Edge-Lit 2019

Edge-Lit

I survived. I lived to tell the tale with merely a flesh-wound or two; a little beat up around the edges but mostly intact.

Yes, Edge-Lit has happened. And it was great. Huge thanks to the organisers and volunteers who helped make it a magnificent day, and to the writers and attendees who were relentlessly good-natured and happy to talk and share their wisdom.

This was my first ever con as a participant and so my reflections are of a different order to that at Sledge-Lit in the winter: I was actually doing things, pretending to be the expert and in the know when in fact I know extraordinarily little.

My workshop (‘The Art of Description’) went okay; not perfectly as I still fluffed some lines and sometimes struggled to give full explanations for the things I was trying to say. But the group helped by turning it into a discussion and pulled me through. In the end I’d say it was not a triumph but a win. And so a little of the terror slipped away.

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The panel: Anna Stephens, Zen Cho, some idiot, Adrian Tchaikovsky. Photo by David Stokes, used with permission

The panel (‘Beyond the Darkness: Where does fantasy fiction go after Grimdark?’) was where the terror regrouped. There I was, sat between Adrian Tchaikovsky and Zen Cho, with Anna Stephens moderating – there was no Jen Williams as she was ill – trembling in the presence of their huge brains. Oh, and in the presence of an auditorium full of people.

It went… okay? I’d resolved not to say too much, just to contribute on each question and not be too garrulous. And that worked, for the most part. I soon found myself out of my depth, however, when the conversation veered to far from the pre-set questions, and especially on the audience questions that followed. I am now fully aware that my reading is wholly inadequate.

I was much more confident on the discussion of Terry Pratchett that broke out in the middle of the session: unexpected in a discussion on Grimdark, but that just highlights the influence PTerry has had.

EdgeLit panel Angeline

Photo by Angeline Trevena, used with permission

So, I survived with only minor injuries – I confess to being somewhat intimidated by Adrian in particular – and had only my reading to go before I could properly relax, and drink – and eat, because I’d had only snacks all day, my nerves preventing my eating a solid meal.

Except I had not to read, for no-one turned up. This is not a huge surprise: I am not a big name draw, it was the fag-end of the day and the room was rather tucked away out of the main flow. A disappointment? Yes, but also something of a relief: after all the day’s terror, at last I could unwind properly, eat some sweet potato fries, and have a beer.

And thus we enter the most important part of the con: the serious business of talking with other people. Not schmoozing or networking, though elements of both are involved, but just meeting and talking with like-minded people; catching up with old friends and making new.

I had a lovely chat with Anna Stephens and shared words with Aliette de Bodard, to drop a name or two, but most of the time was spent with unfamous people – people like me, in fact, who were striving to be in the big chairs in a year or two’s time. I mean, I say this but I was in at least one big chair at Edge-Lit but I put that down to my publisher’s publicity department rather than my own achievements.

As a friend told me on the day: everyone feels like an imposter. No-one feels like they truly deserve to be in the position they find themselves in. I did okay at Edge-Lit.

So on to drinking and the sad reflection that I had to wimp out early due to being up at 04:00 to get to the damn thing: this caught up with me just after we’d decamped to the pub. Thus I missed a proper catch-up with many of the friends I’d made at Sledge-Lit and the chance to make new.

But that’s okay. Self-care is part of the equation at cons; push yourself too hard and you’ll be no good to anyone, least of all yourself. Trying to do it all is a sure way to achieve nothing. I still had a great time. I worked through my terror. I made a decent enough impression.

That’ll do, pig. That’ll do

Events forthcoming

Imposter syndrome is vicious and cruel and unfair. It’s also not forever. Fresh off last week’s soul-torment I now find myself in the crisp, clear waters of a restorative weekend away where I did nothing, achieved nothing, but found good news awaiting on my return.

Sadly, good news (especially that which you can’t share) makes for less than interesting copy. So let me fill this column with a couple of forthcoming events that I’d love to see you at.

First of all, I’m doing a ‘meet the author’ session at the library in which I used to work. This’ll take the form of a brief chat, a similarly brief reading, and then (probably) the briefest of all Q&As; all on 31st May at 17:30.

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Earlham library was the best of places for me; I loved that job – not only working with books but helping people of all stripes for the sheer love of helping; I – and all other library assistants the world over – work without any self-interest; nothing is being sold, there is no ulterior motive but to make other people happy. How wonderful is that?

It’s also the place where I started both reading and writing seriously. Before I started there, in 2005, my reading-for-pleasure had been subsumed by studies and my writing had been a series of starts-and-fails. By the time I left (2011) I’d written three novels and was contemplating the story that would eventually turn into Night Shift.

So this signing is deeply personal to me. Expect me to tear up at least once throughout the evening, even if, as I kinda expect, it’ll only be a few friends and me.

Secondly, I’m going to be at Edge-Lit in Derby on July 13th. This is my first convention, if one doesn’t count its younger sibling Sledge-Lit, and the first I’m attending as an author. I’m going to be doing a workshop (‘The Art of Description’), a panel (The Future of Grimdark, with some of the best authors ever) and a reading.

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I’m pretty terrified (imposter!) about all this. So please do come along and tell me it’s all going to be okay, hmm?

They say nothing succeeds like success. That’s bollocks. Really what they mean is nothing makes success like friends. And I really hope to both meet some old and make some new over the course of these events.

 

Imposter

Imposter

I got my first real taste of imposter syndrome this weekend. I was on a train, staring out the window, when it suddenly occurred to me: I’m going to be mixing with some superstar authors in a few months. I was going to be mixing as one of them; I’m doing a workshop and a reading and a panel with some of the biggest names in genre fiction and how arrogant am I to think I could be part of that?

I have nothing. I have a single book out, and that unknown by anyone outside my small circle. I am no-one. I’m the gatecrasher busting the party.

And there’s some truth in this. I’m getting to Edge-Lit (as an author rather than as a punter) because I’ve asked. I’ve poked my publishers and they’ve managed to get me involved. And I’ve done nothing to deserve it other than be one of those pushy little oiks who don’t know their station.

I’m bloody terrified.

What have I done? I’ve put out a single book that no-one has heard of and on the back of it have clawed my way onto a platform with authors who have written series, won multiple awards, have clout and impact that I can only dream of.

Imposter

I’m afraid they’ll see straight away that I’m a gobby little hack with nothing to contribute; who will overcompensate with either ‘unpopular takes’ or bad puns and will add nothing to the debate. That I’ll come away with nothing but shame, a whipped dog slinking to its kennel as the thunder rolls.

I know the likelihood is that it’ll be a good, maybe even great, experience. Maybe I’ll come out with some friends, some new interconnectivities. Hopefully I’ll learn a whole lot, if it’s only to keep my mouth shut and my head down.

But it’s hard to see the brightness in the midst of a thunderstorm; hard to keep dry when the kennel leaks and your bum always sticks out anyway.

All will be fine. All’s fine now, really, about from a wave of rogue emotions.

But by golly this has hit me much harder than I ever imagined it would.