A weekend in Gloucester

Seems a lot of new writers festivals are popping up all around the place. More and more schools are putting them on, mostly modelled on the marvellous Somerset Celebration of Literature on the Gold Coast. Then there are the community festivals, such as the new Bellingen Writers Festival.

And there's this one - the Gloucester Writers Festival, held for the first time during the weekend just past. It wasn't a bad lineup of presenters, either - Pamela Freeman, Pam Rusby, Anthony Lawrence, Les Murray and Barry Maitland, to name but a few.

We all had a great time, with a number of events on offer, including a poetry sprint, a young writers' short story competition, and a number of workshops in addition to the panel sessions. I met a number of new people, like the lovely Julie Ditrich, who presented on the topic of graphic novels, and Jesse Blackadder, as well as the organiser, Lindy Dupree.

Then there were the CWA ladies and their pumpkin scones.

And the place! Oh, the place! Anyone who's never been to Gloucester should do i

t, and do it soon. On the drive up there on Friday, I found myself driving past the first day of the Stroud show. Now, I just want to say this: I very rarely go to the Royal Easter Show. I pretty much hate it. Too many people spending money they don't have on things they don't need and food they don't really like while they look at things they don't really understand. But proper country shows are great. I spent a lovely hour wandering around, looking at the campdrafting and the cattle dog trials and the produce displays. They even had a competition for "Best afternoon tea tray with food for one".

And pumpkin scones.

The Far East and feeling guilty

Four weeks away from home is a long time. It's even a long time when your family comes and stays with you for ten of those twenty-eight days.

Now, I want to be very clear - I'm not complaining. Traveling is fun, doubly so when someone else is paying for you to do it. Traveling to places you'd never really planned to go to and finding them surprising and enchanting and wonderful and terrifying and challenging is what

the whole "be a traveler, not a tourist" meme is all about.

That was China. I spent less than a day in Shanghai, ten days in and around Beijing, and everything else was in places that many travelers - no, tourists - would never see. Hard, bustling, non-nonsense, sensory-overload places like Shekou, Shenzhen, Zhuhai and Dongguan; ordered, mostly-organised, planned cities like Chengdu; ancient, twisted Chongqing; gorgeous Suzhou (often called the Venice of the East on account of all the canals and arched bridges. And it was surprising, and revealing, and made me a little more aware of my place in the world.

Then Japan. Wow. Japan. What a place. And again, surprising. For me, the highlight of Japan was visiting Hiroshima, with its "stuff you, we're back" attitude and palpable optimism underpinned by a grim determination to ensure that their past is never visited on anyone else.

At some time I'll put together a more thought-out recollection of all of this, but for now, I want to reflect on something else: how does a family man reconcile traveling for work? And I don't really mean the kind of traveling I've just done, but the bread-and-butter fortnight in Brisbane/Melbourne/Adelaide/Albury/Dubbo/Collinsville kind of work.

It's easy to justify on one level. I have to provide for my family, my royalties aren't adequate, and there simply isn't enough work in my home town. And to not work in schools would be to go back to a job that I hated, and thereby make my family miserable.

Similarly, I can remind myself that the best writers are those who see more of the world than their own study. Of course. It's a no-brainer.

And yet coming home to feel like you're a stranger in your own home can be weird, and source of friction. Billy Connolly says that when he's been on tour, his wife sometimes has to remind him not to get into the back seat of the car. I sort of know what that's like. While I'm feeling sorry for myself as I slowly digest an RSL roast in a motel room in the middle of nowhere, my wife is helping with homework, making dinner, putting on the washing, making lunches...

Recently I had lunch with the wife of a writer friend, and I was saying how fortunate I feel, living the writer dream that I've always had. She began to cry, and asked me how lucky my family felt about my realised dreams. She talked about her husband going away for weeks, and coming home, and getting back into work, and meanwhile she' was left feeling somewhat forgotten.

So I want to say, to my family and to the significant others in the lives of my friends who travel for work, that with the exception of trips to places like China and Japan, it's not glamorous traveling for work. But we also know that it's even less glamorous for you, as you prop up your end while we ring for new towels.

(For Facebook Notes readers: this post is redirected from my 'head vs desk' blog at headvsdesk.blogspot.com)

A week in the bush

As I write this, I'm sitting in McDonald's, Parkes, enjoying their free Wi-Fi, which gives me an opportunity to reflect on the last week or so.

I've just spent the lat three days at Lake Cargelligo Central School. 'Lake', as it's known locally, is a town of 1,300 (give or take) a couple of hours west of Parkes.

