With the exception of some comments on Meredith Farkas’ post Krabby Patty (great post title, btw), and some briefer comments elsewhere, I have held off on posting about presenting at state conferences. There’s a lot to take into consideration, and while I disagree with some of what has been posted on the topic, I didn’t want the disagreement to seem personal.

So instead of commenting on others’ experiences, let me talk about my own.

I was on the program planning committee for the Colorado Association of Libraries‘ (CAL) 2004 and 2005 conferences. As far as I can remember, we didn’t invite anyone, and no one got paid, not even expenses. Presenters were expected to register on their own dime if they wanted to attend the conference, but were give a clear option to just show up, present, and leave if they didn’t want to / couldn’t afford to register.

Program planning for CAL did not include keynotes, and I’m sure that was a completely different story, as they got some noted authors and the like. Perhaps they did it on the cheap, but certainly some money was changing hands.

Based on my experience (as always, YMMV) I have an analogy for you: putting on the presentations at a state conference is like putting on a high school play. If that sounds belittling, let me hasten to say that I was involved in some pretty great high school plays.

When putting on a high school play, you are working with a limited pool of local talent. The goal isn’t to get the absolute best talent available. The goal is to give lots of people the opportunity to get up on stage. The best actors usually wind up with the best parts, but there is a pretty wide variation in how “good” the actors are.

Most people do it for fun, though there are always those people who are only doing it becuase their parents made them or because it will pad out their college applications.

It’s understood that no one gets paid. People put in a lot of time and effort and have to be content with a round of applause, some flowers, and a sense of personal growth. Exceptionally tallented and/or dedicated individuals may decide to go on and seek acting jobs outside of high school, but that isn’t the norm, and is sometimes viewed as a little crazy by everyone else.

How good people feel about being in the school play often has a lot to do with the person directing the play. If that person makes everyone feel welcome and lets them know that that their contributions are very important, writes them a little note on opening night, everyone feels great and doesn’t mind all the time and effort put in. If that person is demanding, distant, or apathetic, everyone involved wishes they’d gone out for track that semester instead and feels bitter about the experience.

And if you are a kid actor who actually gets parts in professional productions or movies or something, the high school play is probably not for you. You have outgrown it, and it’s time to move on.

I’ll leave it for you to connect the dots on the analogy. It ain’t perfect, but it’s what I got.

If you are looking for something more serious on this topic, I recommend Dorothea Salo’s post, Consequences. She has something that she calls a “Modest Proposal” for how to make conference organizers and speakers both reasonably happy.

Now, before I endorse something Dorothea calls something a “Modest Proposal” (caps in the original), you can bet your bippy I read it twice looking for signs of satire. I couldn’t find any, so I think she’s serious. But I’m sure you understand that I hope I’m not going on record in favor of the library conference equivalent of baby eating.

Another good perspective is dchud’s Sound, fury, and speakers’ fees. It’s in Chudnov’s typically blunt style (which seems to always make me feel defensive whether I agree with him or not), but I agree with his point: nail down the details ahead of time, make a contract with yourself as to how much work you can afford to put in and then hold yourself and the organization to the agreement.