This past weekend, I was part of the faculty for the Clarksville Writers Conference (at Austin Peay State University) in Tennessee. Now in its seventh year, I enjoy the CWC because it’s a great example of a conference that just grows a little bit each year and continues to do well. (I taught there before in 2007).
The conference happens every year in the summer. If you’re in the area, consider checking it out for 2011. I will likely be there, as well.
Check Out These Great Upcoming Writers Conferences:
- Feb. 11, 2017: Writers Conference of Minnesota (St. Paul, MN)
- Feb. 16–19, 2017: San Francisco Writers Conference (San Francisco, CA)
- Feb. 24, 2017: The Alabama Writers Conference (Birmingham, AL)
- Feb. 25, 2017: Atlanta Writing Workshop (Atlanta, GA)
- March 25, 2017: Michigan Writers Conference (Detroit, MI)
- March 25, 2017: Kansas City Writing Workshop (Kansas City, MO)
- April 8, 2017: Philadelphia Writing Workshop (Philadelphia, PA)
- April 22, 2017: Get Published in Kentucky Conference (Louisville, KY)
- April 22, 2017: New Orleans Writers Conference (New Orleans, LA)
- May 6, 2017: Seattle Writers Conference (Seattle, WA)
- May 19–21, 2017: PennWriters Conference (Pittsburgh, PA)
- June 24, 2017: The Writing Workshop of Chicago (Chicago, IL)
- Aug. 18–20, 2017: Writer’s Digest Conference (New York, NY)
I taught two workshops: one on getting an agent, and one on nonfiction writing. Also in attendance was literary agent Gordon Warnock (Andrea Hurst Literary), who came in all the way from Sacramento to take pitches and talk with writers.
The conference also featured keynote speaker Alice Randall and southern gothic writer William Gay, among other fine speakers and guests. All in all, a fun, medium-sized conference. (See the conference website here.) One highlight was the end banquet at the Clarksville Country Club, where I lost my keys and was convinced that they got packed up with books in boxes taken offsite. The entire club staff was looking for the keys under tables and such, when one woman walks up to me holding my keys and asks, “Are these yours? My husband had picked them up thinking they were mine.”