Writers’ Holiday Party Survival Guide
My extroverted writer friend, Pamela, has always loved parties. She’s excited on the way to the party and all the way home. Before the pandemic, I felt I needed to hold my own with Pamela and I had to find ways to survive, even enjoy parties. So despite telling Pamela, “Parties are noisy, bustling cesspools of human interaction that other writers avoid,” I discovered some coping techniques.
But now, after canceling gatherings for almost two years, I feel I have to relearn these techniques as members of my family insist we get together for the holidays, “Rachelle, it’s time.”
Ughh. It’s not that I don’t love my people or want to see them; it’s that just imagining getting together feels overwhelming, even when I remind myself that parties don’t have to be superficial, boring, or recipes for anxiety attacks.
As a writer, maybe you can relate. Are you facing get-togethers that seem more daunting than exciting? Like me, do you need a plan for getting back into the act of social gatherings?
I’d like to share some things that helped me in the past and what I’m trying to integrate back into my life in hopes they might help you as well.
Commit to going or turn the invitation down without regret.
When to go: Even though I like to say that I prefer to stay home to read, write, or watch Netflix, I’ve learned to force myself to go to most parties I get invited to. Saying “yes” opens me to more opportunities and possible writing content than staying home.
The choice: Before I decide to attend, I remind myself that once a party is over, I'm almost always glad I went. Few parties have ever been as bad as I expected them to be, and I usually make a new connection or deepen an older friendship just by showing up.
When not to go: Of course, a couple of parties have been absolute wastes of my time. It’s a no-brainer (now) for me not to attend an ex-boyfriend’s and ex-best friend’s engagement party.
It’s hard at first. This step is by far the hardest I’ve had to take this holiday season. Who’s vaccinated? Who’s at high risk for contracting COVID? Is this event worth the risk? Is the event worth my time and energy?
Weigh the benefits with the risks and make a choice.
Commit to going. Say, “yes,” and dust off your fancy shoes. OR
Turn down the invitation without regrets. Say “no” and grab a good book to spend the evening with.
What I’m doing: This week, I committed to two holiday meals with our extended family. So, yes, it will take a couple of full days away from writing; I committed anyway.
What I’m not doing: I declined an invitation to my husband’s annual work party. So I won’t see Joe Smith win the raffle again, hear his subordinates complain he rigged the system, or suffer his parody rendition of Jingle Bells Rock entitled Jiggly Balls and Cock.
When my husband is at the party with his work pals, drinking beer that probably tastes like horse urine, I’ll write toward my approaching book deadline for The ADHD Writer.
If you choose to go, prepare or beware.
You’ve decided the party is worth your time and you’ve accepted the invitation. Now what? You don’t want to sit around racking up dread.
Our thoughts and behavior in the hours before a party determine a lot of our experience. If we arrive at a party expecting to hate it, is it any surprise that we show up and hate the party? We have a lot more control than we think here.
The choice:
Make the best of the experience by hoping for and expecting positive engagements that change your opinion on parties. OR
Gather evidence to support your worldview; parties suck, you suck at parties.
Set your intention. Set a precise aim or purpose for your attendance at the party. Maybe you could:
Make a new friend or business connection
Improve your listening skills
Learn something new
Cheer a fellow introvert who arrives less prepared
What I’m doing: I’m taking homemade mac-n-cheese to the party along with an arts and crafts project to do with the kids. These will ensure my enjoyment should the adult conversation turn to football, hunting season, or “Hey Rachelle, Here’s an idea for the book you should be writing; my life story. Here’s how it goes...”
Before you go, reduce sensory overload.
We need to go in with a clear head to thrive at a party because we can only handle so much stimulation in a certain period. I’ve noticed that the more silence I create the day of a party, the more stimulation I can tolerate at the party.
Reduce sensory input on the day of the party.
Reduce noise in your space.
Turn off electronic entertainment devices.
Focus hocus pocus. Multi-tasking is physically and emotionally draining for introverted writers, and parties often require multi-tasking priorities in conversations, food, timing, emotions, activities, etc. What can you do on the day of the party to help you better focus there? Some suggestions to consider when possible:
Spend time alone
Meditate
Exercise to the extent you are able
Focus on one thing instead of skipping from task to task or following a long to-do list
Work on a handcraft
Write
What I’m doing: With two teens living at home with chronic illnesses, it’s difficult for me to plan any day much in advance. But, on party days, I plan to get at least a couple of hours of writing in the first thing to have a more relaxed and available mind for socializing. Then, since my husband has more social energy, I’ll remind myself it’s okay to ask him for more help than usual.
Locate the exit signs.
Have an escape plan. Know what you need to do to get out of the situation without offending others or creating feelings of guilt for yourself. I have three different tactics to offer:
Escape Tactic One
My mother was a hustler (read con artist), an introvert, and a charming party guest (when she wanted). She had some interesting solutions for getting out of uncomfortable situations. She said, to get out of a party, one only needs an apologetic smile and a white lie or two. Excuses my mother used that seemed to work for her:
“I have to get home to study for my finals.” They didn’t know she wasn’t in college.
“I have to give my cat intravenous fluids before 9 pm.” Not one of her four cats was sick.
“I have to let the dog out.” She was allergic to dogs, didn’t have one.
“My husband says I have to be home before 8 pm.” She was allergic to husbands, didn’t have one.
“The babysitter has to leave in fifteen minutes.” What babysitter, you mean the television?
