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From the President's Desk March 2010 Our Writers Conference and the Value Conundrum by Salley Shannon I've had two, distinct "why did I wait so long?" moments in my life that I can recall with vivid clarity. In the first, I'm looking into the crib where my month-old son and second child lies sweetly sleeping, wondering how I'd survived almost ten years without a baby in the house. In the second, I am on an escalator at the 2005 ASJA conference, the first I'd ever attended, although I'd been a member for 15 years. A writer I'd met the day before has just caught sight of me on my downward glide, and waved. Behind her, clumps of writers stand talking, gesturing, studying maps showing where the next panel discussions are located. I'm clutching my crib sheet of the ones I want to hear and thinking: I will never miss another conference. And then: Why did I wait so long to do this for myself? The conundrum of conferences is that you expect to learn one thing -- the how-to of social networking, for example. Or which agents might be interested in your book. You generally get that anticipated outcome. You may also get something else, something you may value more, over time. We learn our truest lessons when we think we're learning something else. They sneak up on us. It's embarrassing to admit this, but five years ago, when I attended that first ASJA conference, I was feeling a little sheepish about my chosen career path. Ashamed, even. My feelings weren't rational, but they were putting a buzz saw to any joy in writing well. From a distance, I now grasp that I was reacting to life in Washington DC, where there are thousands of reporters and editors, many of them in "limelight" jobs. What I did, working from home in between ferrying children about and serving as PTA president, seemed banal, insignificant. As different from what my reporter friends did as a designer suit and threadbare jeans. Sure, for years I'd written for big circulation, national magazines. But they weren't the ones my friends discussed. Nobody had Parents or Woman's Day on the coffee table. I knew only a handful of people who freelanced. Then and now, freelancing itself was not widely understood. Friends with a newspaper reporting background looked down on it, because they didn't grasp you could make a good living and write satisfying stories while freelancing. So my career felt threadbare. I wasn't about to start gutting chickens for a living. But I certainly wasn't proud of being a freelance writer, either. All that first morning at the conference, it gradually seeped in that there were panels geared toward helping folks learn to do what I was already doing. Some of my long-time editors were on them. The awards ceremony was lovely, but really, it was the reactions of the writers around me that began to turn around the way I felt about my career, and our profession. On the escalator that morning, it struck me that I was feeling proud of myself and what I do for a living. I hadn't felt that way in years. Every year, there are writers who send ASJA and our individual members touching thank-you letters, telling how they found their agent and then sold a book after coming to the conference. Or how they found a new market, or the courage to shift gears and learn a "techie" skill. "The conference changed my life" missives always arrive. It never fails. I arrived in New York thinking I'd collect helpful tips and contacts, and enjoy schmoozing with other writers. True. Those things happened. But the conference conundrum also kicked in. Five years later, I can't remember if I'm still in touch with the editors I met that year, or even who they were. I'm still proud of my accomplishments and what we do for a living. Proud that I'm able to make a living in this challenging way. So this is not a marketing letter; it's from the heart. I can't say it too often, because it's one of the home truths of my writing life: We writers need one another. We learn from one another in ways we can't predict. The depth of the choices Gina Roberts-Grey and David Budin have put together for us this April truly is dazzling. Don't just drool over the beautiful conference brochure. Be with us in New York next month. As I write this, the Google Book Settlement likely has been decided by the court. In late January, ASJA, the National Writers Union, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, and the Internet Society joined together to hold a workshop on what the settlement would mean for writers. We had one neutral speaker, Prof. James Grimmelmann, an NYU law professor who, together with a band of his law students, has parsed the settlement line-by-line. Paul Aiken, executive director of the Authors Guild, told us why he believes writers will greatly benefit from a new Book Rights Registry (BRR). Agent/poet/attorney Lynn Chu told us it runs afoul of so many laws that it's an abomination. It was as though we were discussing two settlements, not one. The AG sees bluebirds and money streaming down upon us. Those in opposition read the settlement language and see danger. Contracts overridden. The end of all book rights reversions. Unprecedented power given to a corporation. Copyright forever damaged. Which side is correct? Or are both sides half right and half wrong? We just don't know -- and we have to opt out before we do. It isn't fair. ASJA would have had far fewer objections all along had this been set up as ASCAP is for musicians. Only half of musicians are ASCAP members. They can decide to join, or not, as they are convinced is best for them. We, on the other hand, are being herded into the unknown via an "opt out" mechanism. We probably would have welcomed this registry, had it come with audits and fiscal oversight, and rules that bound it to act in writers' best interests. A digital rights registry that channels payments to writers, including reparations from Google, isn't such a bad idea. (Although we have an existing Authors Registry, and duplication seems unnecessary.) Instead, we were presented with a registry mostly geared toward protecting Google from individual rights-holders. One which the Justice Department itself said is likely to be controlled by publishers. This is a sweetheart deal, and we writers aren't the sweethearts. It didn't have to be this way. Your board recently said goodbye, with many thanks and great regret, to Sandra Lamb. Sandy had been serving, with her usual efficiency, as our board secretary. She resigned from the board to fulfill family duties. We know that when the time is right, she will be doing her best once again for ASJA. I'm pleased to report that the board has elected Janine Latus, who was in her third year of an "at large" board membership, to be our secretary. Thanks for raising your hand, Janine! Janine had already indicated her willingness to stand for election again, should the Nominating Committee see fit. She now has told them she is willing to run for secretary. ASJA's calendar runs from July 1 to June 30. Officers serve for a year at a time, and board members are elected to three-year terms. When Janine became an officer, that meant her board position was open for the rest of her term -- roughly six months. So, per our bylaws, the board elected a new member: Gina Roberts-Grey. You will recognize Gina's name, if you don't know her already, from recent notices about our upcoming conference. She and David Boudin are co-chairs. Incidentally, our Nominating Committee for the next election is chaired by Donna Albrecht. I'm sure you'll soon be hearing from Donna and her committee. Everything about how ASJA handles elections is laid out in our bylines. If you have a moment, take a look. You can find the committee by clicking on "Administration" on the members-only opening page. Congratulations to Janine and Gina!
Salley Shannon promises that you can come to the conference, learn, make dynamite contacts, and even have a Eureka! moment like she did -- without having to be ASJA president. Write to her at president_AT_asja.org.
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