Melbourne Writers’ Festival 2011 is a smorgasbord of words; lots to pile onto our crafty plates; lots to digest. I listen to the writers who constitute ‘fine dining’—best selling authors, they’ve done the work and are deserving of their success. I gorge on the wisdom of the craft they spread before the audience. Sometimes I get so full, I give myself indigestion. I wonder how much more feasting the writing world can handle. Will the table collapse under the weight? Is there room for one more morsel, for that crumb of a story I have scattered onto my page? Will it sate someone’s appetite for the tale just a little? As a writer, will I give up because there is so much fine food out there? Or will I decide to practice, practice, practice, until I can whip up the perfect offering? Abandon or aim to emulate? One thing I know, hunger revisits every day. There is an audience waiting for good stories, delivered on white linen or take away containers. Chew it over then do the work.
