I took this about five minutes into the London Poetry and Magazine Fair. The AI that processes Google’s panorama data can’t cope with humans, especially moving ones. Faces distort, bodies thin, and there is the stutter of positioning (spot the lady tilting her head to look at a cover from a different angle). The church windows are glorious though, yet this gives a completely unrealistic sense of space on the ground.
There will be an email written today to the Poetry Society, because there were not enough places to sit and not nearly enough space between stalls. The claustrophobia here was very real at certain points. This is not the 1960’s any more and honestly if I can’t run a wheelchair or a pram up and down each aisle without taking somebody out, you are not serving everybody’s needs.
The irony of the ramp into the building before the two sets of steps to negotiate to enter the event was not lost on me.
As someone with invisible disabilities, there were points when leaving was far more attractive than staying and doing the job I’d gone to do. However, I met many friends (and poets) who lightened the journey. I had lunch with one of them, which allowed me to find a level and rationalise everything that had taken place. After ten hours of sleep (yes, it was that stressful) I’ll need a long walk outside to help crystallise everything properly into direction.
The one thought strong enough to remain uppermost is how certain tables felt less welcoming than others. What I know about publishers that they’ll never use as advertising, the stories and the personal experiences encountered in a journey to be noticed and for work to be considered on merit alone is… I saw them. I stood and watched them work. I wondered if I should listen to my gut or not going forward.
The other thing now firmly installed in my head from yesterday is the advice from my lunch partner (who is now also part of the audience here, for which I thank her <3). I need to do me right now, I need to keep walking this path. If I have a five-minute reading slot at an open mic that means reading for three and doing background for another 90 seconds before coming in under time.
With the belief in my work and the opportunities I am now afforded I must be patient and keep working. I must wait for people to come to me. There is never enough energy to sustain this level of content, this level of addiction to the working process and eventually I will burn out if preventative steps are not taken. So, next week, whilst I’m lying in my pants on a bed in a hostel/B&B, there must be time not to work.
There must be time to both breathe and think.
Something I reminded a friend of recently comes to mind. She's a solo entrepreneur, who is also an author of novels. She tends to spend her weekends working on either business or book. I encouraged her to take a weekend off by reminding her that even though running a small business is a 24/7 gig, if the only employee of your business burns out, *so does the business.* Sounds like you're figuring this out, too, in your own way.