Yesterday
there was a flurry of writers on social media suggesting the Ruapehu Writers
Festival was the best festival ever. I have loved the richness and discoveries
of so many other festivals, along with the family warmth of Going West. Yet
this festival was special. The best ever.
The
setting: The mountain to the north loomed large out of clouds, and on
some days into bright blue sky. The mountain stream babbled past like a
soothing mountain soundtrack. The trains punctuated sessions and we all stopped
and listened to the comforting sound of travel.
The
writers: The writers came from far and wide (Martin Edmond, Fiona
Farrell). Bigger publishers were represented (Penguin Random House, Auckland
University Press, Victoria University Press) and so too were the boutique
Presses (Seraph Press, Anahera Press, Mākaro Press, Cat
& Spaghetti Press, Hue & Cry – to name a few).
The
sessions: Not a single dud. Just smorgasbord of highlights. I do want
to pick out a couple of presentations that struck a chord with me.
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