Notes on a Book Festival

I look forward to October every year because of the Birmingham Book Festival. I like to take part in writing workshops and see authors read their work, so the book festival is a highlight of my calendar. This year I signed up for Comic Fiction with Mil Millington (What my Girlfriend and I Have Argued About), Night Writer on Tour and a Performance Skills workshop run in conjunction with Apples and Snakes.
Comic Fiction was a great workshop, primarily because the tutor Mil Millington, who is an author I really admire, remembered me from a workshop I attended last year. I’m memorable - he knew my name and everything! I got him to sign one of his books for me, and he put a nice personal dedication on it, so it now has pride of place on my signed-book shelf. Two and a half hours was nowhere near long enough to do justice to the subject of comedy, but it was a pleasant and interesting way to spend an afternoon.
Night writer on tour was a different prospect entirely. Last year we did a night writing workshop in the presidential suite at the Radisson hotel in Birmingham, which was very luxurious. This year was anything but - we were touring the Black Country on a mini bus from ten pm until six am.
Our first stop was Lichfield Cathedral, which I imagine is very beautiful, although I don’t know for sure, as it was dark. Trying to write en route was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done, especially when we turned right and my face got squashed up against the window. We journeyed to Ironbridge Gorge next, where we saw some dark water and some rather startled ducks - alas, no bridge, we were further down the river than that. Wenlock Edge was next on the agenda, where we tramped through some trees and then all turned off our torches. This proved inspirational to me, as I had a panic attack and furiously wrote about my fears when we got back on the bus. Next up was a coffee break at a service station, where we did some writing exercises and woke ourselves up with gallons of coffee.
On the road again, we made our way to Ludlow Castle. Well, not actually the castle, as it’s not open at four am, but we did have a nice brisk walk around the car park in the drizzle. The police who pulled up were bemused, perhaps thinking we were up to no good, but when we explained they were very nice, welcoming us to Ludlow and wishing us well in our endeavours. No doubt they shook their heads at the strange townies when they got out of sight.
It was a long journey back to Birmingham, and we all started to flag. Then we entered the bright lights of another service station, were told that we could have whatever we wanted for breakfast as it was included in the price of the workshop, and all perked up again. The good feelings lasted until we found out that we still had writing exercises to do, and we were going to be late back. We didn’t get back to Birmingham until half past seven, I looked like a zombie, and I had to wait for my lift home. I fell into bed at half past eight, considered the whole experience, and decided there had been too much travelling and not enough writing.
I had higher hopes for the Performance Skills workshop. I’ve done the odd performance, but I’m more of a reader-out than a performer, so I was hoping to get some tips. The input I got from Lorna Laidlaw has completely changed the way I think about performing my work. The highlight of the event was an impromptu performance in the middle of Birmingham town centre. Most people were worrying about looking stupid and furiously practicing their piece, while I was standing in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably and wiping my nose on my sleeve as I didn’t have a tissue. Not because I was frightened of the performance, but because I have agoraphobia and was terrified at the thought of going outside. My head was telling me I was useless and stupid, and I wanted to run away but I couldn’t.
I should explain my agoraphobia, because it is not the traditional type; I can go outside, but only if I’m accompanied by a trusted person, which would be my husband, my boyfriend or my son. I can just about manage getting a taxi to the school on my own if I wear a hat, which limits my field of visibility, my glasses, which I can hide behind, and have my mobile phone up my sleeve for easy access, but unplanned outside-going is not in my repertoire.
All around the room, people were practicing their poetry; I was staring at a brick wall and hoping that no-one would notice that I was crying. I read my poem and tried to concentrate on calming myself. I decided that I was going to do the performance, even though it would be difficult for me. In my mind, I chose a focus person, and as we left the building I just made myself aware of that person, making them more solid than the rest of the people and the surroundings.
We trooped off to Chamberlain Square, where, in front of the fountain, we staged a guerrilla-style performance event, much to the confusion of the people passing by, a lot of whom stopped to watch. My performance went well, but I was the first back to the building, so missed having my photo taken by the organisers. I couldn’t quite believe that I’d done it, and I think any performance I do now will be nowhere near as scary as that!