Lake is tired. Everywhere around Lake is tired. The lake that the town is named for has shrunken, the foreshore now a hundred metres or so away from where the boatramp ends. The streets are dusty, the silos empty, and the people seemingly resigned. They're harvesting at the moment. Or to be more accurate, those who have crops to harvest are harvesting. Some aren't even bothering. They're talking in very small numbers – one to two bags per acre. I'm not sure how big a bag actually is, but Matthew from Year 7 told me that his dad is currently driving grain trucks at Coonamble, a few hours up the road, where they're getting twelve to fourteen bags per acre. Last night on Prime, the news talked about the record harvest in Coonamble. They had shots of locals drinking up in the pub, smiling, grinning, celebrating. They got rain just at the right time.

I ate at one of the two Lake pubs most evenings. No one was celebrating in those pubs. One evening it rained, and the small number of locals who bothered to go outside to have a look didn't seem all that surprised to see that the shower lasted for a full fifteen minutes, then slunk away.

The kids at Lake Cargelligo Central School are like country kids everywhere. They're easy to engage, but difficult to get a response from. And you only have to strike up a conversation with their elders to know why this is. They don't need to impress anyone. And as a result, they aren't easily impressed. They just are.

The other things these kids are is older and wiser than their city cousins. I had to remind myself several times that I was speaking to Year 7s and 8s, not 9s and 10s. The teachers tell me of how overwhelmed these kids are when they go to the city for excursions. But I can't imagine there's much else that overwhelms them. Not when boys and girls in Year 6 and 7 tell me very matter-of-factly about going piggin' with their pig-dogs, or fishing for 60cm carp with a compound bow.

I love getting out on the road, and opening up the throttle a bit, both literally and metaphorically. I do love the bush. I was born in Trundle, which is about 45 minutes west of where I now sit.

I dropped in at Trundle other day. It felt familiar, but not like home. And when I introduced myself to the kids from Lake, I was very clear: I was born around here, but I'm not from around here. To make that claim would be to devalue the uniqueness of their growing-up experience. And that's the last thing I want to do.

(If you're reading this via Facebook Notes: this post is redirected from my 'head vs desk' blog.)

Brisbane Writers Festival

Ah, Brisbane. Las Vegas of the North. Home of the Broncos, Lions and Raw (?). Life-support system to the stupidest roundabout in the developed world.* Ah Brisbane, gateway to Burpengary.

To be serious for a moment, I actually do like Brisbane a great deal. In the twelve years or so that I've been going up there for work I've watched it transform from the big country town it was once known to be into a sprawling, pulsing city. With traffic. A lot of traffic. But a great many lovely people as well.

Brisbane is also home to one of the best-run writers festivals around. I spent three days up there last week, and was thoroughly impressed by the new venues (at the State Library) and the people who manage said venues. So many volunteers!

So here are some of my highlights:

• The venues.
  
• The attendees. Nice kids.
• Catching up with some of the other writers, such as Scott Monk, James Moloney, Tristan Bancks, Sherryl Clark and Belinda Jeffreys, and the people from UQP and Random House.
  
• Breakfast at the Gun Shot Cafe. Mmm, Canadian brekky.
  
• Noel Pearson's slightly confusing address at the opening of the festival. There were protesters!
  

Lowlights:

• You know who you are...
• Getting gridlocked in a stinky cab on the stupidest roundabout in the developed world.**
  

So a big thank you to Molly and her festival people for a great time – see you again some time, I hope.

*It has traffic lights on the roundabout itself.
**Seriously.

Bookweek in Griffith

Some statistics on the terrific week I just had in Griffith/Leeton/Colleambally:

• Number of schools visited: 10
• Workshop sessions: 7
• Author talks: 8
• Total students (approx): 1000
• Bottles of wine received as gifts: 4
• Fantastic meals consumed: 10
• Number of those fantastic meals that were consumed at the iconic La Scala restaurant: 1
  
• Total weight gain (approx): 2kg
  

In my experience, it's really unusual to do a full week of touring without having at least one session that leaves you feeling a bit disillusioned. But this really was a hugely fun and rewarding week, with every session full of keen, motivated and responsive kids. So thank you to all the organisers for their kindness, encouragement and hospitality, and to the students of the Riverina for being such a fun bunch of young readers and writers. See you again soon, I hope!

One more sleep...

...until I go home. I love being a writer, and a part of that is speaking in schools. And a part of speaking in schools is traveling. And when that travel is to Melbourne, my favourite Australian city, that softens the blow.

