The Pleasant Torture Of Writer's Festivals

A few days ago I attended the 3rd Sutherland Shire Writers Festival at Gymea. The event promised a good line up of esteemed writers and illustrator's, most of them for children and teens. Bring on the fun!
The day did not pan out as I imagined however. After two excellent presentations by writers Oliver Phommavanh and Melina Marchetta, I had taken down some juicy notes and my head was brimming with ideas and writing wisdom.
No sooner had that finished than I had a manuscript consultation with author Sue Whiting of Walker Books.
No matter how lovely Sue is and that I have now met her half a dozen times, I still got so nervous touting my literary wares that my knees became caffeinated crabs under the desk and I had to speak through a nervously clenched jaw.If Sue felt any alarm or pity towards me, she thoughtfully hid it.
The advice I got was excellent. Amazing how you can read your piece 17 times and never notice obvious flaws until you sit in front of an editor- and they haven't even spoken yet!(It's like getting dressed in a posh frock, doing your hair and make-up and after some self-admiration in the mirror, you head out into the sun only to notice the big juice stain down your dress!)
Sue was encouraging and the appraisal was well worth the cost, but after I got out of there, I couldn't possibly face a workshop or more talks. If I can compare the moment (forgive my addiction to analogies) to being fed delicious hor d'ourves and they're bloody wonderful and you're scoffing them down, but they just keep coming and no matter how good, you just can't keep going.
Instead I walked outside into the heat and climbed up on a little wall like a jigging child. I thawed out from the air-con and flicked through my notes. I couldn't ignore the fact I was simply busting to write. There was nothing for it but to leave.
When my husband came home at lunchtime, he found me, with surprise on the computer.
HUSBAND-Oh you're home! Err...was the festival okay?
ME- Yeah, it was great! That's why I'm home and writing.
HUSBAND-Uh, okay.
And I'm afraid this is pretty much what happens to me every time at Festivals, but usually I stick it out, feeling nothing short of lobotomised at the end.
It would be just great at these shindigs if there were two hours of talks and then two hours of scribbling. Fill the jug, empty the jug.

Perhaps my jug is just too small!

Studio Pigsty

These last two weeks have been more or less only artwork as I work towards meeting a self-imposed dead-line. The dead-line had a most tasty carrot - my bookstore agreeing to sell (on commission) some of my illustrations. Hooray!
Really it was about time that I asked. Previously I had moaned about all the comments people were giving to another illustrator's work displayed there.
I whinged to my boss who bluntly said "Well, she got her finger out and did those. Where's yours?" My inner whinge bag procrastinator needed that slap. And so here I am, ready to pop my own work onto a wall. It will be interesting since I will obviously hear some comments, not all positive, but a great opportunity to learn more and, hopefully sell some of my work.
I gave this blog that particular title because I wanted to show you the area I work in. I might add, I don't normally wear a hat, but had been out and come home and headed straight down to work. I am a shocker at working in whatever clothes- good or bad I am wearing when the urge to create takes me( about the time the dishes need doing)
I am tremendously lucky to have a studio under our house. It is also our storage area. Growing up,my Mum always said my room was a pigsty. As shown by my picture, it still is. I know other people are very tidy and neat. I tend to think in circles and fragments and am not very ordered. I have had to learn to be a bit practical to manage a home, work and family, but in my studio, I get to let my inner slob be herself- I never loose things and I produce good stuff during happy hours of play/work. It gets a furious tidy after each session of projects. In the meantime, I love my sty as it is- a creative chaos with me as it's mistress.