Fever

Many of my writing friends have recently returned from a big, annual professional conference. A few are about to head for a fabulous summer workshop. Their energy buzzes against my skin. Hot and dazzling.

I remember this feeling.

It’s Conference/Workshop Fever.

Talking jag or tongue tied, sweaty palms and dry mouth, the symptoms vary but victims agree there is one constant. It makes writing even harder than usual.

No matter how I’ve tried to inoculate myself, I’ve come down with a case once or twice. For me, it starts with a burst of energy. My brain is jazzed. Comparisons get the upper hand. “That woman tweats everyday and still finds time to write books AND wear nail polish?” I start waxing lyrical as a beatnik, “Boom! Pow! Feel that? Communication is life!” Then imagine the alpha and omega of career scenarios occurring before the end of the month. No, the end of the Week!

I’m a wreck.

Take it from me, Conference/Workshop Fever is a serious condition. Complications can go on for weeks. I’ve known people whose writing has been paralyzed by a severe case.
If you’ve just come back from a conference or plan to head out soon, here’s my tried-and-true medicine:
Start with Decompression. Take off the heels, the suitcoat, the badge. Get into your softest slouch clothes. Your work in the yard shirt. Your flipflops. Outer transformation signals inner transformation. (That’s why Cinderella needs a dress to go to the ball, people.)

Core Dump. Call a friend, your spouse, a dog…tell them everything. The horror of the cab ride. The funky smell in the hall. The man who tried to pick you up in the elevator. The woman who tried to pick you up at lunch. (We’re a randy bunch, we writers.) The only rule about the core dump is—do not write it down. No emails. No blogs. No loop posts. Seriously. You are not in your right mind and cannot be trusted with public speech. Step away from the keyboard until the fever passes.

Slow down. Sit down. Too fast on the reentry to real life causes heart aches and pains like a diver ascending too quickly from the pressurized depths of the sea. You need a few days in a conference -free hyperbolic chamber of space. The bathtub? Couch in front of the TV? The gym? You know where you best decompress. Plan to spend some time there.

What do you do in a hyperbolic chamber? Nothing. Chill. Conference and workshops are about doing, absorbing, reaching out. Believe it or not, similar all the other life forms on the planet, you too are affected by the rule that growth is followed by stasis. The rest period. Don’t fight it. It’s part of the process.

Next comes….

Sleep. You thought changing back into your usual clothes and going to the gym were enough to fuel you back to normal? You’re funny.

Get a good night’s sleep. Or a weekend full of naps. Your subconscious needs to work on all you’ve seen and done. You need a couple of REM cycles to process that avalanche of new information. Sleep helps your instincts read the people you met, filter the ideas you have, focus on the next important step.

Send a Thank You. Someone at the conference taught you something. Someone’s workshop lit the lamp of inspiration. Someone was a pleasure at the dinner table. Tell them. It’s an important part of getting past the fever, trust me.
Download. Now it’s time to write everything down. Journal. Make a To Do list, however you work best. Flush it all onto an empty sheet. Random images, odd thoughts. People to contact. Dates to remember. A phrase you heard. A new drink you tried. The striking intimacy of being in an elevator with someone whose work you know, whose words moved you. The way that time shifts, elongating then snapping back, over before you know it.

Note the things you need to do in your calendar. Stuff everything else (receipts, hotel key, notes) into a folder. Close the top. Push it to the back of the desk. Don’t look at it for a while. Days, weeks. However long you need.

The fever’s past. You’ll live.