Except this time it's been almost two weeks. Last week I was at several schools in and around Melbourne, and I stayed with my friends Paul Collins and Meredith Costain, in their attic. And on Saturday night they had a bit of a gathering of Melbourne friends, complete with a chocolate birthday cake to celebrate my 41st. They're very kind, and I'm extremely grateful for their hospitality, and to all and sundry who came along.

I spent the weekend catching up with friends, and attending a couple of AFL games at the mighty 'G. And this week it's been the Literature Festival at Scotch College. I love festivals because you get to meet new people and catch up with old friends, such as Tristan Bancks, James Knight, Fiona McIntosh, and many more beside. The highlight? The mushroom and truffle oil risotto at The European on Spring Street. I love my risotto, and this, I must confess, was The. Best. Risotto. Ever. Hands down. No contest.

But risotto, friends, footy and chocolate cake aside, I am most cheered by the knowledge that I am here for one more night, then I'm heading home. Yep, one more sleep...

Reading Matters

I'd been looking forward to the Reading Matters conference in Melbourne for months. I love presenting at festivals and conferences anyway, but this one was especially exciting: not only does RM have a great reputation for quality and inspiration and meticulous planning, but it featured a wealth of presenters I was keen to meet, and to hear speak. And best of all, (like always) it was in Melbourne, my favourite Australian city.

I really want to thank Paula, Mike and Lili and all their many helpers (especially Erin, who MCed the student day) for inviting me to the conference, and for providing such an incredible and thought-provoking experience for everyone who attended. I can't imagine anyone went home even slightly disapointed.

I could go on and on for several pages, but I won't. Instead, for your edification, I'll simply list my highlights and lowlights of Reading Matters '09.

Highlights...

• John Green's wonderful opening address.
• The enthusiasm of the audiences, both adult and student.
• MT Anderson explaining (with help from a live concert violinist) how he uses the cadence of 18th Century music to influence the pattern of his narrative.
• Hanging out with Isobelle Carmody, who, despite accidentally applying a drop of superglue directly into her eye, managed to be a great deal of fun and encouragement.
• Tony Eaton's blue hair, which somehow didn't distract from his excellent presentations.
  
• The privilege of introducing overseas guests to the spectacle of 40,000 screaming Victorians watching AFL in an indoor stadium.
  
• Tristan Bancks' polished delivery.
• Shooting the breeze until well after midnight with the charming Mo Johnson, who somehow convinced the concierge to reopen the bar, just for us.
  
• Spending time with the warm, generous Mal Peet and his equally warm and generous wife Elspeth.
• The Hypotheticals session on Thursday night.
• Riffing on-stage with John green in the closing session.
• The calm professionalism of the Reading Matters staff, and their attention to detail. (They even stapled tram tickets to our program to help us get around town.)
  
• Each of the sessions.
• Everything else.

Lowlights...

• I lost a sock.

Somerset

Big fun on the Gold Coast, at the always excellent Somerset College Celebration of Literature, a.k.a. the Somerset Festival, or to most people in my particular line of work, simply 'Somerset'. This was the sixteenth year of the festival, which is the one by which all others in Australia are judged. In fact, many of the others have been modeled closely on Somerset.

Highlights included, but were not limited to:

• Great sessions with kids from over 70 schools from as far away as North Brisbane and the Northern Rivers district of NSW;
• Hanging out with lots of other authors and illustrators (peer time is one of the great benefits of festivals);
• The white chocolate and raspberry muffins;
• Alice Pung's very entertaining and moving address at last night's Festival Dinner;
• Playing tennis with former pro-tennis player and now author Pat Flynn. Yes, I lost. But yes, I did manage to get one or two serves back. I was proud of that;
• Yet-to-be finalised invitations to several exciting festivals and events after a number of program directors caught my sessions.
  

Lowlights were very few:

• The ambient temperature and humidity in the marquees on the oval. I swear I saw an anaconda disappear under the stage at one point. Plus there was that macaw up in the rigging. Some private schools are known for hot-housing their students, but this was just silliness.
• I think that's it.

There you go. Not much to complain about, then.

It almost was ...

Ironic how, after I put up a make-believe post about my 'last post' for Blog Like It's the End of the World (BLITEOTW08), it almost was my last post.

Here's why.

(NB: Mum, if you're reading this, stop reading now...)

Two nights ago Lesley Reece and I were flying in a 50-seat Fokker 50 from Perth to Albany to run a writing workshop day for 65 young people. Problem was, we flew into a storm in the south-west that in fact (we found out later) flattened trees, caused major flooding and claimed a life at the exact time we were trying to land. Twice. I've flown in some wild conditions before, but this was something. I don't usually get frightened in planes, but I was frightened. Similarly, I never throw up on planes, but this time I went perilously close to joining the dozen or so others who were emptying their guts into little bags. Loudly.

