What I Wish I’d Known About: Literary Festivals

Astrid Edwards – The Garret

Being on stage does not come naturally to me. I once refused to speak in public, but now—and this still astounds me—I regularly moderate events at writers’ festivals. My nerves have settled over time, but they haven’t disappeared. I deal with this in two opposing ways. I over-prepare, ensuring I have more questions and angles than I could possibly ask in the given timeframe. I also—and this will sound counterintuitive—don’t stick to my questions. Once in conversation, I go where the conversation is most interesting. But overpreparing is still key: that is what gives me the confidence to abandon the script and hopefully facilitate something wonderful for those on stage and those in the audience.

Declan Fry – Writer, essayist, poet

They are what you make them. Let Dionysus in. Ask Apollo: what’s your advice? If you are funny, you can laugh at yourself. Maybe the whole format. Or you can laugh with them. Do not accept either/or. Have your cake. Eat your cake. Then give your cake to somebody else: your moderator, your co-panellists, the audience. (Festival: from the Latin, festa. Meaning feast, baby!)

Do you feel something incommunicable within you? You must communicate it. You have a responsibility. (Sometimes, communication is our only responsibility.) Communication may mean saying nothing at all. Stories do not belong to anyone. Although, sometimes, they can be stolen. A stolen story may persist as a story ignored. A story ignored is another theft. Make space for (other) stories.

Be kind. To yourself, to others. To the audience. If you are the audience, please, ask a question. Should you feel you have no choice but to make a statement, be respectful, say only what you must, and remember: it should end—sooner, rather than later—with a question. A good question is its own statement. If you cannot end with one—or if you cannot follow any of the other pieces of advice offered here—become a writer.

Zeynab Gamieldien – The Scope of Permissibility

People who love books are the best people, and writers’ festivals are for die-hard book lovers. If I’ve ever felt nervous about appearing at a festival, I remind myself of that. Some of my best memories are of attending talks by writers I love and admire, and so I consider any opportunity to be on the other side of the stage as a huge privilege. If you’re a new author appearing at your first festival, soak it all up. Take a cheesy selfie with your lanyard. Chat to attendees and meet other authors. And don’t forget to eat the free cookies!

Kári Gíslason – The Sorrow Stone

Umberto Eco once said that all stories speak of other stories; it was as though they spoke among themselves. For, storytelling is endlessly referential, much more so than the bound and singular nature of books may suggest. I loved this idea when I heard it. It was how I tended to think stories should converse: unaccompanied by us, their authors. Speaking among themselves.

But writers’ festivals taught me that there was more to it. I learnt that we, too, gain a lot from meeting each other, just as stories do. Become friends—as stories can—and even part of each other’s stories too.

Mawunyo Gbogbo – Hip Hop & Hymns

Byron Writers Festival was my very first as a newly minted author. I took an entourage of three friends with me who flew in and were cheerleaders at my sessions. This was key to ensuring my festival experience was a fun one. On a boozy night out, one of my gorgeous friends tried to track down Trent Dalton to ask him what his secret was after I told her that I was seated next to him in the signing tent and had ‘line envy’ when I saw how long his queue was, compared to my more modest queue.

Festivals are a great place to network and meet fellow authors. I have since appeared at numerous festivals, including the Sydney Writers’ Festival where I was approached after a session and offered the opportunity to speak at the Happiness & Its Causes conference. Opportunities beget opportunities.

My experiences have been overwhelmingly positive, except when one facilitator refused to share questions with me ahead of time, and then asked an intrusive question that was way off-topic, leaving me feeling unsafe and exposed. I wish I’d known I could press for a heads-up beforehand, taking it up with festival organisers when the moderator continued to be dismissive, as this was rather unpleasant. My other advice is to read as many of the books from fellow panellists as you can—it definitely makes for a better experience. And take some extra pocket money with you, just in case you want to join Dalton’s queue—or mine!

Lamisse Hamouda – The Shape of Dust

As writers, we focus a lot on ‘finding our voice’ on the page. Yet we do very little practise for speaking on the festival circuit.

My top tip for overcoming the fear of public speaking is to find spaces to safely practice inhabiting the vulnerability of seeing and being seen on stage. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been in a tug of war between my social anxiety and extroversion. I found theatre and improv workshops to practise being in front of an audience. Such workshops offered a supportive environment that encouraged failure and growth, and that was the exact kind of love I needed to manage my anxiety around public appearances. For example, improv offered me experiential learning for presence and responsiveness, theatre offered me tools to help me with attunement to the audience, as well as with my voice and my body. Playing with an improv group or doing some theatre workshops will allow you to experiment with ways of finding your voice on stage. You’ll also find they offer insights into how your voice shows up on the page too!

Melanie Joosten – Like Fire-Hearted Suns

The festival gods are fickle! Each festival is looking for something different and it’s not always you. Despite having a new book out I’ve only been invited to one festival this year. It’s disappointing to the ego, but (and it’s a big BUT) it’s a well-known truism in publishing that festivals don’t actually sell that many books—unless you’re already a big name who is selling them anyway.

What festivals are good for is filling your cup—and in my experience, it’s the smaller festivals that do this best. There is something about being thrown together—readers and writers—over a few days that brings a genuine feeling of intimacy and joy. Audiences are often very open and supportive; they are genuinely keen to hear what you have to say even if they’ve never heard of you before. They might even buy your book!

Will Kostakis – We Could Be Something

Remember: When you’re on a panel, it is a team effort. Don’t be that person who takes ten minutes to answer a question and bores the audience. Don’t be the person who brings up an earlier question after everyone has moved on, killing the momentum of the event. Don’t make it about you. Work together, and keep answers short and to the point.

Diana Reid – Seeing Other People

I used to think that attending festivals would make me a ‘real’ writer—as if festivals were an entry point into an exclusive literary scene, where writers hung out and shared ideas and took turns riding each other’s coattails. Now I know that scenes are just modes of performing being a writer, instead of getting on with the very real work of writing.

Where I derive a sense of community and legitimacy is not just from other writers but from the whole wonderful book industry. I’ve loved every festival I’ve attended. Yes, big-name writers have been incredibly kind to me. But some of the best conversations are with people whose names don’t appear on the posters. From volunteers to artistic directors, from publicists to critics, writers’ festivals aren’t really about the writers. They’re about being in a room full of people who, no matter their role, love to read.

Melanie Saward – Burn

I love writers’ festivals! Writers are celebrities to me and getting to hear them talk about their process and their words is inspiring. Because of this, I always work hard to try and give the audience a great experience, even if speaking in public is not my most natural state.

I do have to remind myself when I’m appearing at a festival that I also don’t need to attend every single event: it’s too exhausting to travel and appear on panels and go to everything. It’s easier to live with a little FOMO than to burn out.

Veronica Sullivan – The Wheeler Centre

Literary events have been sites of inspiration, solace, surprise and provocation throughout my personal and professional life. When I was twenty-one, I volunteered at Melbourne Writers Festival. I got to see events for free and meet some of my favourite writers in person—a dream! Just as thrillingly, I met the staff working away behind the scenes and began to wonder if a career in literary events was something I could aspire to.

I didn’t know then just how richly rewarding and creatively fulfilling programming could be, but I’m so grateful I’ve since had the opportunity to find out. I went on to intern at the Emerging Writers’ Festival, was a founding board member and then program manager of the Feminist Writers Festival, and I am now head of programming at The Wheeler Centre.

Whether you’re a writer or an aspiring programmer, my top piece of advice is to take a leap and engage however you can with bookish events and festivals—volunteering remains one of the best ways to soak it all in.