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From the President's Desk June 2010 Pokens, Peter Shankman, and Feeling Chipper Again -- At Last! by Salley Shannon Our recent writer's conference in New York was tweeted and Facebooked all over cyberspace for the first time this year. (Thanks, real-time tweeters!) ASJA's annual event for writers is one of the oldest on the East Coast. At our 2009 conference, there was a palpable sense of anxiety among us. This year, although times still are toughish, many people commented that the mood was brighter. I agree. Conference offerings, which included beginning writer, intermediate, advanced, and a new "tech" track, were spectacular. Thanks, volunteer cast of hundreds, including most notably Gina Roberts-Grey, David Budin, and Beverly Harzog. Writers are finding work. We are feeling hopeful. The theme that best characterized the conference, for me, was advice from keynoter Peter Shankman. "Plan for success!" Shankman (@skydiver) told us. Shankman noted that everybody advises you to have a Plan B so you won't fall down a well when times get rough, or you make a wrong move. "What nobody ever tells you is plan for success," he said. Shankman added that he made $3 million in ad sales on his HARO site last year—HARO being "Help A Reporter Out," a service that matches writers with sources. I'd say that nine out of ten writers listening to him in the Roosevelt ballroom have used it. Confession: I've fallen hard for the little Pokens that Shankman brought along. These are itsy digital devices—he calls them "Ninja business cards"—with anime-character faces and hands that light up when near another Poken. The little do-dahs swap the usual biz-card information, plus a photo, your Twitter handle, and the like. Shankman probably would have wowed me anyway. He's such a good storyteller you'd think he's Southern! But between the Pokens and bringing his Mom along, he turned me into a fan. His speech left many of us looking wackily demented, which is what happens when you are simultaneously gasping with laughter and nodding agreement with received wisdom. ("Remember the ‘social' in ‘social media.' For every time you tweet about yourself, tweet five times about things that are helpful, interesting or that thank someone else.") When he finished, Shankman sold the stock of Pokens he had brought with him for $20 each, and we didn't mind a bit. In fact, we pretty much mobbed him, waving $20 bills. Not only did he push forward his prediction that soon we all will have Pokens, but he left with his blazer pockets jammed with cash. Plan for success, indeed! Shankman could have sold a hundred more Pokens. We all wanted one! The prospect of having the latest, coolest device before my 21-year-old son drove me forward. I dove ahead of Jen Miller and snagged a bright pink, smart-alecky-looking Poken. After Peter and his Pokens, which has a nice ring to it, what I liked best about the conference this year was the lack of "ain't it awful" talk. Enough of that. Let's think and talk success! "We received seven applications today!" Lisa Collier Cool, president of ASJA's emergency fund for freelance writers, WEAF, wrote me not long ago. WEAF is a small, very focused charity. Although you don't have to be or have been an ASJA member to get help, you do have to be a freelance writer. Until this past year or so, WEAF might have been considered one of the best-kept secrets in our writers' world. Not so anymore, whether it is due to the economy or WEAF's recent appearance on a couple of "charities for writers" lists. The result: many more applications than board members have ever seen before. Grants are for genuine emergencies (facts strenuously checked), not for ongoing financial difficulties. Although it is on sound footing, WEAF doesn't have enough money for that sort of help, nor does it have staffers trained in counseling. Like almost all else in the ASJA realm, WEAF depends on volunteers. About half of WEAF board members are ASJA members and the rest are editors or folks otherwise connected to our industry. WEAF is a part of a charitable trust that was set up by the ASJA in 1976, and is totally independent from ASJA itself—although we do support it in our budget. Remember those "want to give a little extra for WEAF?" lines when you pay your dues, for the conference, or other items? Members do give generously. Now brace yourself for a blatant appeal: Lisa reports that WEAF now can accept monthly pledges paid via credit card, making it easy to donate on a regular basis. "Even $5 or $10 a month helps!" she says. Typically, those who apply are elderly writers who spent years living from check to check, and now are living on Social Security and extremely limited savings. The writer may have been getting by, like the 83-year-old magazine writer recently helped. He is keeping up with tech and trying to get assignments. He rebels against the word "retired." This particular fellow, whose byline many of us know, is typical of older applicants. A medical crisis gobbled up what was left of savings. "It often isn't the medical emergency that drives people to us," Lisa reports, "but that second whack on top of the medical bills: The car dies, the roof has to be replaced." WEAF also hears from mid-career writers who have had one too many wallops, especially if one of them means they are temporarily unable to work. One such is a writer we will call Cyndi, because she doesn't want casual friends—and certainly not her editors—to know she is fighting cancer. Because she has been so ill, Cyndi has not been sending out query letters or otherwise going after work, although she managed to meet the deadlines she already had. Now she is rallying, but it will be a few months before money is coming in again. Recently, WEAF stepped in to help Cyndi with a grant of $6,000, the maximum first of two grants WEAF gives worthy applicants. "Her thank-you note brought tears to my eyes," Lisa says, adding that being able to help the Cyndis of our tight little writerly world are the reason the WEAF board works so hard. "Dear Lisa and WEAF trustees: Last Saturday, in the middle of a typical [name of state deleted for privacy] snowstorm, my 28-year-old furnace produced its last puff of warm air and expired for good. For a broke single mom with cancer, this could have been the proverbial last straw. The one thing that gave me hope was remembering my conversation with Lisa the day before, on Friday, when she had told me that the Trustees had just approved me for a WEAF grant and the check was already in the mail. It arrived yesterday, just in time to pay for my new furnace, with plenty left over for other needs. The timing of it all still amazes me. Not so much that my furnace chose this particular weekend to stop working, but that the grant was processed and approved in record time. Since my diagnosis last [month deleted], I can't think of anything else that's gone so smoothly and easily. If only the WEAF trustees had been in charge of scheduling my surgery! That took weeks while your generous decision to award this grant happened in a matter of hours... "...That check has helped relieve so much stress for me at this difficult time, and I appreciate it very much. As I recover from chemo and start getting back to work, my hope is that my finances will turn around quickly, and I will be in a position someday to gradually repay the grant through donations back to the fund. In the meantime, thank you all so much." If you can help WEAF help other Cyndis, please do it!
Salley Shannon has animated her pink Poken, but not yet found the right photo to upload. Contact her, preferably with good news or money: president_AT_asja.org.
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