I haven’t made a lot of art recently. I packed my sketchbook, pencils, pens and watercolours but did not use them once this weekend. Why? We went to the Writers’ Guild of Alberta Conference in Calgary. It was our first time.
It had taken a long time for Mack to convince me that we should go. I kept telling myself that I didn’t deserve it, I wouldn’t fit in, and that it was a waste of money.
It turned out to be worth it for a few reasons. We got to stay in this beautiful BnB (Hughes’ house), we met many writers and a few that I will probably keep in contact with, and I got great feedback on one of my short stories (“Henry in the Wall“).
Jessica Kluthe, author, editor and instructor, reviewed my story and recommended that I elaborate on Henry’s story. More specifically, turn it into a novel. I have always nervously laughed when people ask if I would ever write a novel. Now I’m not sure if I can laugh about it, although, I still feel nervous.
On the second last night of the Conference, at Writers in Love, a bouquet was thrown to celebrate marriage, love, writing or an impending book deal. We were instructed to make a wish. As the flowers flew through the air, Mack savagely grabbed the bouquet. On later reflection it was discovered that he had grabbed the flowers out of the hands of two elderly women. Everyone made jokes about it after. Mack covered by passing the flowers to me, and recovered by downing a glass of Merlot.
So here I sit back at home. I open the newly titled, “Henry” document and begin writing my novel. Here we go.
“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”
― E.L. Doctorow
“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
― Anton Chekhov