Recently, I was at the Totally Unknown Writers Festival. It was held at the Rivoli Club in Toronto. A capacity crowd filled the hall behind the restaurant bar. Organizers, readers and listeners rubbed shoulders as they packed every seat at the tables and all the benches along the walls. By the time the first author went up to the stage, it was standing room only.
The stage was the only well lit spot. The dim yellow lighting created an ambience akin to a retro-style bar, except this one was, thankfully, smoke-free. The air was festive. Everyone was in high spirits. Before the readings began, the drinks flowed while the guests hobnobbed and networked. I bumped into an unexpected old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in over thirty years, and also discovered that one of the featured authors was related to my husband…the world is definitely round and not very big.
Ten unknown writers. Each waited their turn to go up to the stage for their moment of glory. I’m sure they must have been nervous. Yet when they got up to read, I did not hear any tremor in their voices. Each read slowly, enunciating their words carefully.
Some connected with the audience more than others, engaging and entertaining with ease. Their work had been edited many times until they were perfect or near perfect. No half measures here. The personal narratives were unique to each author. I know, because one of my stories has been accepted by
Life Rattle Press, the organizers of the festival.
An eclectic group of writers, unknown for now. Some will surely move on to embrace the writing life.
Labels: Writing