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Last week, the night before I was scheduled to be a speaker at the SCBWI regional “mini MFA” conference in Austin, I was invited to a reception the organization was putting on at a local coffee shop.

Anyone who knows or has met me at an event may be surprised to hear that I often feel socially awkward and nervous. Or maybe they will not. I might flatter myself that I’m covering this better than I think I am, but having grown up in a family of true extroverts and been a former actor I’ve become a learned extrovert, adept at faking it till I make it.

But situations like this are still always a bit nerve-racking for me—and perhaps for many of us. Despite that at a writing event we know we’re all there for related reasons and with shared interests, it’s still challenging to walk into a gathering of complete strangers and MAKE CONVERSATION. The idea of approaching a group of people who don’t know you and basically asking to become part of their social group often feels like you’re an invading pathogen plunging into a gathering of T-cells.

In a field where much of your success often hinges on how well you can talk to other people about your work (or anything), how can you navigate these situations with grace, confidence, and even some measure of enjoyment?

This is the kind of situation an author might find themselves in fairly often. Whether it’s at writing events with other authors, or you’re pitching your work to agents and editors, or talking about it with readers at events, or even in daily encounters—if you’re writing and you plan to share your writing then at some point you’re going to have to talk to people about it. People you don’t know and who don’t know you.

It can be fairly terrifying. If you happen to be a writer who is more prone to introversion than extroversion—which seems rather common in our field—then you can magnify that fear factor. And if you experience any level of anxiety, social or otherwise—which studies say is on the rise among many people—gatherings and conversations like this are even more daunting.

In a field where much of your success often hinges on how well you can talk to other people about your work (or anything), how can you navigate these situations with grace, confidence, and even some measure of enjoyment?

Find a friend

This may not always be possible in every social engagement—for instance if you’re pitching an agent or editor one-on-one—but finding even a single friendly or familiar face among the crowd can make it feel less like you’re infiltrating a faceless foreign herd.

At writing events I’m likely to start by connecting to a single person—often someone standing alone and looking as uncertain as I feel—and striking up a conversation. It’s so much easier to engage one-on-one—and then you don’t feel as alone and vulnerable as you navigate the larger group. It’s a social safety net.

Because I don’t work in the children’s/YA markets I didn’t expect to know anyone despite that the SCBWI event was in my hometown, so I started by chatting with the organizers welcoming people and signing them in (they’re there to grease the social wheels, so take advantage if they aren’t pulled in too many other directions!). But once inside I was pleasantly surprised to run into a fellow Austin-based editor and writer I know, and once we started chatting it was easy to osmose into various other conversational groupings.

Even if you don’t happen to know anyone yet in the room, it helps me to remember that we’re all here to talk about our craft and meet others within the industry. We’ve got built-in commonalities, so it’s easy to find conversation starters that are likely to spark a connection.

And it also helps me to remember the next point:

Relax into solidarity

Chances are good that more people in that room are feeling some level of anxiety or awkwardness, even if it may not seem that way. It’s human and normal to be cautious with strangers—it’s one way we evolved to survive—and a lot of us have at least some level of trepidation about it. What will I say? Am I interrupting? Will they like me?

Be brave and plunge in. Others may be grateful you had the confidence and courage (because it will come across as such whether that’s what you’re feeling or not) to do what they’re likely too nervous to do: approach a group already chatting or expand their conversational circle beyond the people they already know.

Because these feelings are so common it can create instant connection and empathy to simply acknowledge what you’re feeling: “Hi, I don’t know anyone here and it’s always nerve-racking for me—mind if I join your conversation?”

Don’t take over

It’s tempting (at least for me!) to feel you have to “earn” your place in a new group by being a sparkling addition to their conversation—but beware overcompensating and becoming “that guy”: the boor who joins an existing social dynamic and then hijacks it.

It’s okay to introduce yourself and then just listen to whatever the group may have been talking about, contributing here and there if something strikes a chord. No one expects you to come into the crowd and be Virginia Woolf (and if you do, they might find you less a charming raconteur and more a self-focused showboat).

