Bendigo Writer’s Festival

This weekend Anne and I had the pleasure of attending Bendigo’s first Writer’s Festival. We signed up weeks earlier upon seeing the line up in the paper. What sane reader or writer would ever miss the opportunity to speak with real life authors and illustrators for less than the cost of the newly re-released hardcover copy of Doug Macleod’s “Sister Madge’s Book of Nuns.”

The value for money at this festival was phenomenal. $40 for a weekend of professional development, guidance, networking and support. Not to mention the chance to participate in refreshing shower of feminism with the mesmerizingly confident queen of the print world Ita Buttrose. Naturally the weekend ending up costing much more than $40 as I quickly found myself on a first name basis with Harry from the temporary Dymocks bookshop who was quite grateful for my attempt to ensure there were no books left to carry back to his car at the end of the day.

My Saturday involvement in the festival kicked off with a session on writing fast and well with the ladies from the Bendigo Writer’s Council. What a terrific opportunity to spend some time writing, sharing and listening. How wonderful it was to hear the diversity of the writing of the other people in my group who were all given the same task as me yet who had completely different styles, approaches and end results. Such a simple thing to do really but we never do make enough time to share our work and listen to the work of others.

One of my highlights for the weekend (and there were many) was the panel of experts with Craig Smith, Glenda Millard, Doug Macleod and Maureen McCarthy. This fantastic line-up of talent was interviewed by the equally talented Jenny Niven. Although I had heard Glenda speak before and didn’t hear most of what Craig said at the start (partly due to the fact that I acquired momentary deafness caused by being completely starstruck and partly due to the fact that I was mentally trying to tap in to the wi-fi connected to each of their brains so I could download their creativity and ideas), I can safely say that each of their stories were highly engrossing and led to a direct negative force on my credit card after the session as I carried on with my mission of saving Harry’s back.

I was completely engaged with every session on Saturday and due to the timetable of events, made the decision to sacrifice the small inconvenient option of having lunch and attend to the much more worthwhile cause of hearing another fantastic author speak. Fortunately for me, the intelligent and well-travelled Alex Miller provided me with a feast of stories and inspiration that no other café option could ever have provided in any case.

I must make a special mention about the poetry workshop on Sunday morning with Emilie Zoey Baker and Kevin Brophy. This was a big highlight for me. Although a poetry lover I had never heard of a poetry slam or performance poetry until Emilie introduced us to it. She read her poem “Spooning” aloud, followed by “Dark Matter” and I immediately felt free to do as she does and to break the rules of poetry. I knew immediately that I could pull my advertisement down from RSVP.com as I no longer needed to search for the perfect poetry for me- I had found it! I wanted to run out of the room and to write what is to be my new style all over the streets and the buildings as Emilie had set me free! Free from conventions! Free from the conventional restraints of writing! (Ok, a little over the top I really just wanted to run out of the room to see if Harry had anything with Emilie’s work in it- turns out Google is the only way). Kevin’s poems were equally as enlightening and inspiring and the ability to pick their brains and hear their thoughts for the following hour and a half was an invaluable opportunity that will no doubt be pinpointed as the start of my obsession for googling poetry slams and free form poetry.

There were a number of themes and ideas that seemed to emerge across the festival: Great writers are forever collecting ideas and writing them down, they write EVERY day, they draw a lot of inspiration for their stories from their own lives and they are very well read.

And now, I couldn’t end this review without writing about my major disappointment from the festival: where on earth were all the teachers? The two days of the festival (more so than the Friday afternoon) were by far the most invaluable professional development I have had about the writing process to date. I know all teachers may not want to be writers as I do but surely all teachers of writing have a responsibility to understand and to know the process of writing in order to teach our students effectively. What could be more useful in building your understanding than accessing real life authors- experts in the very thing you are trying to teach! How often do teachers have the opportunity to attend professional development at all these days let alone for the extremely cost efficient sum of $25ish for two whole days of PD! Considering most PD costs in the order of $200+ per day, attending just one session for the whole weekend would still have provided better value for dollar than most commercially available PD days. What are we to think of this lack of teachers at the festival? Does it show that teachers are too focussed on genre studies and undervalue creative writing? Is there a lack of understanding in the teaching community about how knowledge of the process would help teachers improve their ability to teach writing? Was it a lack of advertising in schools?

Overall, a fantastic weekend. One that has encouraged me to start writing every day (Emilie also suggests writing a haiku a day to improve your poetry) and to continue my relationship with Harry through voracious and wide reading. I am already looking forward to the next one and might even try and sneak my way on to the organising committee…

 

Doing my duty

I recently was called up for jury duty. If nothing else, sitting through the selection process gave me time to write in my notebook.

