Sam van Zweden

Last night when I went to post my Eat Pray Love piece, I had a notification waiting for me from WordPress.

“You registered on WordPress.com 4 years ago!” it said. “Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!”

Weird airline metaphor aside, I was pleasantly surprised by this message. With everything that’s been going on in the last few weeks and months, I’d totally forgotten that it’s LGWABP’s birthday.

Yesterday I also returned The Wheeler Centre keys to Melbourne Writers Festival, received a thank you gift, and had a business meeting regarding stuff that will probably fill up the day a week that previously belonged to MWF. It was a day full of “Moving Forward…” type thoughts, and receiving that Happy Birthday message last night made me ponder just how far I’ve come.

While at uni, we had a few guest speakers who plotted their career trajectory in some detail for us. They were never neat or tidy. They often involved happy accidents as the result of hard work. I think that almost all of the happy accidents that have gotten me to this point with my writing have linked in some way back to my blogging. If I hadn’t blogged, I hadn’t met, I hadn’t interviewed, I hadn’t applied for, I hadn’t gotten, I hadn’t been invited to, I hadn’t received… It’s all traceable, it’s all connected, and it all starts here.

Last weekend I sent off a job application for an editorship. In it, I was able to talk about my blogging experience. Whether I get that job or not, I am proud of this blog, and proud that I have it as something that I can point to and say, “Look what I’ve done. My hard work has become this thing.” It’s like my career’s a tree, and this blog is the trunk, with all these limbs and shoots sprouting off it.

I know that people read this blog, and I thank you for trusting me and coming back to me. I thank you for engaging, and for sometimes discussing the things I write. I thank you for subscribing, and for putting in a good word, and for taking me seriously.

Happy Birthday, blog! Now we are four.

We’re now a few days post-festival. I knew it would take time to adjust when all the action came to a sudden stop – now that I’ve caught up on some sleep, and gotten back on top of various other commitments (see: laundry, eating vegetables that are not potatoes, reintroducing myself to my partner and family), my life seems slower than it was before the festival started. 

These last two weeks – indeed, the last six months – have been amazing and crazy. In the lead-up to the festival, in my role as program intern I was helping to plan the professional development stream of events, input a HUGE amount of data into the festival management program, and help out with general odds and ends. I appreciate the insane amount of work that goes into making a festival happen, and absolutely tip my hat to the whole team behind MWF – hardest working office in Melbourne.

The last two weeks have involved lots of running and a diet almost entirely made up of chips, and I’ve loved it. I’ve learned a lot about how events run, and met some really fantastic people. There’s a definite weirdness about living in other people’s pockets for two weeks – it brings barriers down, and the need for problems to be solved now means you get to know people on a faster time frame than relationships normally progress. Festivals are life in fast-forward, for a very limited time, but there’s no option for stopping, pausing, or taking the tape out. 

Now that we have stopped, I thought I’d briefly dot-point some highlights:

– Moshing with Tavi Gevinson. A room of about 100 girls under the age of 20, jumping around in the Queen’s Hall at the State Library, Taylor Swift pumping, I cried a little out of happiness. I still haven’t quite nutted out what was so moving about this, but it most certainly was moving. I suspect it was only the dorky grown-ups who had a little tear, but I know I’m not the only one who was overwhelmed by it. Perhaps it’s about young people and possibility and openness and lady power. Perhaps. Or maybe I just hadn’t realized how much I like Taylor Swift.

– Andrew O’Hagan’s hilarity/seriousness mashup. Andrew O’Hagan speaks in a way that’s really exciting to listen to: he’s a very, very funny man. He also covers incredibly serious topics in his work (child jihadis, paedophilia in light entertainment industry, the toll fame takes on young people, mass murder, etc…) in a way that brings the most awful things in the world to your doorstep – he speaks in a way that puts those things RIGHT next to each other. He comes across as someone whose life is intense as hell – definitely one of the best speakers I’ve seen.

– Magda. On opening night, The Moth Storytelling presented stories of Moxie and Might. Magda Szubanski told a story about her father’s involvement in World War II, and what it taught her about fear and bravery. Overcome by emotion in the final moments of her story, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and I feel absolutely privileged to have seen this side of Magda. 

– Strangers connecting. There was a tweet-up, and KYD had drinks where contributors, staff and readers could meet, and I had a few people introduce themselves to me as readers of this blog. I saw two women meet up in the Wheeler Centre foyer after a session on Memoir, and decide to go for coffee and share their stories. They’d never met before. I love that the festival was a way to connect for everyone, no matter what their role or involvement was.

– Capable vollies. Next time you’re at a festival, think about the volunteers, and how incredibly hard they work. The volunteers behind me at the Wheeler Centre during the festival really held it up and I have so much respect for them. Thanks, guys!

– Being told that I can. Professionally, I’m a huge self-doubter. I have trouble pinpointing my strengths, and looking at large projects and believing in myself. So huge, massive, inexpressible thanks need to go to Lisa Dempster and Mike Shuttleworth for telling me that I could do the job, and well. Now, on the other side of it, I believe I can.

Right, getting a little teary just writing about it, so I’m going to wrap it up here. The whole experience is so huge that I’m having trouble pulling it together neatly into a “lessons learnt” type of coherence – this is probably something that will happen in weeks to come. Overall, this has been such a great learning experience, and I’ve met so many great people. Having an excuse to introduce myself to Claudia Karvan, Tavi, Andrew O’Hagan and so many other people was rad. Fangirl with a title. Heck yes.

