Posted on

A Sense of Place

This weekend, we embraced our roots.

Two of our team members attended the Writers Conference of Northern Appalachia (WCoNA) deep in the Appalachian countryside in Cambria County in our home state of Pennsylvania.

Writing is an isolative act, and if you’ve had more than a few minutes’ worth of conversation with me about writing, you’ve probably heard my impassioned speech about how writers need writers. Usually I sing the praises of writing groups, but today? Today’s about feeling part of something even bigger.

Conferences.

WCoNA is a real gem. It’s big enough to walk away each year with new connections, but intimate enough to have real conversations with the presenters and attendees. The focus is on craft, and the full day on Saturday offers five sections, each with multiple topic options to attend. There’s something for everyone, from poetry to fiction, from memoirists to novelists.

What makes this my favorite conference, though, is the focus on place.

WCoNA holds up a mirror for me and then says, don’t look into your own eyes. Look around. Look behind and beside yourself.

All of the attendees are connected deeply by our sense of place, and even though we have sessions on marketing and building craft and submitting our work, thematically the organizers wrap us up in Northern Appalachia.

And I love it.

From the panel and open mic on Friday night to the keynote address Saturday morning, we were steeped in the experiences of the rust belt. Of coal and oil and natural gas mining that stripped our land and our families bare. The unspoken kinship of our grit and resilience, that rose out of the clouds of dust from our dirt roads on dry days. The Appalachian wilderness that fostered the wildness in our hearts.

WCoNA is a reminder of who I am, and of the importance of introspection. I don’t necessarily write about Northern Appalachia, although some of my pieces are set here. I don’t necessarily center place in my writing, although it’s certainly informed by my experiences here. We are all a sum of our parts, and place is an important one. If you haven’t done much introspection on place, I’d strongly encourage it. Being intentional about place in your writing adds depth and layers to your story, and creates a richer and more memorable experience for your readers.

This weekend, I had the honor to sit among a group of like-minded people, all acutely attuned to how this place has molded us.

And I can’t wait to do it again next year.

Posted on

Pride and Exuberance

Vendor table under a black tent with rainbow decorations on the sides in a park surrounded by trees

Yesterday I had the absolute joy of being a vendor at our local community Pride event.

All day, a steady stream of people came by my booth. We chatted about books, both as readers and as writers. We talked in excited tones about our favorite thrillers, we laughed about our unwieldy TBRs, and we discussed how isolating writing can be. It was a long, physically taxing day, and I loved every single second of it.

The day was hot, the park venue was muddy, and there were more bugs per square inch of air than I’ve seen in a while. Not one person among the hundreds I saw and spoke with seemed to care, though—me included. We came together in a place of safety and love, where everyone was free to be who they are and express themselves in the ways that felt natural. We accepted each other without question. We were—and are—a community.

As the world around us gets harder to navigate and as we find ways to weather the storms stoked by others, community is more important now than ever. The nature of what we do is isolative—we write alone. We read alone. And sure, we enjoy those things. But no matter how introverted we may be, belonging is an essential human need. Community helps insulate us from the ills of the world.

Reach out, friends. Join a writing group (if you’re local to me, I run one! Shameless plug: ask me about it). Frequent your local library and be among like-minded folks. If you’re already part of these things, invite others to join. Whatever it is you do, find your community and stick together. I know it can be scary to meet new people and be vulnerable enough to reach out, but we’re out there and we’re welcoming, and we can find each other if we’re all willing to look.

Friends, we need each other.