Philadelphia Writers' Conference Free Forum

On Sunday I spoke at one of the Free Forums leading up to the 60th anniversary Philadelphia Writers Conference. That's me on the right, standing with Forums coordinator Sean Toner, in a photo taken by his wife Robin. To me, this picture captures the magic of the event, held in the A.J. Drexel Picture Gallery in Drexel University's Main Building: 60 eager writers hoping to learn what they could to boost their craft, large historical figures standing mute on the walls, and Sean and I in the middle.

I was speaking on one of my favorite topics, "Those Critical First Pages." My writing friends already know this: I am a "first page junkie." While raising my sons, I would spend an odd half-hour between dropping one at soccer and picking up the other from Tae Kwon Do by ducking into my local library and reading as many first pages as I could. If the lead hooked me, I'd analyze why. If not, I'd try to figure out what stood between me and my interest in the story. Developing a talk for other writers on the topic was a natural for me. I've already given this talk several times, but Sunday's was the largest and most enthusiastic audience.

Maybe they could feel the energy as I did—that crackle in the air when people come together to pursue a passion. The figures on the wall stood in for authors published long before us, from whose words we can learn. The audience represented the next crop of writers, struggling to commit ideas and events to the page so that they, too, might leave a legacy. Sean, as presenter, and I, as speaker, stood in the middle, passing the torch of knowledge from one generation to the next. I like the fact that in this picture his white cane took on the glow of a lightsaber, as if such knowledge could banish the darkness of doubt and rejection from writers' lives.

But of course it can't. We need the darkness, it is part of the process of sinking deep within to find our truth. We need the rejection, too. It is the manifestation of the glorious fact that we humans are complex creatures with different likes and dislikes, and that this variety of taste keeps all aspects of our world—including publishing—in balance.

But knowledge can light our way back out of the darkness, and our published heroes can inspire us to transcend rejection. What Sean doesn't know: I keep an Obi-Wan Kenobi action figure beside me on my computer desk, complete with lightsaber. He represents the wisdom of the ones who came before. More than once I have picked him up to whisper in his ear: "Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

So thank you, Sean, for letting me play a part in a program that allows me to feel plugged in to such a time-honored tradition in the arts. May the force be with us all.