I was bouncing in my seat at the first session of the 2001 Bloody Words Mystery conference in Toronto. Eager to ensure I was in the right place, I turned to the woman next to me.

"Is this the panel on unidentified human remains?"

She recoiled. Her lip curled.

"Yes – I believe this is the session on forensics," she said.

It was my turn to recoil. I know several mystery writers who I admire not only for their writing skill, but for their utter lack of pretension. This was the first time I’d mixed with the crime crowd on a large scale, however, and I suddenly realized that the easy-going approach of my acquaintances might be rare. Here I was, expecting a free-ranging discussion of body parts, only to be thwarted by political correctness. The panel moderator leaned into the microphone.

"For those of you wondering if you’re in the right place, this is the session on unidentified human remains."

Whew.

Although I dabble in genre writing, my short stories are – for the most part – devoid of rumpled private eyes, brooding romantic heros and multi-limbed space aliens. Yet I love to hang around with genre writers. The reason? Genre writers have more fun.

Did you know that you can use dental records to identify a corpse, even if all the teeth are missing? Or that your space ship is unlikely to be damaged if you get caught in a meteor shower because the meteor-to-space ratio is equivalent to one grain of sand per square kilometre? Or that the expression "magic realism" is meaningless to people in many parts of the world because, unlike Western cultures, they make no distinction between the natural and supernatural worlds? (Upon receiving this information, I looked at the empty chair beside me. Was someone unseen sitting there now? Was it someone I knew?)

Non-genre writers miss the opportunity to share these tidbits because we lack a common subject area. When we get together we tend to focus on technique: how to develop plot, character, setting, theme. These things are important – it’s just that unrelenting discourses on basic skills or the travails of the writing life can become . . . well . . . mind-numbing.

A few months ago, for instance, a member of my local writers’ association asked what kind of workshops I’d like to see at our annual conference. I chewed my lip while I considered the needs of the many.

"How about a session on how to re-write a story?"

The poor man’s eyes glazed over. "Re-writes?"

"Re-writes," I said. "A necessary aspect of the writing process."

"I know," he replied, right before his eyes rolled back in his head.

The discussion at genre conferences is not all body parts and space ships, of course. Genre writers, too, talk about the craft and business of writing. During Con-Version XIX / Canvention 22 / ConSpec 2002, a science fiction and fantasy convention held in Calgary in August, 2002, panellists explained how to develop distinctive voices for characters, recommended writing books, and advised emerging writers on the importance of networking. I listened to the judges of the convention’s short story contest critiquing the winning entries. Even though my story hadn’t been short-listed, I jotted down a page of notes on what the judges liked – and didn’t like – about the winning stories. I will keep my notes handy as I work through my next effort. There was even a session entitled "The Dreaded Re-Write." Excellent.

Some conferences, like Bloody Words, offer a manuscript evaluation service for delegates. When I attended the 2001 conference, a friendly and helpful mystery novelist provided comments on one of my few crime stories, which has since been accepted for publication. My membership with Crime Writers of Canada has shown me the range of activities that go into becoming a successful writer, from research and writing to book signings and other types of promotion. Best of all, hanging around with the genre folk has introduced me to the work of many excellent Canadian writers, whose books take up increasing space on my shelves.

Mainstream writing organizations can do the same, of course. It’s just that genre events offer added diversions. Where, but at a science fiction and fantasy convention, could you watch members of the Society for Creative Anachronism sword fighting in styles of armour that span the centuries? Or catch a glimpse of a tall, slim man dressed in a black wig and red Star Trek mini-skirt, à la Lieutenant Uhura? Attending a genre conference, or joining a genre writing organization, is worth considering the next time you’re looking for a professional development opportunity.

And what about my chance to learn about the dreaded re-write at the science fiction conference? I skipped that session to attend the discussion on magic realism. After all, there’s no point in hanging around with genre writers if you can’t have some fun.

Originally published in The Canadian Writer’s Journal, June 2002.

Copyright © Cathy Jewison, 2008. All rights reserved.