AWP Is Scary
An Undergraduate Guide to Surviving Your First Conference
The literary industry, surprising to no one, is about connections, and when attending The Association of Writers and Writing Professions as an undergraduate, you have none. My first AWP was in 2023 at the Seattle Convention Center. I was not old enough to attend any off-site events, seeing as they were all hosted at bars I could not legally get into, and therefore spent my week exploring Puget Sound with my fellow undergrads and rewatching Bridgerton Season Two.
Any article you read about AWP will tell you about the nose-in-the-air vibe of the organization. We asked our professor what to expect at AWP before leaving, and he said, “The walk and glance. Your badges are your ticket. If someone looks down and fails to recognize your name or organization–” he shook his head. “They just keep walking.” I went in expecting to be ignored by the professionals of the field who have been in the literary boxing ring for longer than I’ve been alive, and I was, with the exception of those who cooed over me and my friends, saying, “I love seeing the undergrads, they’re so cute! They still have light in their eyes.”
So how do you explore North America’s largest literary conference when you have no stakes in the game and no one has any clue who you are? You smile, you observe, you register for the work exchange, you compliment people’s outfits, and you try your best to be kind. And you take the conference room by room, and remember you have an entire career ahead of you to be the center of the conversation. Right now, focus on learning how to take notes on your phone without it looking like you’re texting.
Registration: Have your QR code ready to scan. No one wants to see the first-timer struggling to find their registration code. When the little screen inevitably fails to scan your code, make a joke and try again. Hand the attendant your phone if they reach for it. Take your badge with your university’s name on it, take your tote bag if they have it, and skedaddle. If you’ve made it through, you’ve passed the first test. Now you can blend in.
Work Exchange: This is your chance to chat with people. And to get into the conference for free. I was assigned as line attendant first thing Thursday morning, when the bulk of people were registering. I had not yet finished my coffee. I was supposed to tell people to take out their QR codes. I instead stood to the side and fiddled with my lanyard as I complimented people’s pants, hair, and choice of tote bag. This is fashion week for all writers, and they have had their outfits planned for months. Let them feel good about themselves.
If you are working a 7:00 am shift on the first day of the conference: know the locations of the nearest bathrooms, how to get to the book fair, and the nearest coffee shop. I lost years of my life because I failed to know the nearest place to get a latte.
Chat with everyone. I met several poet laureates, who I attempted to offer me advice and then got distracted talking to one another while I stood awkwardly behind them. I let a woman borrow my phone to text her partner because she had forgotten hers, and later got free stickers from her as a thank you. Everyone feels like they don’t belong. Let them know you’re nervous too.
Panels: I attended a panel about writing queer sex at AWP ‘24, and when the participants were asked if they felt liberated when writing about queer sex, two of the four said they did not write it often, actually. Ignore the people on the panels that have never done the thing they are trying to teach you about. Listen to the people who drop the line “what will queer people write about when they are done writing about AIDs” and listen to the poet who started her reading off with the line “I am gay for corn” and discuss “shaping perspective with idiosyncratic language.” You are not here to reinvent the way you write, or to abandon every stride you’ve made in college based on an off-handed comment from a writer that says the way you start your story is wrong. The people here have been published, and know about the industry, and are cool. But you don’t have to be them to be successful.
Book Fair: The first time I entered the book fair, it was an overstimulation nightmare. It’s okay to bring earplugs. The booths, hundreds of them all lined up in neat little rows, were full of people and presses that I had given presentations on, hoped to work for one day, wrote scathing reviews of for opinion-based class reflections. The booths sat in the center of the Seattle Convention Center’s basement, sheets hung behind them to create the illusion of privacy and the air of approachability. It was like every person I had ever thought about during the first two years of my publishing and editing degree was suddenly at my first public performance.
Ignore the people that are trying only to sell you things. Talk to the people who smile at you cautiously, the ones that nod as you walk past their table. Turn around and stop by, ask them how their day is going. Take all the free stickers you can carry, but don’t buy the literary journals, they will give them out for free on Saturday. Buy from small presses on Thursday, they need your money, and larger presses on Saturday, they can afford to give you discounts. Take it row by row. You are an anonymous face in the crowd, unless you choose to stop and say hello.
Let AWP feel like an adventure. There are endless opportunities to make connections if you want them, but it’s okay to just float through the sea of Doc Martens and beanies and black coffee this first time around. You have your entire career to explore who you want to be in the industry. Attend panels, take from them what you like, and consider why you disagree with the points made. You will pick up connections along the way if you smile at people.
At AWP ‘24, the woman who read the “I’m gay for corn” poem was manning a table right next to ours at the book fair. My girlfriend and I stopped by to tell her how much we enjoyed her reading last year, and that we frequently reference her poem. We both follow each other on Instagram now, and while she isn’t offering me a book deal, we made a connection. Connections don’t have to show themselves in the form of acceptance letters to the University of Iowa or as job offers from the University of Chicago Press. Connections are the people you chat with, and pick up free stickers from, and direct to the coffee shop you now know is around the corner.
Sarah Rose Ledet (‘25) is currently studying for her BA in Creative Writing and Publishing & Editing at Susquehanna University. She is a queer poet and speculative fiction writer from the Poconos, Pennsylvania. She spends her free time hoarding stuffed dinosaurs, collecting shiny rocks, and teaching tiny children how to do gymnastics.