When We Meet in Real Life

The value of connecting in person.

Hey, this newsletter was named one of the top 15 literary Substacks by The Guardian! Pretty cool.

Also I wanted to mention that we will be doing a Mini 1000 in a month, August 15-17. More details here.

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Hi friends.

I did two events in Portland this past weekend at Literary Arts that were really wonderful, and where I was shown a lot of care. I did a workshop from 5-6 pm, followed by a reading and conversation between 6-7 pm. The nice and highly competent woman who organized the event asked me if I wanted to arrange for the people in my workshop to come in at 4:30 to do a signing, so that I could have time off between 6 and 7 before I had to go back in front of an audience again.

This was her looking out for me, and I appreciated it. She wanted me to have some downtime between the two events. I promise you that not every organizer gets that an author needs a break between events, so this was much appreciated.

But the signing line is my favorite part of the event because I can really get to know people in a way that I can’t when I’m just talking at them from a podium or the front of a classroom. So I don’t like to rush it. These are small events, 25 people, sometimes 40, but never much more than that. I surely have the time.

And if people just showed up at 4:30 cold, without having heard me speak yet, they’d have one idea of me, from my newsletters, but they wouldn’t have heard my voice out loud, and they wouldn’t feel warmed up yet, so they might not be willing to share or interact as openly. So I offered to start the signing line after the workshop, and to just let it roll into the second event.

Because I really want us all to feel comfortable with each other. If you make the effort to come out and meet me in person, I want to hear things like how far along you are in your project, and if you have trouble naming your characters, and what your feelings are about applying to graduate school, and really whatever your current dreams and failures and successes are regarding your work. Why wouldn’t I want to hear about all these things? This is the real life of a writer.

And I hadn’t done an event in Portland—hell, anywhere on the west coast—in years, since before the pandemic. So why waste this opportunity to speak to people out in this part of America? Why not just use up as much of my energy as I can? I knew I’d have it back the next day. It would be worth it.

In my biggest dreams, what I hope for is the creation of an electric thread that runs through all of us, where we share ideas and information and inspiration. In the day-to-day, I am happy just for brief moments of caring and curiosity when we at last meet in real life.

Since the 1000 Words book came out, this past year or two, I have developed an even more refined understanding of what this project is and what my role is in all of it. My job is to create the spine of something that others can build off. I know it now. I understand that’s what I can do with this project. Maybe it will evolve in the future, but for now, this is what it is.

Sometimes I think it’s like I’m throwing a giant dinner party and inviting all the best people and isn’t the world wonderful and beautiful that we can all meet and dine together?

And then sometimes I think it’s like having a dinner party where everyone I’ve invited is a stranger who deserves to be heard, and what I really need to do is offer them some food and then the joy is just to sit around and listen to these strangers and learn from all of them.

And then sometimes I think it’s like this: Here is a kitchen, and here is a stocked refrigerator, and here are the cooking utensils, and do what you want with it. I don’t even need to eat, and maybe I don’t even need to be in the room. Maybe I’m nearby if you need me. I’m just glad you’re in there making something. Because the world can be challenging and scary and terrible and all I want is for you to be able to cook and eat and talk and feel safe doing so.

These can all be my jobs. It is good to have a job. It is good to be helpful.

That day at the event as I signed and talked with people, I caught out of the corner of my eye that the last two women waiting in line had begun to chat with each other. By the end, they had exchanged information, and I felt a little emotional when I saw this happen. It was more that I could hope for, during that time where we all met in the signing line.

Anyway, that’s how I feel this last day in Portland, July 2025.

Jami

You are reading Craft Talk, the home of #1000wordsofsummer and also a weekly newsletter about writing from Jami Attenberg. I’m also on bluesky and instagram.