I went. I saw. I conquered (my stage fright).
My first exposure to the Indian Ocean. Sometimes very very far from home can look like right next door. We even saw a little rainbow; no leprechauns.
We launched our anthology: The Trouble With Flying and Other Stories. $24: bargain.
We drank wine. In Margaret River, why not?! I made a new bestie: Ruth Wyer. She’s not only an exceptionally talented writer, the winner of this year’s competition, features in the Sleepers Almanac 9; but she’s also just lovely inside and out. No haters, please. Her self-deprecation is unparalleled. I heart her.
We had a few jaunts. Met loads of lovely folk. And then, even more lovelier folk; like Louise Allan, Emily Paull, and Kristen Levitzke. Heard a lot. Pondered a lot. Discussed refugees with Robin de Crespigny. I gave Peter Goldsworthy a pinky swear greeting – still not sure if this will be my finest or most embarrassing memory. We ate like royalty. And were ever so content in that elusive ‘writing bubble’ for a weekend.
And, I slammed. A code-switching poem. English/Irish//Béarla/Gaeilge. Onstage. First time in my life. A lifetime of mad-writer-in-her-attic/hiding-my-writing-under-my-pillow thanks to the inimitable Eleanor Jackson for holding my hand. What an ambassador Australian Poetry has chosen!
I couldn’t have expected a better time. I am so very happy I went.
Thank you Margaret River for a time of my life.