I signed up for it compulsively, a course called "Breaking into Food Writing" boasting Washington Post food writer Jane Black and 65 non-refundable dollars. Obviously I have a food blog and I have done a handful of food-related pieces for magazines already, so I suppose I have broken into food writing. But it feels a bit like a "break-in" into a beautiful home I do not have the key to, yet.
I arrive at the course, out of breath after a long walk, stairs, questioning myself why I was going and more stairs. There is a boisterous Korean woman who wants to know my name and then jokes that I will be quizzed on this later. There is a math professor from West Point who keeps referring to the restaurant reviews she did for her college paper. There are two young PR girls who clearly work together as they loudly discuss work shenanigans. They look a bit too "on" for me. There is another woman who polishes off a carton of sushi and then checking her watch says she will be off to find more food in the shopping center. "It just didn't quite hit the spot," she says. Others nod and call out recommendations. Being food writers we must always be hungry, right?
Every student is a woman and almost all of them have brought food with them. I find myself categorizing them into little food writer categories: the pink-cheeked, smiling baker who fancies herself into retro clothing, the cynical "they put pesto on what?" restaurant critic, the environmentally-conscious locavore who wants to expose the cattle farmer for what they are, and me. Blog addresses are exchanged and tips on twittering are discussed. I scowl inwardly, "I'm not here for you, I'm here for me."
Jane Black is an engaging and good speaker. She gives us background on her life and the places she has lived for jobs (or love interests) and the women in response ooh, ahh and giggle, respectively. The woman just to my left, who incessantly clicks on her laptop interjects herself into Jane's biography at every mention of a magazine, "And who was the editor there? Mmhmm, no nevermind I don't know him." Backspace, backspace, backspace. That magazine isn't important.
Jane also tells us something I've been hearing since I was 18, something my creative writing prof wrote on my last paper in freshman year "You won't make money, but if you love it, it will be rewarding." I came to terms with that two years ago when I had fancy business cards printed up that read "Paige Langton Hill, Writer." I may have been an unemployed student, but I belonged somewhere, I had finally identified myself: writer. But, almost everyone in the room has a blog. The PR girls promote each others' blogs gushing over the other one being a better baker or writer. Others in the class know the blogs. I feel very small. I am still eager to learn.
I find out I don't have to go to culinary school, but if I have some money lying around it would be a good idea. I get information on pitching a food story to a publication and how to shop it around, which means confronting one my my major fears: calling an editor on the phone. I now can wear Jane's advice as armor. I also learn I need to decide where I fit: recipe creation, restaurant reviewer, food news... and I'm not sure where I do. I know I'm not the best critic because I love all food. Hey! Guy with the hot dog stand, two thumbs up from ForkEnvy. Mr. Winemaker with the super-sweet dessert wine, I didn't really like it but my sister did so it must be good! Four stars from ForkEnvy! I cook, I burn things, I experiment, I give credit to all culinary efforts. I respect this awesome entity which drives the world: food.
Which, in turn, reminds me as food writers we are all writing for the same cause. These aren't my enemies, these people are my friends--we play on the same team. Maybe I will exchange a few a business cards...