Writers of the Future Winner’s Survival Guide

Bring on the fire hose!

So you won Writers of the Future. Congratulations! Your story beat out thousands of entries, impressing the judges enough to become one of three stories to place in your quarter. Making you one of the three best emerging speculative short fiction authors in that quarter, and one of twelve in an entire calendar year.

That’s no mean feat. So give yourself a pat on the back. Take a victory lap. You deserve it.

Now that that’s done, time to get to work.

Among the many things you’ve earned with your win is a trip to Los Angeles, where you’ll spend a week in Hollywood taking part in a free workshop with bestselling speculative fiction authors and industry professionals. Now, if you’ve never attended a workshop before, let me be clear: this isn’t a vacation. This is work. And if you have attended a workshop before, trust me: nothing can prepare you for this.

You’re in for a week packed with all the rich knowledge an amateur author craves about the business of writing and the publishing industry. You’ll spend long hours in a room where all your questions will be answered … provided you remember to ask them. It’s demanding, but Author Services, Inc. (which runs the contest) has selected you as a winner because they trust that you can handle it.

My own experience with the workshop last week was eye-opening. For the first time, I faced the reality of what it means to be a published, successful writer. And the key is, again, it’s work. Hard work. So if you’re hoping to make it through the judging this year and attend the workshop next spring, here’s your guide to surviving (and making the most of) the Writers of the Future Workshop Week. Or as I began to call it, “Published Author Boot Camp.”

And it begins with this simple piece of advice:

Take Care of Yourself

That means both body and mind. Author Services, Inc. will tell you they’ll take good care of you while you’re there, and they’re as good as their word. Coffee, tea, and water are available on both the first floor (where the illustrators have their workshop) and in the fourth floor library (where you, a writer, will spend most of your time). Snacks are provided in the form of bowls of chips, granola bars, meat snacks, and chocolates, all refilled throughout the day. Whenever John Goodwin, president of ASI, is on hand, he’ll happily show off his prowess with the espresso machine (ask for a flat white; he knows his shit).

But while you can lead a horse to the water cooler, you can’t make him drink.

They provide all of this because they know you’re on a punishing schedule. Most days, you’ll go 9–5 with a lunch break and brief bio breaks scattered throughout the day. It’s up to you to make sure your physical needs are being met.

Remember Jet Lag is Real

When I first arrived, I’d never traveled far enough to experience jet lag before, and I really didn’t know how I’d handle it. The answer, as it turned out was … not well. It didn’t help that I took a red-eye flight from Cincinnati, and given the current state of TSA lines I had to arrive three hours early. So I just didn’t sleep the night before, thinking I could sleep on the plane.

But I couldn’t.

I was way too jazzed up about the workshop and everything that was about to happen. The awards show. A shot at the grand prize. It was all too much. I ended up watching old episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation on my phone for five hours. Then, when I got to the workshop, well, there was so much going on and I was so excited that I still couldn’t sleep. I saw my hotel room for maybe three minutes before it was off to Author Services, Inc. and I was dumped into the fray.

Fellow winner Kathleen Powell, who became my “writing bestie,” urged me to sleep, but my mind was going a mile a minute. Once I accepted I couldn’t go any further, I repaired to the hotel bar and downed IPAs until I felt tired. I woke up at 4:00 AM … which, adjusted for time zones, was around 7 AM for me.

Stay Hydrated

Southern California has a naturally arid climate, and it shows. Mornings are chilly, and overall, it seldom felt hot. On top of that, I’ve been remote since the pandemic, so I’d forgotten what it was like to work in a place with free, unlimited coffee all day. While the first-floor theater is relatively cool and windowless, the fourth-floor library is all windows, and it can get pretty toasty by early afternoon. By the fourth day, I was getting mild headaches early in the afternoon. It wasn’t until fellow first-place winner Zach Poulter told me he’d gone back to the hotel for Tylenol that I realized the headaches were from dehydration.

Look, by all means take advantage of the coffee. The Roosevelt Hotel pulls their lobby coffee urns around 11 AM, but ASI does not. However, I learned to intersperse cups of Joe with glasses of water. Incidentally, by the fifth day they’d introduced a portable air conditioner, which made things much more comfortable.

Don’t Forget to Eat

With the amount of time you spend in the workshop, it’s easy to start missing meals, and that’s a big problem. More than once, I skipped lunch in order to get some one-on-one time with workshop speakers. You gotta take every opportunity they present, right? But your attention span drops off when you’re hungry, and it affects your mood. More than once, I found myself getting antsy and irritable during the late afternoon sessions, sharing my complaints with fellow winner S.J. Stevenson, whose dinner more than once consisted of “shoveling handfuls of crisps into my mouth.”

I make it a point to eat a solid breakfast every morning, and since I get up early, I managed at least one energy-rich meal a day. There are a lot of places serving breakfast food around Hollywood, but the best spot I found is Tiago. It’s a coffee shop several blocks away (by the Thai place). Their coffee is excellent; best cup you’ll find in Hollywood, hands down. Their pastries also look good, but I wouldn’t know; after ordering a breakfast burrito my first morning, I never tried anything else. It included not only bacon and eggs but also fresh avocado and pinto beans, and was served with a green salsa that could melt ceramic. I literally licked the cup clean each morning.

