When I was eleven, my teacher had a special hand sign for the whole class to make whenever I answered a question. They all quietly put a raised fist in the air until I shifted my voice from just above a whisper, to something people could hear. It wasn’t a problem in the school yard - there I could hold my own. Same as on stage as a dancer - under lights I felt confident, but I didn’t have to speak any words. I wanted, desperately, to be in the school show in Grade Six, but I was scared to audition for a speaking role. Then my gorgeous Grade Six teacher wrote a special part for me - the Cat in the Hat - where I could mostly dance but say a few words. On stage, I finally found my voice.
But anxiety is a beast and despite many more, bigger speaking roles on stage, and a reputation as a loud mouth all through high school and beyond, at my very first lit festival - Byron Bay 2016 - a week after Skylarking came out, I was reduced again to that grade five girl terrified of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and feeling the fool. I felt unskinned by the book coming out, I didn’t know anyone and I was at a signing table next to Paul Keating whose line snaked out around the tent while I only had a punter who felt sorry for me and brought up another author’s book to ask if I wanted to sign it (I did not). I’m eternally grateful to the wonderful Briohny Doyle (who has a new book - Why We Are Here - out very soon) who took me under her wing, walked the clifftop with me, and was a truly delightful support. What Briohny did has totally informed how I now do festivals.
After a SPLENDID Newcastle Writers Festival (check out my highlights on insta) and for what it’s worth here are my rules for festivalling (or any kind of event!):
Before you head off - look at the program and know what you want to get along to. RSVP to any and all of the festival organised guest events. Find out if there’s anyone you know (or would like to know!) and get in touch ahead of time, maybe you can have a coffee/wine/breakfast or meet up ahead of events if you reckon you’ll feel more comfortable with a wingperson.
As a guest, the festival has invested in you and your work. Give back. Share socials, advertise the festival and events through your own networks. Say thank you and give feedback at the end. Be nice to volunteers - they are the beating heart of every festival.
If you’re hosting: get in contact ahead of time with the guests you will be speaking to. Read their work. Be prepared. Festivals go FAST and you want to have your questions sorted, notes done, know where you have to be at what time so you can say YES to that random catch up with the author you’ve always wanted to meet.
Remember to EAT and hydrate. My adrenaline goes wild on a festival weekend and it’s super easy to flit from one thing to the next thinking you’ll just grab something in the green room. Don’t do this! Sit down - get yourself something decent or you’ll find yourself at the end of the festival having eaten a bit of sushi and some chips and be FEELING IT.
When you’re in social situations, my trick to taking the edge off anxiety is to be an introducer. Intro people you know to others. Use their full names and mention their recent work as this is often the way people might know of them. Introduce YOURSELF with your full name (Tom Keneally’s publicist taught me this trick when I was very green at Brisbane Writer’s Fest drinks). It’s not arrogant or weird - it’s HELPFUL!
Kate, Holly Ringland and Shannon Molloy in the NWF greenroom A strange one - but useful advice a marketing person from The Guardian gave me when I was a baby writer. Compliment someone’s earrings and ask them where they are from. For me - this is easy. I’m an earring magpie and go home from festivals with a list of books to read AND a list of new earrings to buy. At NWF this past weekend (and given the lost luggage chaos) I was delighted when The Bookshelf’s Cassie McCullagh complimented my earrings and I was able to tell her they were five dollar Big W bling.
For some extroverts (and often the guests with small humans or caring duties at home who are WILD with the excitement of having a night off!) - the urge is to party all night. Yes - it is - as author Anna Downes so eloquently put it - ‘like school camp for grown up writers’. Give yourself a time limit. Set your alarm for the morning so you don’t miss your first session, or turn up worse for wear.
If you’ve festivalled before - remember what it was like when you didn’t know anyone and every guest was intimidating. Give a newbie a hand. Take them under your wing. Give them your number or connect on socials, check in on them or get along to their session if you can.
At the end of the festival - know that the post-fest blues are REAL. Make some time to share pics if you’ve taken them, thank festival organisers, follow up with people you’ve met (but don’t go the hard sell on them on the Monday morning!). And then have a nap.
VERY IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: my personal festival rules don’t work for everyone. You do you. I was elegantly reminded of this by the wonderful writer Fiona Murphy after I got on my high horse about being a good festival guest after Margaret River Writers Festival in 2021. Fiona pointed out that not everyone enjoys or can get along to festival events. Accessibility can be a major impediment. You can listen to our convo on this topic on the podcast here.
Would love for you to share your own festival rules or experiences or to ask any questions in the comments below! There are SO many wonderful lit festivals coming up in Oz (check out Literary Listings for all the details) - if you’re getting along as a guest or a participant of any kind - have an excellent time. K xx
Your energy inspires me, Kate! I've only ever done one festival, in South Carolina of all places, and loved it. Such an amazing, uplifting (exhausting) vibe. I had my own Paul Keating moment there too - a nice older lady came to chat with me and ask directions (my only signing line visitor), while the amazing Claire Legrand was next to me and had a massive line full of cosplayers and crying fans. So wild.