Writer Friday: Hair of the Dog
On treating a writer's conference hangover and the necessity of persistence
When I moved to Wyoming, I had very little experience with drinking alcohol—some, but not much. The ranch I worked for at the time was populated in those days with a group of kids about my age (early twenties), and let’s say they were more experienced drinkers.
“Have a little hair of the dog,” someone said the morning after an eventful night, handing me a plate of greasy eggs and steak along with a cup of coffee1 laced with Dr. McGillicuddy’s.2
“Best hangover cure in the world,” they crowed, laughing when my response was a single dry heave. Practice makes progress, though, and during this time of my life, I became rather familiar with hair of the dog.3 It all boils down to a simple principle: you need a little more of your poison of choice (and a lot of hearty calories) to stave off the worst of the withdrawal.4
Having just gotten home from a writer’s conference5 this past weekend, I feel a little mentally hungover. Conferences are both exciting and inspiring, but overstimulating and overwhelming too. I woke up the day after with a sense of missing something, but also feeling profoundly grateful that I had the chance to go. Returning to my usual world is a little lonely and I felt a little listless—amazing how fast you get used to spending time in a group of people where everyone is working on a novel, querying an agent, or hoping the editor they pitched to will love their finished manuscript.
As I drove my kids to VBS at a local church each morning this week, I considered how to banish this funny writer’s hangover of mine.
Then it struck me: I needed some metaphorical “hair of dog.”
What else is there to do, post conference, but to return to exactly what I was doing before: trying to pound out a word count, edit my work, and put it out there to agents and editors?
It’s more of the poison I’m used to, right?
On my big computer monitor, I have a slip of paper taped along the edge, four words spelling out my mantra:
Just Keep Writing Books.
It’s my touchstone, my prayer, my inspiration, my talisman, if you will, for the writer blues. Whenever I’m not sure what to do next in my writing career, I return to this piece of advice.
Just keep writing books.
In the end, that’s what really matters, that I keep putting words to the page, keep honing my novel craft, keep telling the stories.
A writer friend of mine told me once that being published is like being struck by lightening—so much of it is about luck and timing. This truth echoes through the talks and conversations at the conference as well. So the real trick is being prepared for that once-in-a-lifetime moment.
Pablo Picasso once said, “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.”
The principle appears to be the same. My job is to keep working, to keep writing, so when the moment comes, I’m ready.
On that note, I’m both thrilled and mildly terrified by the two requests for pages I received from two editors at the conference. I was fortunate to secure two pitch sessions last weekend; the first for practice (to a lovely editor and head of a small press that isn’t buying books like The Quicksilver Scandal) and the second for an editor looking for books just like TQS.
But the first pitch went great—excellent feedback on my pitch content and presentation, as well as great conversation about my other work, which resulted in a request for pages from The Gatsby Affair.
You read that correctly, friends.
She asked for pages from a book that I’ve shelved because it’s been summarily rejected so many times by literary agents.
Whoop whoop!
The second pitch went just as well, and I was asked to send pages from The Quicksilver Scandal to them for review.
I’m now facing down the reality of getting two sets of pages ready to send to editors. Part of me is jubilant and part of my is scared, but all of me is ready to get to work.
Following a celebration of those wins, I want to temper both requests for pages with reality: it’s likely nothing will come of either.
I’m not just being a downer; I promise. I say this because A. editors and agents tend to request pages more often from in-person pitches (this is documented by conference attendees, and honestly: it’s hard to say no to people’s faces) and B. my experience suggests it’s just more likely. It’s a very small percentage of books that get picked up.
Plus, I have an email file full of rejections (or passes, as many agents like to say now) that says the odds are in favor of a “no.”
Maybe someone will read this and think I’m being pessimistic. I tend to think I’m being realistic based on hard won experience and wisdom. Don’t get me wrong: I’m thrilled I got such good feedback on the pitch and that a book on my “shelved” novel list caught some interest.
This validates the very point I’m trying to make: keep writing books, because that’s the real key. For every writer that gets a book published, there are hundreds more that don’t, and probably hundreds more that give up on the work.
That means persistence is key. And “just keep writing books” is a mantra that leans into persistence.
When I was an undergrad at University of Wyoming, I had the amazing fortune of taking a creative writing class with one of the MFA staff there, who is tremendously talented novelist and amazing teacher and mentor. She regularly reminded us that being a writer is often romanticized as a lot of things, but the reality boils down to a lot of chair time.
“It’s ten percent talent, y’all,” she’d say in her soft Virginia drawl (even after years in the West, she has the loveliest Southern lilt to her voice), “and the other ninety percent is just keeping your ass in the chair.”6
If you’re not sensing a theme yet, let me be crystal clear:
Just keep writing.
It’s the golden thread running through the conference and trailing me home again, weaving its way through my life. In this industry of publishing (the world, really) that’s running ahead of us with change (anxiety over AI, anyone?), constantly shifting and moving and rearranging, the one constant in all of that remains.
Keep writing.
Always keep writing.
The rest of it will change and shift and swirl and drive you mad—even the well-published authors at the conference told stories of things not going as expected, of deals falling through and agents ghosting them and “would you believe fifteen years after I wrote that book, someone finally published it.”
So I take that to heart. Keep writing. Keep honing my craft. Keep chasing the stories that bloom in my head with characters that ask (or demand) to be written about.
That’s what I’ll be up to this summer and fall and all the seasons after that.
Just Keep Writing Books.
You made it to the end! Thanks for reading.
Sorry, Mom and Dad. There was far more drinking than you would have preferred in these years. Looking back, I made some questionable (and outright bad) choices. But I both survived AND learned from them. I’m a firm believer that wisdom comes from experience, and a lot of experience comes from bad decisions.
Vanilla was my personal preference; in my memory, it’s delicious.
Telling this story made me laugh, because the irony of my current non-drinking life isn’t lost on me. Now, many years later, I tolerate alcohol very poorly, which has resulted in my becoming a non-drinker (though I might still have a cocktail every so often)
In case you’re wondering, the full phrase is “hair of the dog that bit you.”
This is a common English phrase now, used in reference to having a little more alcohol following a night of over-indulging to lessen the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. Funny enough, this appears to have a slight amount of science to it, in that drinking more alcohol can offer short term relief to hangover symptoms, though there’s no escaping the full effects of slamming your body with alcohol.
However, the etymology of this funny phrase stems way back in history, centered on the idea that something from the thing that hurt you (often a literal rabid dog) placed on the wound would ward off evil effects. People would often attempt to get a few hairs from the animal in question and place them in the wound. As you might imagine, there’s no science to support this.
If you’re a fellow Writer in the beautiful Cowboy State, go join Wyoming Writers! It’s inexpensive and accessible and they offer great contests, a fun conference, and a great organization to make writerly connections in.
I’m not sure these were her exact words, but it’s how I remember it. If you’re reading this (you know who you are!), please forgive me for any license I took in the memory.