Alex Miller, award wining author of Journey to the Stone Country said it best when he described his experience at the Bendigo Writers Festival.
"A writers festival is more than just talking about your book, it's about talking of the things you love, the things you value, your beliefs."
And that is exactly how he got onto the subject of Australian politics, and his opinion that reconciliation is simply a "white persons idea".
I found Mr Miller's comparison to the attempted extinction of Indigenous people upon European settlement in Australia, to the Holocaust during the second world war, interesting.
It led me to think about individual perception of events.
Sitting there in the large packed theatre, I wondered what everyone else around me was thinking. A hundred minds in the one room, running at full speed ahead, listening, interpreting, contemplating, and interpreting.
I began to explore my experience at the Bendigo Writers Festival.
Without knowing it, Mr Miller gave something to me, he gave me food for thought.
"Write about what you love" he said.
I do not necessarily agree with this notion, in fact I think one of the most valuable aspects of writing, is having the freedom to explore the things you love the least, fear, hatred, regret, resentment, whether through characters or poetry.
At the ages of fifteen and sixteen, I regularly wrote down my feelings in the form of poetry. For me, it was a coping mechanism for the depression I suffered as a teenager.
It really it hit home for me when award wining bush poet, Les Murray, said that he too, felt writing poetry healed him through difficult times.
It would seem, I wasn't the only one.
For years I have felt lonely in my longing to write. It's a bizarre emotion, difficult to explain. All I know is that I have not been able to pick up a pen and write fluent poetry for eleven years.
In essence, I have not been able to heal myself for over a decade.
After my second day at the Bendigo Writers Festival, I felt the urge to write, and every rhyming word came freely, as the my fingers could not scribble the pen fast enough.
The me that I had lost was found again. And I no longer feel so alone.
So what did the Bendigo Writers Festival do for me? It give me the space to find myself again.
Sunday 10 August 2014
Thursday 7 August 2014
Spoken from the heart
The first thing I saw was the road works blocking my way
I could hear the sound of the car radio leading my mind astray
I could smell the beautiful jasmine perfume I had bought the day before
Pulling into the car park, I felt the coldness of the handle as I closed the car door
As I walked across the road with the taste of morning coffee still on my tongue
The feeling of not knowing what to expect gave me the urge to run
Entering the room of ABC National Radio
I sat down, feeling like a school child, from days long ago
Hearing the descriptive words of my home town of Bendigo
I realised how much of this city I am actually willing to let go
Authors described their fictional characters
As I pondered which part of their story really matters
Tales of promiscuous girls trying to find their soul
Question right from wrong in a world that judges all
I hear myself thinking that people can be so unkind
And that at the end of the day, if you're not happy with yourself, you'll lose your mind
I pondered in secret to how my own life is panning out
I am lucky enough to be comfortable in the feeling of doubt
As the morning progressed I found myself in a quaint, dark, theatre room
Filled with school students with personalities to go 'boom'
Charles Jenkins begins the song writing activity
The room is overwhelmed with young, vibrant, positivity
We are all song writers
That we are I thought, as I believe deep down, we are all fighters
There is rhythm in the word rhythm, and melody in the word melody
There is light within us all, even when we feel a little melancholy
The afternoon has settled in and I rush to buy some lunch
I gaze out of the café window, watching in awe the see of uniforms gathered together, bunch by bunch
Into the writing workshop with Jane Curtis I go
Only to realise I'm half an hour late, oh I wish the day would go slow
The room is small and hot
There's a few big personalities in here, it seems they've got a lot
As we go into groups and share our stories
I am taken away yet again my someone else's histories
Moira was talking about just last week
When she walked past a man who gave her some cheek
Moira said she tried her best to walk normal
But as is everyday for her, the Parkinson's disease leaves her feeling abnormal
Within the first five minutes of meeting Moira
I noticed the purple in her hair, her bright red lipstick, and her bubbly personality made me want to join her
Not once did I wander about her illness
Instead I wondered what her lounge room looked like, and if her grandchildren were also filled with kindness
The day had come to an end, and I'm off to pick up my son from school
Only to find out that tonight there was so much more to do, all very cool
It is times like these that being a single mum can be hard
As I can't do everything, I've been dealt my cards
I pull up at the school yard and my son jumps in the car
And I am reminded yet again that there is nowhere else I'd rather be, not over there, not far
I could hear the sound of the car radio leading my mind astray
I could smell the beautiful jasmine perfume I had bought the day before
Pulling into the car park, I felt the coldness of the handle as I closed the car door
As I walked across the road with the taste of morning coffee still on my tongue
The feeling of not knowing what to expect gave me the urge to run
Entering the room of ABC National Radio
I sat down, feeling like a school child, from days long ago
Hearing the descriptive words of my home town of Bendigo
I realised how much of this city I am actually willing to let go
Authors described their fictional characters
As I pondered which part of their story really matters
Tales of promiscuous girls trying to find their soul
Question right from wrong in a world that judges all
I hear myself thinking that people can be so unkind
And that at the end of the day, if you're not happy with yourself, you'll lose your mind
I pondered in secret to how my own life is panning out
I am lucky enough to be comfortable in the feeling of doubt
As the morning progressed I found myself in a quaint, dark, theatre room
Filled with school students with personalities to go 'boom'
Charles Jenkins begins the song writing activity
The room is overwhelmed with young, vibrant, positivity
We are all song writers
That we are I thought, as I believe deep down, we are all fighters
There is rhythm in the word rhythm, and melody in the word melody
There is light within us all, even when we feel a little melancholy
The afternoon has settled in and I rush to buy some lunch
I gaze out of the café window, watching in awe the see of uniforms gathered together, bunch by bunch
Into the writing workshop with Jane Curtis I go
Only to realise I'm half an hour late, oh I wish the day would go slow
The room is small and hot
There's a few big personalities in here, it seems they've got a lot
As we go into groups and share our stories
I am taken away yet again my someone else's histories
Moira was talking about just last week
When she walked past a man who gave her some cheek
Moira said she tried her best to walk normal
But as is everyday for her, the Parkinson's disease leaves her feeling abnormal
Within the first five minutes of meeting Moira
I noticed the purple in her hair, her bright red lipstick, and her bubbly personality made me want to join her
Not once did I wander about her illness
Instead I wondered what her lounge room looked like, and if her grandchildren were also filled with kindness
The day had come to an end, and I'm off to pick up my son from school
Only to find out that tonight there was so much more to do, all very cool
It is times like these that being a single mum can be hard
As I can't do everything, I've been dealt my cards
I pull up at the school yard and my son jumps in the car
And I am reminded yet again that there is nowhere else I'd rather be, not over there, not far
The immortality of written words
What does a good story, and a passionate kiss with someone you love, have in common?