But chances are also good that they may ask you about yourself or what you write. It can be helpful to have a brief answer ready—one that offers conversational links to spark more interaction, rather than keeping the spotlight on you: “I live here, but I’m a transplant from the East Coast. I really love the people and culture in Austin—what’s your favorite thing about the area?” or “I write historical fiction; what’s your genre?”

My go-to in groups like this is, “I’m a book editor—I’ll be speaking this weekend at the event. Tell me about your writing”: open-ended enough that they can talk about their genre, their process, their career, or anything else that may lead to an interesting discussion.

Ask open-ended questions

This is an art that, once mastered, is like a conversational superpower. We’re often hard-wired to ask questions that immediately dead end with the answer: “How are you?” is going to yield a succinct “Good” or “Fine, thanks.” “What do you do?” will get you a brief job description. Yes or no questions will yield a single-word answer.

Instead, ask something that gives the person the opportunity to expand: “What’s your day been like so far?” or “How did you get into your line of work?” or “What do you love most about writing young adult novels?”

Most of us genuinely enjoy talking about our own interests, and especially in a community of writers you are surrounded by people who share yours. One of my favorite things about writers’ groups is talking with people who understand the unique challenges and joys and strange vagaries of what we do.

But I also love meeting people who have life experiences or hobbies or interests that are completely different from mine. It feels like it opens up my world, and it always makes me realize how complex and interesting people are.

That leads us to the next strategy:

Be genuinely curious about people

These connections, while often brief and even casual, can add a lot to the fabric of our lives, especially at a time when so many of us are feeling isolated, alone, or divided.

One woman and I talked about how much we loved writing—and yet that neither of us ever dreamed of quitting our “day jobs” because we genuinely enjoy them and relish the brain break from creative work. Another told me how much she enjoyed making school appearances and why (the kids, their curiosity and joy that make her work feel fresh every time); yet another was a former editor at a Baltimore paper, and we shared journalism stories (I used to be a freelance features writer and columnist).

I met a guy who had designed a tabletop game, and I learned about game design and anime and the vibrant world of analog gaming. He also happened to be the executive director of another local writers’ group, and told me about some of the community activities they hosted—one of which I’m headed to this week…where I hope to enjoy another evening in the company of writers talking about writing and meeting more people I don’t yet know.

If I hadn’t let myself be curious enough about people to ask questions and explore their answers more fully, these are interactions and potential connections I’d never have made.

Don’t be boring

Believe it or not, nobody cares about the minutiae of your manuscript as much as you do. One reason people may be reluctant to open a conversation at an event like this, especially an agent or editor, is that they fear getting sucked into a thirty-minute detailed recitation of every character, plot, subplot, and theme of your story.

Let me reiterate in the kindest possible way: They do not care.

Think about how you might answer someone asking about a movie or TV show you’ve seen—you don’t rehash the whole thing in its entirety, just the main storyline: “Black Rabbit is a crime thriller miniseries about two formerly close brothers who get ensnared in the dark underworld of New York City nightlife when one returns years after his brother forced him out of their family bar/restaurant, with a crime boss on his tail.”

Crystallize your story into a clear, enticing brief summary like this, but offer some hook that allows them to ask more questions about it, the same way that in a job interview you learn to answer “Tell me about yourself” with conversational volleys that give the other person something to sink their teeth into. If the above was your own story, for instance, it could be something like, “What I loved writing most was the relationship between the brothers—they were once close and still want to be, but like so many siblings there’s so much history and tension that gets in their way; I based it partly on my own family story.”

Notice how there’s an embedded opportunity here, almost a compulsion, for the other person to dig a little deeper. “How so? In what way specifically? What makes you say that?” All of which, incidentally, are the kind of open-ended exploratory questions I mentioned above that keep the conversational volley going.

