I’ve spent the last weekend at the Auckland Writers and Readers Festival, a great event that seems to get bigger and livelier each year. This is my third year at the festival, I think, and I really love coming home for it. There are friends and gossip and drinks, interesting sessions, insane people, intelligent people, good cheer. This year I overdid things a little – chairing three sessions and appearing in two others – but I’ll recover, hopefully by the time I fly back to the US next Sunday. The special addition this year was the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize, announced in Auckland on Saturday: this meant a number of free events with great writers from all over the world, and a whole lot of buzz over the prize announcements.
There are all sorts of reports on the festival up on various blogs: Bookman Beattie’s, Vanda Symon’s, and the one written by the indefatigable team at Christchurch City Libraries. But here’s a few non-comprehensive notes on what not to do at a festival. Whatever you do, DO NOT:
Commit to taking part in three sessions in one day, especially when the last one is at 6 PM, because you will be well punch-drunk by then, and unable to speak in a coherent manner, especially when you have also agreed to race up to Radio New Zealand in between sessions one and two for a live panel discussion, and especially when all you had for breakfast was the packet of two free biscuits in your hotel room, because you found out that Friday morning’s hotel breakfast (yoghurt, a mini-muffin, and a stale mini-croissant) cost you $25.
Drink heavily on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, when you know you have to get up early in the morning to read books/write questions/do interviews/appear professional and not smell like a brewery.
Grow disheartened when people don’t buy your books. After the short story session on Friday, with Charlotte Grimshaw, David Malouf, and Owen Marshall, I sat as lonely as a clown at the signing table. Various people came up to talk to me, but nobody wanted me to sign a book. I think I did better overall with international writers than with New Zealand readers. One of my friends told me that this is because all local audience members already have my books. Yes, that’s right.
Grow disheartened when well-meaning people say things that are, essentially, a knife to the heart. Like, “you did such a good job chairing that session -who are you, exactly?” Or “in your sessions today, try and do a better job than you did yesterday.” Or “you did such a good job interviewing Christos Tsiolkas yesterday.” (Charlotte G was the chair of that particular session.) Or “you don’t mind if we don’t come to your sessions, do you?” (Said by members of my family. Really, I didn’t mind.)
Forget that some people have positive things to say, like the nice ladies sitting in Elliott Stables who offered to buy me a coffee after the Sunday session with Monica Ali; and the three writers I had the luck and pleasure to interview: Monica, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Tash Aw; and the amazing festival organizers, especially Jill Rawnsley and Shona Gow.
Even think about speaking to Richie McCaw in the lift on Saturday, because he is mentally preparing for the Crusaders VS Blues game that night, and because he is an All Black, and because you don’t want to cross his girlfriend, top ballroom dancer Hayley Holt.
Look like a publicist. Apparently I do. At the Christchurch Festival a couple of years ago, walking into the Green Room, I was asked which writer I was “looking after.” This year, when I was trying to sit near the front at the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize announcement, an usher told me the seats were reserved for writers and their publicists. When I said I was one of the above, she asked (very nicely) which company I worked for and who I was looking after. At the Creative NZ party later than evening, someone very senior in CNZ was introduced to me and asked me which publisher I worked for. (Doesn’t she know I am like Oprah in my homeland????) I haven’t been a publicist since 1993, but clearly I still give off the vibe. Maybe I need to wear less make-up? Seem more disheveled and distracted? Have my own publicist in tow?
Listen to Guy Somerset when he complains that all my blog posts are 5000-words long and yet I can’t manage to get a 450-word review for the Listener in on time.
I really enjoyed the session with Tash, thanks!
Posted by: Lyds | May 19, 2009 at 01:50 AM
Those tips are all really good ones Paula but I think you are too critical of your performance. My colleague thought your chairing was superb and has blogged as such http://cclblog.wordpress.com/2009/05/19/and-the-winners-are/.
Evidently the wine didn't impair you too much. Well done.
Posted by: Mo-mo | May 19, 2009 at 05:10 AM
I have to say a huge thanks to you Paula, for being so helpful with the crowd management after one event you chaired. You offered to help me ( a festival volunteer) with the signing queue. I didn't see who you were, just glimpsed, from the corner of my eye,this angel appeared. I admit it -- I thought you were a publicist!
(In the meantime, the actual publicist was standing still, looking into the middle-distance.)
Big thanks to you!
Posted by: Astral | May 20, 2009 at 02:02 AM
I think the publicist vibe must be because you are lovely and always look put together, and you don't have that crazy-eyed, disheveled thing going on that so many writers either cultivate, because they think they should, or can't help, because they truly are a mess. See "monsieur chapeau," etc.
Posted by: TLB | June 12, 2009 at 08:15 PM