A moment. A moment where nothing else but you feeling every sense of that moment there and then. The world disappears as you fly away into a wonder-lust of emotion.
This evening I was in a room with a hundred people, and in just a few spoken words they all vanished. It was just me, listening to the heartache and sorrow of a story that was told with such rawness, and such passion, that I was immersed in every, single, spoken word.
The physical environment which I was in was in fact a dinner, a welcome dinner for the children's authors who are taking part at the Bendigo Writers Festival.
And the star of the evening, was the Australian National Children's Laureate for 2014 and 2015, Jackie French.
Ms French told a personal story that I truly believe, will stay with me forever. It doesn't seem fair to re-tell even parts of the story she shared, as I wouldn't do it justice, and it's not my story to tell.
What I will do however, is share with you three things that Ms French said tonight about the value of books, and more importantly reading, for children.
Not only did they resonate with me, they have inspired me, and ignited a spark so bright that I feel if you could see my heart, it would be shining so remarkably that it would light up the southern hemisphere so greatly, that night, would turn to day.
"When something is written down, it never dies. The author always lives.
"Even when books have been put away and stored up for years, even a hundred years, when you have that book, the ideas still exist, they are still real.
"There is nothing as powerful as a book. We can give kids love, we can give them food. Even without these things, if you give a child a book, you give them dreams that are within reach."
said Ms French.
A moment. A moment where nothing else but you feeling every sense of that moment there and then. The world disappears as you fly away into a wonder-lust of emotion.
This evening I was in a room with a hundred people, and in just a few spoken words they all vanished. It was just me, listening to the heartache and sorrow of a story that was told with such rawness, and such passion, that I was immersed in every, single, spoken word.
The physical environment which I was in was in fact a dinner, a welcome dinner for the children's authors who are taking part at the Bendigo Writers Festival.
And the star of the evening, was the Australian National Children's Laureate for 2014 and 2015, Jackie French.
Ms French told a personal story that I truly believe, will stay with me forever. It doesn't seem fair to re-tell even parts of the story she shared, as I wouldn't do it justice, and it's not my story to tell.
What I will do however, is share with you three things that Ms French said tonight about the value of books, and more importantly reading, for children.
Not only did they resonate with me, they have inspired me, and ignited a spark so bright that I feel if you could see my heart, it would be shining so remarkably that it would light up the southern hemisphere so greatly, that night, would turn to day.
"When something is written down, it never dies. The author always lives.
"Even when books have been put away and stored up for years, even a hundred years, when you have that book, the ideas still exist, they are still real.
"There is nothing as powerful as a book. We can give kids love, we can give them food. Even without these things, if you give a child a book, you give them dreams that are within reach."
said Ms French.
Friday 1 August 2014
A festival for everybody
There is a particular reason why the 2014 Bendigo Writers Festival is extra-special. This year, festival organisers are taking an inclusive approach.
Complementing the BWF is Write on the Fringe, a fringe festival with difference.
Write on the Fringe breaks down the barriers between traditional festival goers, and the new culture of festival heads.
Typically, festival attendees have been perceived to be artsy-fartsy, fancy-pancy, beret wearing, high-income earning over 40 somethings.
Reasons for this may be due to the fact that previously, the community has not been catered to in terms of free, inclusive events as part of the festival.
It is exciting and pleasing to see Write on the Fringe taking place in the Bendigo Library, a community hub where people come together, a place where everyone is invited to go down and let their creative selves loose in a world of books.
Bringing the community together starts with embracing diversity, it is pleasing to see that this year, the whole community is encouraged to let their hair down in a celebration of all things written and read.
Complementing the BWF is Write on the Fringe, a fringe festival with difference.
Write on the Fringe breaks down the barriers between traditional festival goers, and the new culture of festival heads.
Typically, festival attendees have been perceived to be artsy-fartsy, fancy-pancy, beret wearing, high-income earning over 40 somethings.
Reasons for this may be due to the fact that previously, the community has not been catered to in terms of free, inclusive events as part of the festival.
It is exciting and pleasing to see Write on the Fringe taking place in the Bendigo Library, a community hub where people come together, a place where everyone is invited to go down and let their creative selves loose in a world of books.
Bringing the community together starts with embracing diversity, it is pleasing to see that this year, the whole community is encouraged to let their hair down in a celebration of all things written and read.
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