It gets you talking about yourself and your writing, yes, but it also lets them know you a bit better. And no matter how good your book is, it’s human nature to want to work with people we like. If you’re a ball of nerves mechanically unspooling every detail of your story, you’re not giving the other person any way to know you and like you. It just feels like you want something from them.

Good conversation invites people out of their own bubble and allows them to expand yours.

It’s not just your book that you’re presenting; it’s yourself, whether in this conversation with someone you hope may want to represent or publish it, or a group of potential readers you hope might be intrigued enough to want to buy your book. Painstakingly describing the plot isn’t going to entice most people in conversation any more than it does on the page. It’s character we hook into, and that’s no different in real life. You’re the character, bub. Make yourself dimensional and interesting. Draw people in and make them want to know more, just as you do with the characters in your stories.

Give as much as—or more than—you get, meaning don’t hog the conversation, but make it a two-way street. A friend of mine calls endless monologuing a “nonversation,” and that’s a perfect description: loudspeakering yourself and your thoughts and your info at someone, instead of engaging in a dynamic exchange of insights and exploration.

People aren’t used to being asked much about themselves, unfortunately—perhaps especially the industry pros at these events who are used to being at the receiving end of a fire hose of words from people desperate to be chosen by them. If you’re the person who takes an interest—“How did you get into agenting?” or “What do you love about working in publishing?” for instance—you’re going to stand out in the most appealing way.

Again, it’s okay to admit you’re nervous. They know it anyway, and it often creates a point of empathy and defuses the tension. But don’t dwell on it. That gets uncomfortable fast for everyone.

And hopefully it goes without saying, but don’t bad-mouth anyone—ever. This is a small business and people tend to know other people within it, but even if they don’t, trust me, they’re drawing more conclusions about you for your negative words about someone (no matter how justified it may seem) than about whoever you’re talking about. And it raises a big red flag of nope from someone considering working with you.

Assume everyone is an ally

One of the people I was speaking with at the SCBWI event confided that she was pretty nervous about her first pitch to an agent the next day. I gave her what I always considered the best audition advice I’d ever been given as an actor: “When you walk into that room,” I told her, “that agent or editor is hoping as hard as you are that you are exactly what they’re looking for.”

That’s why they’re there: to hopefully discover people they want to work with. You’re not walking into a hostile force and desperately trying to prove yourself or earn their approval. They’re already rooting for you.

This advice helped me with auditions, when I was dating, and in every potential awkward social situation I’ve ever been in. Very few people are putting up a force field of rejection before they even get to know you. If you reframe the situation in those terms, it becomes easy to believe you’re walking into a receptive situation—not an invading disease microorganism but a friendly helper cell welcomed into the group.

Be a connector

Once you start thinking in terms of opening up a conversation, you’re likely to find it starts to feel intuitive—and even easy—to offer conversational sorties that will lead to what most of us love the most: interesting stories. “I’m looking for a new show or movie or book to get hooked on. What have you loved lately? What did you like about it?” “How did you meet our party host?” “I’m new to the area. What are your favorite things to do in town?”

Follow them up with questions that keep allowing people to dig deeper, open up even more: “Why?” “How do you mean?” “In what way?” “Tell me more….” You’re inviting them out of their own bubble and allowing them to expand yours.

Wednesday I’ll be going to a book launch event for Oliver Burkeman where I will be alone and will presumably know no one, so I plan to ask how people discovered Burkeman’s work, or what appeals to them about him enough to bring them to the event, or what other authors like him they love. Planning in advance some conversation starters isn’t being calculated or phony. It’s just making sure you have some tools in your kit if you need them.

Remember your purpose isn’t to win approval or validation. It’s just to connect, and as herd animals we’re hard-wired for that—if we can just get past our fears.

And in a world where there seems to be a resurgence of disconnection, wouldn’t it be nice to play some small role in bringing people back together?

Okay, authors, weigh in—share you own conversation starters. I’m always looking to expand my repertoire (I often look online for ideas and open-ended discussion questions). How do you cope with any nerves you might feel in a group gathering? What’s the best social experience you ever had when meeting strangers?

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