I’m not fond of my mother’s tactics for more than storytelling purposes and extreme situations, so I take a different approach. While her approach may have worked for her, there are more ethical means you can use. Let’s look at those.
Escape Tactic Two
I clear all known obstacles to my exit ahead of time; this varies from situation to situation.
For example, I never carpool. Instead, I take my car to untether me from others for a ride. That way, I’m not forcing anyone to accommodate me by leaving sooner than they’re ready, and I don’t have to stay past my Cinderella clock to give someone else a ride.
Escape Tactic Three
I’m simply honest when I’m tired or not in a party mood. I say, “I’m just not up for a party today. I’m tired. I’m sorry, and I need to leave. I hope you all have a great time and thank you so much for inviting me.”
This tactic works because no one worth my time or consideration wants a guest to stick around who isn’t enjoying themselves.
Of course, you don’t have to be as blunt as my mother once was when she said, “I’d stay, but I don’t want to.” It’s a power move you may or may not want to implement.
Schedule downtime for the aftermath.
Be sure to schedule downtime for after the party. You’re going to need it.
What I’m doing: I’ll insist on alone time as much as I can after the event. I’ll find a quiet place to relax or go to sleep.
Put it out there.
Socializing at parties can be challenging, and worrying about interacting with others may seem like the most significant barrier to enjoying your time at the event. However, you can find ways to conquer it.
Some of the tricks and techniques that I’ll implement again as I return to parties this holiday season are:
I introduce myself and don’t wait for others to approach me. If I introduce myself as an introvert, it generally wards off small talk. Already, I’m vulnerable with others which encourages them to connect.
If it’s a name tag kind of party, I don’t write my name on the sticker. Instead, I write “Introvert.” This trick is excellent for attracting other introverts, at least those without visual impairments, for potentially meaningful conversations.
Coast with confidence
Are we supposed to fake it until we make it at parties? How can we feel like a confident adult at a party rather than a dog shivering in the corner of a vet’s office?
The suggestion I have isn’t an instant fix. Confidence builds over time. However, introverts and writers excel at this introspection-required task.
You can:
Ask yourself about your fears about parties
Identify what’s behind the concerns
Examine the facts and evidence you have that support (or likely don’t support) those fears.
List all the evidence you have that counters these fears, such as when you had success at a party or another event.
Replace your inaccurate thinking with new and helpful statements to practice.
Example:
Statement: I suck at socializing at parties.
Fear: People will reject me.
What’s behind it: I felt rejected by my father as a child.
Evidence to support the original statement: No objective facts support the argument. No evidence appears to support my idea that I suck party socializing.
Evidence that counters the statement: I made a new friend at the last party I attended. At the party I attended before that one, I met the publisher who suggested introducing me to a literary agent.
Conclusion: I’m making assumptions that aren’t likely truthful. My father’s rejection of me as a child is not related to my success at parties.
New statement: I can socialize at parties.
Our brains like to focus on the adverse outcomes, but they are generally much less common than the positive results. We can rewire our short-circuiting brains and gain more confidence.
Full steam ahead?
As writers, we often put too much pressure on ourselves to perform at parties. We think we have to be “on” the whole time.
The idea that I have to be “on” is a humongous challenge for me. I feel like it’s my job to keep the party going, my job to keep the conversations interesting, and my responsibility to smile. My energy starts draining right when my friend Pamela’s energy begins to spike. She is gaining energy from others as I’m losing energy to them.
Instead of trying to keep up with Pamela, I remind myself to:
Step outside and take a breath
Go in the bathroom and lock the door for a minute
Sit in my car for a few minutes and then come back
Walk around the block
Play with the house cat or dog.
I know that if I don’t take these breaks to recharge, I’ll barrel into exhaustion.
What might you do to recharge at a party?
Do your thing.
There is nothing better than real-world interaction with others to help you create better characters and dialog. Rack up experiences and influences. You can sidestep annoying small talk and have meaningful conversations with other party attendees by:
Allowing vulnerability. Start by mentioning how awkward parties feel, how you don’t know what to do with your hands.
Asking questions. You can give yourself permission to ask questions of intriguing people and show your genuine curiosity.
Being honest. People have a sense of when others are being dishonest or holding something back. People will like you more if you just admit you don’t like basketball, chocolate-covered cherries, or animals with scales. It’s okay to acknowledge that, even though you are a writer, you never finished reading War and Peace or that you hated The Old Man and the Sea. I mean, show your humanity.
Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.
If you’re fading and you know you can’t recharge, say a polite goodbye and leave. And leave any guilt you may have about doing so at the party.
Just because someone invited you to a party doesn’t mean they are entitled to your extended time. So why should you be miserable to make them feel better? Story characters’ emotional exchanges might work that way, but real people don’t. You aren’t doing anyone any favors if you’ve given it your all, have nothing left to give, but stay anyway and act like a grump.
My mother had a saying, “It’s all about the exit, honey.” I translated this to two things:
“Make sure you look as good going as you do coming.” (not relevant to this post).
“The best gift you can give is to let them miss you.”
My point? It’s okay NOT to be at the party. The number one person you need to care for and protect is yourself.
The pay off
Before the pandemic, I was putting these party survival ideas into practice. Then my friend Pamela noticed the difference. She learned that I wouldn’t come to all the parties but that she could trust that I’d have a good time when I showed up.
We writers can thrive at parties. Get-togethers can help us expand our comfort zone, make meaningful connections, build our confidence, and write better stories by gathering experiences.
As I return to parties in the new world order, I hope to progress in these areas.
I hope you make progress as well.