As I say, the pilot had two gos at landing, but with the plane bucking, weaving, yawing, pitching, rolling, dropping metres at a time, it was a terrific relief when the pilot came on the PA and told us that we were heading back to Perth. My main cause for relief was that my last meal wasn't going to be the rather ordinary chicken casserole served in a very small plastic bowl.

Cue forward a few hours. It's 4:15am, and Lesley and I are catching a cab back out to the airport to catch our replacement flight to Albany. And this time ... a perfect - and I mean perfect - three-point landing.

Mental note to self: never tempt fate by blogging about disasters, even in jest.

Until next time, and the time after that, and the time after that, this is James signing off.

Voices on the Coast '08

Just back from the excellent Voices on the Coast festival on Queensland's Sunshine Coast. Sunshine Coast? Yeah, right. More like Cyclone Coast. I was there a few years ago, and they've really let the place go, at least as far as the weather goes. On Monday the rain was falling sideways, and all of us ended up with smaller audiences because a large number of schools couldn't get through the flood waters to get the the venues.

Than there was the fire alarm late in the day, which led to most of us standing in the drizzle while people in fluro vests and helmets looked confused.

Oh yes, if nothing else, Voices '08 going to be memorable.

Despite the problems of the Monday, it was a really well-run festival, thanks primarily to Kelly Dunham, who was running the show for the first time. Kelly is unflappable. I think anyone else would have crumbled, but Kelly just kept smiling. She's a star, and she did such a great job. We are all very grateful, and I'm not just saying that because I want to be invited back. Even though I do...

The weather was much better on the Tuesday, so it wasn't a complete washout. And all the usual festival fun was had; the best thing about these events is that we get to hang out with other writers and illustrators, and talk shop. It's like our AGM, or staff meeting. It's just a shame that we couldn't have enjoyed a bit more of the Coast's legendary fine weather, especially since we were being accommodated at the lovely Seaview Apartments, which are across the road from the beach in Mooloolaba.

But hey, writers like it when things are a bit out of the ordinary. It gives us something to whinge - I mean write about.

Wee Jasper

I just want to thank the lovely kids from Wee Jasper, Bongongo, Reids Flat, Rye Park and Rugby Public Schools for having me at their adventure camp, held at Cooradigbee. These schools are so small that when they have a school camp, they combine several schools, and everyone comes along - every student, every teacher, even (in one case) the teacher's dog.

We had so much fun. Whenever the kids weren't caving, stalking nocturnal critters, having professional tennis coaching, star-gazing or toasting marshmallows, they were having writing workshops with me.

For the record (and for the benefit of the students who were there), here are my five things:

1. Weirdest thing: the two Yr 6 boys who seemed incapable of saying anything but "Why?"
2. Funniest thing: The reaction when Mason pulled out the snake/legless lizard.
3. Scariest/worst thing: Hearing it rain all night and worrying that I might have to run workshops for 40 Kindy-Yr 6 students for an entire day. Also, having the telescope guys out there on a night of heavy cloud, but not having them there the following night, when the skies were perfectly clear.
4. Best thing: Hearing Ben read. That was pretty brave, Ben. Also, the huge batch of scones the ladies whipped up in the kitchen of the shearers' quarters.
5. The most interesting thing I learnt: Adding a cup of lemonade to your scone mix makes them FANTASTIC!

Collinsville for a day

It was a big 48 hours, that's for sure. Left home at 7.30 am, drove to the airport, flew to Brisbane, then another flight to Proserpine on the Whitsunday Coast, then drove to Collinsville.

How do you get to Collinsville, you ask? Well, you drive north to Bowen (about 85km), then you drive south for another 85km. Now, sixth-grade geometry should dictate that I would find myself back in Proserpine after such a journey, but no, the second leg was actually slightly west of exact south, so I ended up in Collinsville, a mining town of about 2,500 people, which is about 60km west of Proserpine, but without a direct route between the two.

I did an awards night speech in the evening, then stayed at the Town and Country Hotel/Motel before heading out to Collinsville High School to do two workshops the next morning. I was all done by 11.30am, which left me enough time to say goodbye and head back to Proserpine via Airlie Beach. Then it was two flights home via Brisbane, and home, to walk in the door at 10.30pm.

Is Collinsville somewhere I'd have ever just gone and booked a trip to? Doubtful. But I'm so glad I did it, even though I saw very little of the town itself.

I love small Australian towns - they have a certain feeling of self-containment and self-assurance that is very hard to describe. They make me feel humble, too. It was a long way, yes, but worth every mile.