Sunday, September 18, 2005

Fine vines and lost words

Three eccentric journalists on circuitous route to a Writers Festival. Via country weekend markets - venison sausages, honey, olive oil, mandarins... To the latest uber-trendy coastal cafe where the coffee was not just good, it was sensational. Would we please vote for them in the barista challenge? Certainly!
It was the sort of shining spring day which makes one feel good to be alive. The new growth of the eucalypts like russet crowns on the crests of the trees. The wattle still blooming vivid yellow. And the rolling vineyards with strident green infant leaf bursting exuberantly from the austere sculptural contortions of winter sleep.
Of course the Festival events were being held at a winery - elegant marquees beside a lush, red gum-lined creek, earnest bookish people drinking wine and coffee...lots of beards and tweedy respectability.

Two of us were booked to appear on a strangely-titled forum - "Reel writing".

We were given pretty much carte blanche in interpreting this subject which resulted in me making the sounds of whooshing spaceships to exemplify the lack of reel, real or any writing in contemporary movies and then going on for a rant over the ubiquitous misuse of pronouns. Interestingly, two of the subsequent speakers misused pronouns, which is a worry when they are purportedly writers, but certainly illustrated my rant.

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