28 minds, wordsmiths all, sat in a room detailing their journeys, their struggles, and amidst all these creative minds little old me.
A cornucopia of imagination, and in their midst the interloping eater of fish finger sandwiches.
I sat listening, absorbing, cogitating and generally pondering my place, my right to sit at the same table.
I’m not a playwright, thespian, or published writer of any description, my only claim to comparative fame is that I occasionally read the Guardian newspaper…
But, let us not imagine it was an unwelcome gathering, it wasn’t.
The energy of imagination is contagious, the (near) peer exchanges invaluable.
Folk writing books about walking tours around London, a very helpful contributor writing about the physical and spiritual aspect of pilgrimage.
What did I learn?
What was my main take-away?
Belief is all.
Seek and accept feedback, relish it, bathe in the review of your work, but no matter how critical or supportive, remember that it is YOUR work and yours alone.
So, if necessary adjust, but never retreat, never stop.
Type away, tell your own tall tale, because if you don’t no one else will.
Thank you, London you were inspiring.