New Allies, Writer’s Conference Dinner

 

   "May I sit here?"

    Thus opens the first salvo of what will either be one of the best or, in rare cases, one of the worst parts of any conference.

    If you have not been to a conference, picture a large hotel ballroom-turned Vegas dinner showroom without the glamor. Fifty, usually round, tables with white table clothes, mass produced China plates, and if you are very lucky, a bottle of wine (otherwise you should have brought you glass from the no-host bar in the hallway outside.) You look around and wonder: Where do I sit? Is there a seating chart? Wait, up front are a dozen tables with reserved signs, so maybe the rest is open seating. 

    You spy a table near the back with two, three, or four--depending on how early you are--strangers and make your way over to it and ask the above question.

   (A moment of digression and honesty here...​In my experience by the time you get to the closing dinner you will have met people and in all likelihood, will not be sitting at a table of strangers.)

    Having received an affirmative, you sit and questions begin. "What do you wright?" "What sessions did you attend?" What was your favorite?"

    The overcooked chicken, accompanied by two spears of limp asperges and cold mashed potatoes arrives, but in the midst of good conversation you hardly notice, eating half of it before it registers just how bad it is.

    This is why you came. You have found your people.

    

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