Writers Conference, but make it gay (SiWC 2022)

This year was the 30^th anniversary of Surrey international Writer’s Conference. Just a minute ago I was attending their 25^th anniversary and being impressed with that, time sped by.

2022 was a first for me though. My first year attending as an openly trans person. Heck, my first event of any kind as an openly trans person.

Outwardly I’m sure there wasn’t much difference to my conference mates. I dress the same now as I did for my first conference in 2014, minus the maternity bra. I’m newly on hormones and haven’t had any surgeries. But inwardly? Holy shit.

As a socially anxious person, SiWC is generally daunting. And when you’re in the queer community, you hear a lot of horror stories. Frankly, I know how low some people are willing to go. So, there was that element of caution. I needn’t have worried.

I knew already that the organisers were allies—the presenters at this conference are always diverse, there are gender-neutral toilets, there’s a scholarship for LGBT+ people who otherwise couldn’t afford to attend, etc—but that doesn’t necessarily guarantee the attendees or hotel staff are going to be of like mind.

My first pleasant surprise came at the rego desk – instead of tiny writing on our conference passes, we now had the option of pronoun stickers, and most people chose to use them. The merch desk were selling rainbow pins, some for the LGBT+ community and others for allies. They also had coloured pins for different genres and that was next level awesome. I’m not just queer, I’m fantasy-author queer.

I wear pins pretty much daily—pronoun pins, anxiety pins on bad days, pride pins, witchy pins—but it’s rare I see others out in the wild using pins to communicate.

We were off to a great start but it gets better.

A non-binary agent gave a key note, there were workshops on how to better write diversity, and a certain mediocre TERF was used far far less as a great example of writing this year.

And socially?

Mate, it was like stepping into a future where everyone is safe to be themselves. No one asked me a single invasive question. The only people who misgendered me were friends who are still getting used to thinking of me as non-binary. Pronoun slips were tiny and handled correctly. People were excited to talk to me about their non-binary characters and their queer inclusive novels. Everyone knew what non-binary was, no one acted like I was strange. It wasn’t “a thing”. I was just normal. Another writer basking in the magic that is SiWC.

Wow! What a difference that makes to a person’s mental health. I felt completely secure and welcome the entire time. Imagine: a place where the things that make you who you are become a feature, not a bug. Queer? Cool. Vegan? No worries, there’s a variety of food for all needs. Foreign? Awesome! There are people from all over the world sharing stories of where they’re from and where they’ve travelled. Disabled? They’ve got you – helpful volunteers, priority seating, lifts and ramps. Poor? It’s a hybrid conference! You can attend online for a fraction of the cost. New parent? I’ve never taken my kids with me, but I met a mum who took all her workshops with a baby in a carrier on her chest.

When I tell you it’s a utopia, I mean it. Every lived experience you have becomes another interesting facet of your writing, and writing is what brought us all together in the first place.

I would recommend this conference for any writer wishing to take their craft or career to the next level, but to my fellow queers wondering if they can attend as themselves or if they need to be closeted: this is a true safe space. If you’re a writer of any kind—literary, genre, non-fiction, poet, screenwriter—you will find your people at SiWC.

And if you want to go but you’re still scared? Email me. I’d be happy to hang out with you.

Miriam Cumming has been a career writer for a decade, and 2022 was hir sixth time attending SiWC. Ze writes both YA urban and adult epic fantasy. When ze’s not at hir keyboard, Miriam organises hir life with stickers, hides in hir greenhouse, and reads books well after their buzz has died.