 I felt like students must do in class, given the illusion of choice, no excuse accepted.

 

Sitting, waiting to be called

Flipping through magazines,

Not really taking in the words

Passing the time of day with strangers

Bonded through lack of choice and

Wasted day.

Choreographed crossing and uncrossing legs.

Soaring ceilings, ancient court rooms.

Through the window, blue skies beckon

Instead we sit on hard benches

Prisoners.

 

 

Visitors for breakfast

Every morning over breakfast I absorb a view which stretches over the backyard, across the dam to the paddocks beyond, and beyond that…the blue-grey blur of the Australian bush. The judicious placement of native plantings act as a frame to the vista, at the same time blocking out neighbouring homes to create a sense of ownership of all that is laid out before me. The framed image is ever changing and recently I was rewarded with a visit by a flock of ibis. This poem is the reult:)

Ibis in the paddock

Brought there by the swollen waters of the dam

Promising tasty morsels to eat.

White crescents in the yellow grass

Meandering along the tree line

To dam’s edge

Feasting on a smorgasbord.

Vanishing as suddenly as they appeared.

 

Ode to the voiceless visitor

This poem was written to kill 2 birds with 1 stone:

  1. To dust the cobwebs from the poetry-creating mechanisms in my brain (after a recent poetry workshop at the Writers Council Meeting) and
  2. To let website visitors know the stats on the number of people who ‘look but don’t touch’ when visiting blogs and other websites.
I would LOVE your comments :)

Ode to the voiceless visitor

This is an ode to the voiceless visitor, the ones who look but don’t reply,

They never tell you what it was that intrigued them, or even that they had stopped by.

They love to come to ponder your ideas, or to simply observe your style,

Some get what they want and leave, others linger for a longer while.

It’s not uncommon to be a voiceless visitor; research says that it’s 9 in 10!

That’s people who read your writing and leave without lifting their pen.

We love to know how we affect people and which things they like to read,

This is an ode to the voiceless visitor- hopefully a dying breed!

Slice #27 What does it mean when Johnny can’t write?

I began writing tonight thinking I would try a ‘found poem’ which I was introduced to via a slice (Thank you to Amy http://www.poemfarm.amylv.com/2012/03/chickens-found-poems.html )

A found poem takes existing texts and refashions them, reordering them, and presenting them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems. That sounds deceptively easy! To find out more visit  http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5780                                                                                    

I really liked the sound of a found poem and had chosen a subject that had a lot of media attention recently: When Johnny can’t write However my poem quickly became more of a ‘mash-up’ of the reading I have been doing rather than a found poem but hope you will appreciate it none the less

 When Johnny can’t write what does it matter?

Writing matters

 measures so many other things:

expresses learning,

quality and depth of thinking,

understanding text

 analysis of situation,

the breadth of one’s imagination —

all qualities needed to survive

and prosper

in a competitive world.   

To put it nicely,

if you don’t write well…

you are not deemed to be intelligent.

 

 

Bonus http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykOtgK2sKy0

 

Slice of Life #21 The Gift of Poetry

Becoming a reader of poetry coincided with returning to work while raising three very active boys. I found I had time to read poetry whereas I had time for little else. I didn’t have any desire to analyse, just to enjoy the emotions and wonders told in a few verses. As my children have grown I again have time for reading novels but continue to regularly dip in and out of poetry.

 Through poetry I first began to notice the craft of writing and how powerful a few words can be. Raw emotions and shared humour – no matter what was happening in my life there was a poem that captured the moment. Yes I know I need to attempt capturing those moments with my own poems – one day soon I will try.

I recently came across Timothy Walsh’s At the Goodwill . (yes this too did capture a moment in my life but that is for another slice) I couldn’t help but smile at the images which came while reading the first verse. This is one I will tuck away as a mentor text when working with students on similes, imagery or word choice. Do you have a poem which is a favourite mentor text for an aspect of writer’s craft?

 At The Goodwill 

Timothy Walsh (Verse 1 only)

 Like crows tearing at roadkill,
people rummage among the aisles
              and clothes bins,
ransacking the discarded clutter of other lives
for that special undiscovered something.

http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/timothy+walsh

 

Slice of Life #12 Trespassers

I have read some amazing poetry these last two weeks. So to the challenge I rise. Flick back through my notebook, looking for something that resembles poetry.

 

 

Trespassers

I am not sure why those two think they have permission to be in my garden

 Not for one moment is it okay.

They have the run of the yard – it is never enough!

 What treasure do they expect to find hidden beneath the  mulch?

They are oblivious to the hours spent spreading it there

As they uncaringly push it aside.

When I address them they turn their backs on me,

Showing their feathered bottoms.

They best be careful –

Or they will end up as chicken pie!