Go to literary festivals.

I never used to attend them. I had the following reasons: a) I’m not a real writer, b) everyone there is deserving, I am not, c) I don’t have time, d) Jupiter is not quite aligned with Mercury, and the gravitational divergence is killing me.

I went to the Wild Writers Literary Festival this weekend, in Waterloo, Ontario. Here are a few things I discovered: a) every writer has their own journey, b) people are incredibly accepting, c) talking about your journey is perfectly okay, d) you can emerge from such an event inspired and optimistic.

I used to hate carving pumpkins. Now, I stick my hand in there and rip out the guts. I even toast the seeds and snack on them, because pumpkin intestines are delicious with a bit of cinnamon. I only say this to suggest that you have to ultimately put yourself out there. Why not now? It’s a silly analogy and I don’t know why I wrote that. Pumpkins never hurt me, and here I am talking about mauling them and consuming their innards. But I hope you get the point.

I got a hug at this festival (thank you, Anandi – was great to meet you and your husband; please tell everyone I’m a real person and not a bot, as some have suggested!). I met a writer who got published for the first time in her fifties. I talked with a career academic who has been writing textbooks but wants to get into fiction. A kid who’s graduating from an English degree and uncertain about what’s next, and not sure where to submit his work. On the stage, I heard about magic realism. I heard irreverent humour, diversity, the value of believing in your own stories and resubmitting them if they fail the first time. I heard about disparate journeys through this writing world. I heard everything I don’t hear in my science-y day-to-day existence. Empathy. Storytelling. The need. There is a sheer need for people to engage in this writing life, for whatever reason. Could be the maintenance of an old tradition of storytelling. The desire for self-expression. The need to make others feel how writers have made us feel. Could even be Jupiter and how it lines up with Uranus. Sorry. Bad joke.

Make more time to be part of the literary community. That’s the overarching message I took from this event. Contribute to the network, because it’s a wonderful place to put your time, and to make connections. To find support. To feel part of something, rather than utterly alone in your dark cave. Give where you can. Plug in.

I’ve never written more than I have this year, and there is a mountain of more work to do. There is so much need to tell stories. I’ll continue in the context of a broader community this time. I’ll think, when reading stories aloud to myself, what it would look like to read the work to others. I saw people do that at the Festival. They were great. I’ve not had that opportunity, but it would be wonderful.

Thank you to @mulloypmulloy for encouraging me to attend. I met her at the Eden Mills Literary Festival (the first such event I’d ever attended, just a couple of months back), and she suggested I check this out. It was so worthwhile and so encouraging. Also, thank you to @thenewquarterly for putting on this wonderful event.