Lunch is a free time, but I learned the hard way that straying too far from ASI is risky after I had to stuff down a very large and very good egg sandwich to make it back with seconds to spare. Author Tim Powers, who serves as one of the main speakers, leads a group most days to a ratty little pizza place right across the street from ASI. The food isn’t great, but the company more than makes up for it, which brings me to the next survival key:

Take Every Opportunity for Face Time

I had never seen as many bestselling authors and industry professionals in one place at one time as I did during the workshop. Not only are you seeing and hearing from these people, but you’re getting the chance to speak to them, one-on-one. I had lunch with Tim Powers. I skipped lunch to pitch my novel to the editor of Galaxy’s Edge. I had a few IPAs with Kevin J. Anderson. One night, when S.J. Stevenson and I made it to the bar about an hour before everybody else, I delighted Nina Kiriki Hoffman with my recitation of Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling.

But here’s the thing: Ms. Hoffman, a bestselling author, made it clear she wanted to speak with me. After my dramatic recitation, we discussed life as an author. The following day, I had similar discussions with Orson Scott Card, author of Ender’s Game, while we were being fitted for our tuxedos.

Remember: these people are there for you. They’re eager to answer questions, so ask them. I found myself frequently telling my fellow winners, “There are no stupid questions, because stupid people don’t bother to ask them.”

Get to Know Your Fellow Winners

Honestly, for me the best part of this entire experience was getting to know my fellow winners. You’d think, after spending all day in the workshop, as soon as the work ended we’d all scurry off. But we didn’t, and you won’t either. We spent almost all our time together. By the fifth day I seldom had breakfast alone (fellow winner Mike Strickland was the first to join me at Tiago, where we had a lovely conversation about our favorite sci-fi books). We’d have lunch together (when we could). And as soon as dinner was over, we’d all gather in the lobby.

And sure, we talked a bit here and there about our personal lives, but really the vast majority of the conversation was just about writing. About sci-fi literature, the publishing market, our writing routines and processes. I think, really, we became such fast friends because we all spoke the same proverbial language.

Writing can be a lonely profession. I have a great critique group, but I’ve never met any of them in person (even Mel, who I’ve known for years). I’ve tried attending writing groups here in Cincinnati, but I’ve found them to be painfully introverted. I have a lot of contact with other members of the writing community on Twitter (X), but a lot of them are, well … less serious than I am.

But the moment I was welcomed into the ranks of Writers of the Future winners, I knew I’d found my people. It wasn’t just a parade of memes or jokes about how little writing is getting done. Instead everyone was all about getting published, moving forward, upping their game.

Now, having met all of my fellow vol. 42 winners, I can definitively say that these are, in fact, my people.

Get Comfortable in front of Cameras

Look, if you’re camera shy, you have come to the wrong place. Throughout the workshop (and obviously the subsequent award show) there will be cameras everywhere. You’ll sit for interviews. You’ll be filmed while writing, walking, talking. And while this is being done mostly to publicize the contest and anthology, there’s another reason ASI does this: to help you grow accustomed to the life of a successful writer.

If you’ve gotten to the point of submitting to the contest, whether you admit it or not you’ve chosen this life. You’ve chosen to be seen, to be recognized. To have your work read beyond the safe confines of your family and friends. To be judged. So if you’re not comfortable in the limelight, you’d best get comfortable. Because it won’t stop after awards night.

Practice speaking in front of a mirror. Remember to think now and then about where you’re putting your hands, about your facial expressions. When the cameras are rolling, avoid bouncing on your feet or shifting your weight. And try to avoid “going to your face,” as they say in show business: if your hair is out of place or your nose itches, wait until the cameras are off. While being recorded, try to avoid clearing your throat or breathing heavily, and try to remain as still and silent as possible while others are speaking into the microphone.

If you seem comfortable in front of mics and cameras, trust me, the folks at ASI will know. And you’ll find yourself in front of them more and more. Oh, and one more thing: take all the opportunities you can for free publicity. Sign up for every podcast and interview. You’ll never get another chance like this.

And, one thing above all:

There’s No “Going Back to Normal”

For better or worse, this is one thing you need to get into your head before you ever set foot on that plane to LAX. Before the workshop week, it’s easy to believe this is another of those little milestones in life. A neat accomplishment. You get your award, mutter some grateful stuff into the mic, then you go home and that’s it.

Not so fast.

The day after the awards show was the busiest day I had there. I spent almost the entire day in front of cameras and microphones. No less than three members of the ASI staff went and grabbed something for me to eat, and I still didn’t have time for a meal from 9 AM to 9 PM.

And it doesn’t stop when you get home. Since returning to Cincinnati, it’s been blog posts and emails, phone interviews and bookstore visits. Deep down, I think, part of me at least hoped coming home would be a return to “normal.”

Well, when you get home after the workshop week, you won’t find normal waiting for you. In its place will be a new normal: the life of a published author.

You did it. You won. And part of your reward is that now, people know you. You’ve been outed as a writer, an author. Nobody will ever look at you the same way again. But that’s what you signed up for, whether you realized it or not.

That day when you hit “submit,” you accepted the chance, however slim, that you’d win the contest. That you’d get your first publishing credit. You worked hard for this, but now that’s done. Your time with the contest has ended.

Now, the real work begins. —MK

 

 

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Michael T. Kuester is an engineer by day, science fiction writer by night. An avid runner and cooking enthusiast, Michael is a passionately curious individual, and lives his life by the motto “In the twenty-first century, there’s no excuse for an unanswered question.” Over the years he’s devoted free time to researching everything from the history of naval warfare to the origins of potato chips.

Michael resides in Cincinnati, Ohio, with his partner Jen, their two children, and their freeloader housemate Eddie the Cat. His work will be appearing in the anthology Writers of the Future Vol. 42 and the magazine Analog Science Fiction and Fact.

For news about Michael’s work, visit http://michaeltkuester.com, or follow him on Twitter (X), @MichaelTKuester