my great-great whatever’s Irish surname of Halpenny and turned it into Halpin.). At least most people get the first name right; I won’t count that letter I once received addressed to “Peanet Hapne.”
Okay, so now I’m energized to get back to work, send out more queries, etc. and to hope that if and when I finally do get published my name on the book cover is spelled correctly!
Janet – No power in the ’verse can stop me…
posted by Janet at 9:59 AM
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