I Remember York 2017

I didn’t use I Remember exercises at York this year, but in that style here are a few quick memories from this weekend’s Festival of Writing in York:

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I remember sirens from Australia, cooks in Paris, immigrants from Uganda.

I remember mothers: Sicilian and surrogate and Geordie and grieving.

I remember killers from Yorkshire (and Merseyside, and Edinburgh, and France, and Wales, and Northumberland, and Yorkshire again).

I remember YA dystopian novels.

I remember an ADULT dystopian novel.

I remember saying I’d love to read a blockbuster novel about Polish-British immigrants.

I remember an agent getting excited about badgers.

I remember having a Norma Desmond moment.

I remember Facing the Fear, and the Fuck-It Draft.

I remember being woken at 4am by a scream. Was it (a) a murderous clown, or (b) a goose?

The following night, I remember wondering whether (c) that scream had in fact come from the room next to mine …

I remember hearing about an unimaginative agent.

I remember a writer who was far too polite to say who this was.

I remember politeness being rewarded: an encouraging encounter with an imaginative publisher.

I remember it takes all sorts, and if at first, and never take the first answer.

I remember Ruby winning the best first chapter contest with a brilliant pitch that was too good not to win.

I remember first meeting Ruby in 2012.

I remember persistence.

I remember Deborah talking about being big in Japan (and sixteen other territories).

I remember someone nobbling me for saying that Sauron is a crap antagonist (Gollum is a brilliant one, honest).

I remember Tor saying the most amazing thing about being published is connecting with readers. ‘Every time someone reads my characters, they become more real.’

I remember Harry coming to sit at our table at the gala dinner,

I remember Harry starting to tell a story about publishing, and turning to a delegate sitting next to him.

I remember Harry saying to that delegate, ‘Do you know Antonia Hodgson?’

I remember that delegate saying, ‘Yes, she’s my sister.’

I remember meeting many old friends and making many new.

I remember the train back, filling in Shelley’s morphological grid, peering into the rain.

I remember coming home to a beautiful new bathroom. I couldn’t forget that.

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And here is another post with links and other resources mentioned in workshops and during book doctor sessions.

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