I hope everyone from the MWF team is recovering and catching up on sleep, that Festival Director Lisa Dempster is having a fantastic time with the Bookwallahs, that you’re enjoying the many wrap-up posts that are coming out now that it’s over, and that you had a great festival experience.

Hanging out for next September!

Very soon I’ll be heading into the city for the first of many Melbourne Writers Festival events.

The festival launches today, with keynotes from Boris Johnson and The Moth tonight. On Friday shit gets real, with the start of actual programming at Federation Square, and the first professional development session at The Wheeler Centre. The Professional Development stream is my home for the next two weeks, ushering incredibly talented people around, providing biscuits, making chats, making happy. I’m excited, but nervous too – I suspect this is normal. The air around festival people zaps with this feeling – “Did I check everything? Thrice? What’d I forget? Is there pen on my face? Have I got stress hair? Breathe.”

As director Lisa Dempster has said of both MWF and Emerging Writers’ Festival (which she directed before MWF), there’s a point where all you can do is sit back and see your good work pay off. …I’m not sure we’re at that point just yet though. Today is for MAJOR BRAIN FREAK-OUT AND PANIC STATIONS. I’m sure that tomorrow, when that first event is under my belt, I will feel better.

It occurred to me this morning that so much about my situation right now is new. I’m new to the production end of Melbourne Writers Festival. I’m new to meeting such big-name guests and being responsible for their events going smoothly. Emotionally, this is making me need to use all sorts of new skills – I need to separate myself from things enough to get the job done, and not get upset if things don’t go absolutely as planned. I need to be a normal person, and realise that all the other people I’m dealing with here are normal people too, and it’s possible to meet everyone on a personable level.

There’s currently a slew of miscellaneous other disasters in my life (friends and family in hospital), and this is new – coping. Getting my back under my commitments and juggling it all – the time to collapse is after the festival, after I’ve met deadlines, after my loved ones are safe and well back at home. 

It’s new for me to have such a sensible outlook at this point. Maybe I’m growing up a bit.

All the actual grown-ups I’ve been working with at MWF have done an AMAZING job, and I’m really looking forward to seeing this fantastic festival come to life after all their hard work. And happy first festival, Lisa! 

I’ve written a lot of half-pieces lately. Non-deadliney pieces, I mean. The pieces I have to choose to write (‘choosing’ and ‘having to’ – the seeming paradox of writing). These pieces are opening thoughts, which I feel the need to get down and work out of my system, then seem to lose the will to return to. I’ve written about running, and about The Drover’s Wife, and about Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (like William Carlos Williams did), and about Don Draper. Those pieces were all started before being left alone, abandoned in my WIP folder.

Recently, a few of my friends needed help with their own work. Proofing a review, reading fiction and memoir, reading a novel manuscript… I’ve found that there’s something about reading other people’s work that makes me return to my own. People I know, and who I know are incredibly busy (masters, honours, travelling through Europe) are still finishing pieces. But knowing about and seeing proof of their productivity isn’t what makes me revisit my lonely half-pieces. Perhaps the act of providing feedback on their work puts me in a critical/writing headspace. Perhaps it’s knowing that pieces have to go through imperfect stages before they’re finished, and that writing friends are willing to help.

Getting to read other people’s work-in-progress is one of the things I miss most about the university setting – I’ve always found it exciting and inspiring. I’ve been glad to find in the last few weeks that it’s not exclusive to that space. It’s important to me to keep writing-friend connections strong, because it can be such a lonely and echo-chambery thing to do. Writing buddies will keep you alive! Reading each other’s work is part of it.

People always need help with their work, and if you’re anything like me, you might find that it actually helps you get on with your own work. Feedback on other people’s writing can bring new life to your own, totally unrelated, writing.

I’m so excited about this. The Novel Cure landed in my post box last week, care of the good folk at Text Publishing. The concept of the book is good – a bibliotherapy guide of sorts. Reading the promotional material on Text’s website, I wasn’t exactly jumping out of my skin – I pictured something akin to Ramona Koval’s By The Book, or any of the other many many many reading guides. Walk-throughs of the worthy stuff; a memoiresque telling of why we should read what the author deems deserving. I don’t have a problem with these kinds of books – they’re fun.

But that’s not what The Novel Cure is at all. It’s an A-Z reference book, with a listing for every kind of ailment (both physical and emotional) that you could possibly have. From losing your job, to being a parking inspector, to feeling lonely, to having a toothache, The Novel Cure can suggest something to make you feel better. Sometimes it’s something that takes your mind off the problem, while other listings give examples that you’ll be able to relate to. The entry for ‘Depression’ lists books that will make you laugh and feel good, as well as books that talk about depression really well, and will make you feel less alone in the world.

This book is not just a cool gimmicky book about books – it’s a considered attempt to help people through literature.

I can’t review this in its entirety, because it’s not a book I’ll be sitting down to read from cover to cover – though, if I were feeling enthusiastic, I imagine this might be possible and even enjoyable. There are entries throughout that make good dipping-in reading – I’ve found the ‘Cures for Reading Ailments’ fun. There’s entries like “Amnesia, reading-related”, “Overwhelmed by the number of books in the world” (there’s another “overwhelmed” entry for the amount of books in your own house), and “Live instead of read, tendency to”, and each of these have suggested cures too.

It’s also a lot of fun going through the index to find books you love, and see what they’re prescribed for. Some of my favourites – Black Swan Green (David Mitchell) is listed beside ‘Speech impediment’, Beloved (Toni Morrison) beside ‘Haunted, being’, and Little Women is beside ‘Sibling rivalry’.

The Novel Cure has been dipped into a few times already, and has been shelved with the rest of my reference books, to be consulted in times of need. It’s being released on the 21st of August.