Before my first convention panel, butterflies filled my stomach, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I had signed up for three panels at a writing convention. Three. Apparently, when I decide to challenge myself, I don’t believe in starting small.
Despite my nerves, I wanted to do it. I wanted to share stories, practical tips, and tools that might help other writers. I had learned so much through my own journey, often through mistakes and difficult lessons that I hoped I could make the road a little easier for someone else.
Unfortunately, those first panels became some of the most difficult ones I’ve ever experienced.
During one panel, the moderator passed over me twice. I sat there prepared to contribute, waiting for an opening that never came. Another panelist claimed most of the conversation and used up time that should have belonged to everyone. On a different panel, someone aggressively contradicted nearly everything I said.
I left feeling disheartened and puzzled.
Rather than looking forward to upcoming panels, I questioned what I was doing on them in the first place. I had stepped outside my comfort zone because I wanted to connect with people, but those experiences left me feeling ignored, dismissed, and anxious.
Then at one of the conventions I was invited to join a panel.
I shared my concerns openly. I explained what had happened and admitted how much anxiety the invitation brought back. I didn’t want to repeat those earlier experiences, but I also didn’t want fear to make the decision for me.
That panel went much better, although I still had to fight to get a word in edgewise. At one point, another panelist criticized me in front of the audience. Something in me finally settled. Instead of shrinking, I answered. The response became one of the best comebacks I’ve ever delivered.
I wish I could say that one moment erased every insecurity. It did not. But it reminded me that I could hold my ground without becoming combative. I could speak clearly, defend my perspective, and still respect the conversation.
After those bumpy beginnings, each panel became a little better.
More importantly, I became better at being on them.
I stopped trying to predict every question or control where the discussion might go. I stopped measuring a successful panel by how much time I received or whether I delivered every point I had prepared. A panel is a live conversation. Personalities differ. The discussion moves in unexpected directions. Sometimes the moderator changes course. Sometimes another panelist says exactly what I planned to say, only better.
I learned to let the conversation unfold.
When I have something meaningful to say, I say it clearly and without rambling. If another panelist makes an important point, I support it. When someone needs space to finish a thought, I give it. I listen more carefully. I pay attention to the audience. I focus less on proving that I deserve my chair and more on contributing something useful.
That change made all the difference.
The early panels genuinely presented challenges, but I also brought the wrong expectations and approach into them. I thought I needed to take control so I wouldn’t disappear. In reality, that pressure made me more anxious. Once I stopped treating the panel like something I had to conquer, I finally began to enjoy it.
Now, I love being on convention panels.
I love the camaraderie that can form between people who may have met only minutes before walking onto the stage. I love hearing how other creators approach their work. I love the thoughtful questions from the audience, especially the ones that make all of us pause and consider our answers.
I still feel nervous sometimes. My stomach still flutters before I step onto the stage. I care about offering something worthwhile, and I suspect those nerves come from that care.
But now the nervousness comes with excitement.
Every panel gives me the chance to share what I have learned, support other creators, meet readers, and become part of a larger conversation about stories and the people who bring them to life.
My first experiences almost convinced me that panels were not for me. I am grateful I kept saying yes.
Now, every invitation feels like an honor, and I enjoy every minute of it.