That flustered me. Not because I didn't know what it was about, but because I knew exactly where she was coming from: there was no punch-bang in the face within the first paragraph, that rip-roaring whatever-it-is that's supposed to be the key to getting out of the slush pile and onto the editor's or agent's desk. She'd already talked about it in the prior session, and I kept hearing the same thing elsewhere during the conference--from would-be writers, from published authors of varying quality, from agents.
Trouble was, I though that was a bunch of crap. Still do. Dan Simmons says it better than I can, and with much more authority:
Instructors at these workshops - and even some editors and agents who should know better - talk about things such as "elevator pitches" and "the power of the pitch," while barely published writers just at the beginning of their writing careers, (and who knows if they'll even have a career,) sagely counsel beginners just one step below them that to be published one must have a killer narrative hook and dynamite non-stop-action for the first few pages. The idea is to hook the reader or agent in immediately by slam-bang action, they explain, or your book will go unread.
Well, I understand how some weary - or putridly lazy - agents or slushpile readers might counsel such nonsense to beginners. What they're really saying is "put everything you have on the first page, preferably in the first two paragraphs, to show you're commercially viable because I'm too jaded and lazy to read your whole book." That's hardly a description of narrative power.
Think of all the great and rewarding books from A Portrait of a Lady to In Search of Lost Time to The Grapes of Wrath to Light in August to Joyce's Ulysses that would go unread and unpurchased if this idiot definition of "everything up front and fast" were the real definition of narrative power.
Nor is the Da Vinci Code narrative style of breathless rushing to and fro without allowing time for one's characters to sleep, eat, or go to the bathroom what I mean by narrative power. If there's a phrase for that, it might be "bestselleroid attention deficit disordered hyperactivity."
If you've only got time for either what I've written here or the rest of what he wrote, but not both, go read what he wrote.
Now, there's a certain compression that's a consequence of the short story form that demands a bit more, sooner. I've since rearranged that story to bring some more intriguing language and a better setup into the first 250 words or so (it's still not right, and it's still not published). But at the conference I was hearing the same thing about short stories and novels, and the focus was always the same: sell. Get an agent. Get published!
It took me awhile to figure out that getting published! was not my primary goal, and I knew it going in to the conference. It took me longer to figure out that "improving [writers'] craft, primarily through workshops that focus on the reading and critiquing of each writer's work" often means how to get published! Or how to get an agent! And longer still to decide that I don't really have time to attend conferences where the only barrier to entry is the ability to pay the conference fee. Figuring out how to sell it before I've figured out how to write it is pointless
The other thing I've realized is that I've got my sights set too low. I've read the work of a lot of successful authors. But do I want to go a few rounds with Stephen King, or do I want to go a few rounds with Dostoevsky, as Hemingway did?
Not that I'll ever approach any of the three. But: it's either about the craft, or it's about getting into print. It's demonstrably possible to accomplish the latter without much engagement with the former. And I don't want to accomplish that.
This idea led, in turn, to the happy realization that I have a lot of ignorance to remedy: not enough time spent with the masters, too much time spent relying on whatever natural talent I've got with the arrogant assumption that it will all somehow fall into place if I just read what's out there now, what sits in the front bays at Barnes and Noble or gets shuffled around in the shell game that is the New York Times Bestseller List. Not so. Not so at all.
Amazon's a wonderful thing: Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Flaubert, and Faulkner are on their way to me. I can't write without reading these and others and accomplish what I want to accomplish, which is to aim towards greatness. That's not to say that I'll achieve it. It's about the striving, and I know damn well that falling short of greatness is much better than falling short of the lesser-thans. It's time I stopped behaving as though I'm owed something that I haven't worked for.
And dude. You write well enough that greatness is what you should be aiming for. Just because reality TV gets onto the air does not make it great drama, ya know?