How very strange! I forgot to blog about the Festival of Writing at York. Actually, I didn’t forget. I’ve been so busy implementing things I learnt in the workshops, integrating wise pieces of advice I received and remembering stimulating and thoughtful conversations I enjoyed.
York was about people: authors, publishers, agents, to be sure, but about tweeters, friends, and writers all excited about their, addiction (see above). Many people write in isolation, in snatched moments, in an indifferent or even hostile environment. So when they are amassed in several hundreds, all their enthusiasm, ideas, insights burst out.
The University of York Exhibition Centre was our ‘home’ for the weekend and the campus our inspiration.
Clever organisational touches like name badges in BIG letters meant participants easily spotted those they wanted to talk to (or avoid?) without impolite peering. Sofas, tables, and lounging areas were plentiful. As were quiet corners for a little strategic redrafting.
Although I’d been plodding on after a big family crisis over the winter, I had lost my way with my writing. After York, I couldn’t leave it alone. The techniques and craft methods I had been trying to apply flowed automatically and my fingers flew.
So thank you, York (or #FOW11 in Twitter-speak).