Confessions of an Introvert at a Writer Mixer

Spoiler: I survived. How one awkward evening helped me find my people.

Apr 14, 2025

Bravery looks like showing up when you feel like you don’t fit in. (Photo: Jeremy Richards/Shutterstock)

Dearest Writer,

I think it’s safe to say that most of us are introverts. Not all, but most. Writing is often a solitary act, something I personally find a lot of comfort in. There’s little I like more than holing up in my room with something warm in a cup next to me, my laptop open and ready, and no one else invading my space. It’s a time when I can be completely myself. I don’t have to put on a smile or a mask, make small talk, or worry about anyone’s comfort level but my own.

This letter might take you out of that comfort zone. So let me hold your hand as I say this:

Writers need community.

I know. People are strange, when you’re a stranger.
(Agreed, Jim.)

Last week, I did the unthinkable: I attended a mixer for writers. Before I walked in, I sat in my car for a few courage-boosting moments, fully aware I was about to enter a room full of strangers. Thoughts peppered me:
What if everyone already knows each other and I’m the only newbie?
What if they’re all more serious writers and see right through my writer costume?
What if I hate it?
What if I want to leave but can’t find an easy exit?

Still, I stepped out of the car. Almost immediately, a car slowed next to me, the window down.

“Is this where we park?” a woman asked. I saw the uncertainty in her face—because like calls to like. I assured her she was in the right place.

And then—miracle of miracles—I saw a friend. A familiar face always helps ease that first step inside. As I walked toward the building, another person joined me, also unsure if she was heading the right way. I pointed out the entrance, and we arrived together.

Once signed in, name tag in place, I entered the room. It was already crowded. People were mingling, but plenty clung to their plates of food like safety nets, scanning the room as if looking for a way in—or a way out.

These were my people.

But I wasn’t there just to hover at the edges. As the president of a local writing club, I came to talk about our group, connect with writers, and maybe meet a few new clients needing editing or book design. After greeting some familiar faces (always a good warm-up!), I scanned the room for someone who looked as out of place as I felt.

They weren’t hard to find. One person stood solo, beer in hand, deeply interested in the most non-art art on the wall.

Hello, new friend.

I walked over and started a conversation. Here’s a little trick: if you want to find community but aren’t sure where to begin, ask the other person about themselves. My new friend told me what brought them there, what kind of writing they did, and asked about me in return. I shared about my writing club and my author work. At the end, they thanked me for reaching out.

If I wasn’t already convinced, this sealed it: we’re all strangers until we choose to be friends. From the parking lot to the conversation inside, it was clear—we were all here for the same thing. We were writers craving connection, even if it felt awkward.

Then came the real test: icebreaker conversations.
Ugh.

We were told to form groups of three, with at least two people we didn’t know.
Fine.

Each of us had five minutes total to talk, starting with the person who had the darkest eyes (weird, yet effective). My first group got through it quickly. One person admitted how much they hated this, and we all agreed. It was painful, especially when we ran out of things to say and stood there waiting for the next switch.

Not all connections will be magic.

But the next group? Total vibe. They were enthusiastic, genuinely curious, and when it was my turn, they asked questions and wanted my card (which, thankfully, I brought). I didn’t want to leave this group.

Each new group had a different energy—some forced, some flowing. But the purpose was met. By the end, I’d handed out a dozen cards for my club, my books, and my services. Even better, members of my club were there and kept referring people to me. It shifted my mindset. I wasn’t there to impress; I was there to serve.

The event ended with breakout sessions. I joined one with the local library, which shared a wealth of resources for local authors—events, book placement, research help, and more. If you’re an author, reach out to your local library. I promise they offer more than you think.

As a writer, you don’t have to attend mixers—but you do need community. I recommend in-person groups when possible: write-ins, clubs, meetups, critique groups. Anything that connects you with someone who understands the wild ride of the writer’s life. We can only go so far on our own. But together? We’re braver, stronger, and more inspired.

Here are some things that help me move past my introvert tendencies:

When I feel shy or nervous, I help someone else. It gets me out of my own head and focused on the person in front of me.
I remind myself that others likely feel just as awkward as I do. I look for them and strike up a conversation.
If I need to speak publicly, I focus on what I can offer—not how I’ll be perceived. I’m there to serve, not perform.
I remember we’re all strangers until we’re friends. And in a room full of writers, we’ve already got something big in common.

I always bring business cards—it’s a small but powerful way to leave a connection behind, and it makes me feel prepared.

So, dear writer, next time an opportunity comes along to meet others like you, I hope you’ll consider showing up. You never know what friendships, opportunities, or quiet moments of connection might be waiting on the other side of your comfort zone.

Until the next chapter,
Crissi

P.S. What helps you feel more at ease when meeting other writers or attending events? Share in the comments!

Confessions of an Introvert at a Writer Mixer

Spoiler: I survived. How one awkward evening helped me find my people.

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