At the weekend, I went to the Flash Fiction Festival, in Bristol. And it was amazing.
I knew it was going to be. I’d been excited about it for months. I’d booked everything in advance, and even found a nice little Airbnb as all the accommodation had gone. But I didn’t mind. It was going to be my adventure. And it was.
I arrived in Bristol on the Thursday, in the summer sun. Its always sunny when I go to Bristol. I wandered round Bristol, just exploring. I wasn’t really headed anywhere, as I couldn’t check in to the Airbnb until the evening. So I just sort of wandered, a misadventure of sorts. I found a lovely church that was grand inside and out, that I thought must be the cathedral. It wasn’t. But was still lovely and had a little garden with it too. I found the river, lined with lavender, which smelt divine, but realised the city centre was a lot further away than I thought. So I dawdled back, and found a cute café near the station for an iced coffee.
I did struggle a bit to find the Airbnb. Seeing street signs and house numbers is something that is really hard for me. I knew I was in the right area as Google maps said I was, and I had seen a larger sign for Ratcliffe Court a few minutes earlier which was where I needed to be. I wasn’t entirely sure where 122 was, but I messaged the host who came to meet me nearby. He tried waving, but of course I didn’t see him in the distance, so he whistled instead, without being asked, until I found him.
The Airbnb was nice, and comfortable, even if I did struggle to find a bathroom light or two. It was what I needed. On the Friday, I headed to Stonehenge, and had an incredible time. I then went to the festival in the evening, taking a taxi with a lady who gave me a descriptive tour of the city as we went through it.
I enjoyed the evening of readings, and was able to find a taxi home with a lovely Indian driver. I was online before bed to check timings for things, when something wonderful happened.
I did a lot of the flash fiction festival virtual events during the pandemic, and know many of the people that attended the weekend or led the workshops over Twitter. One of the workshops was being run by a lovely lady called Vanessa Gebbie. She’s an incredible writer, has such a way with language and I always enjoy reading her work. We’ve interacted over posts, and liked each others writing. On the Friday night, she messaged me and asked if there was anything she could do to make life more accessible for me in her workshop. We chatted about it, and it was a lovely gesture, that I didn’t expect, that someone had thought of me and asked what I needed. It was sweet and kind, and made me enjoy her session even more.
And the workshops themselves were incredible. I got lots of ideas and scribbles, had fun and tried new things. I particularly liked the Prose Poetry session, and the Humorous one, Word Cricket and Vanessa’s session. I had an idea for another flash series, or possibly another novella, even thought I haven’t actually finished the one I’m writing at the moment.
I got to meet lots of people I knew online, and met some of the people from my writing group. I was welcomed and included, encouraged and supported. I had people happy to reintroduce themselves and tell me their names, when I struggled to see their faces or read lanyards. And it was wonderful, as I thought it would be. I may have accidently started an Audible revolution, interesting Vanessa with the idea, a way to make the books the festival publish accessible for me.
I chatted to new and old friends, and found a fellow Danish soul who loved mythology as much as me. I only had to explain the visual impairment once, to a new friend, but they didn’t seem to mind. It was lovely weather, and we often sat outside in the sunshine. I was just free to enjoy writing, and be myself.
My failing sight didn’t matter. For a home of creativity is always accepting. In fact, my use of sound was an advantage, people excited by the way I see the world, my odd musical descriptions, and how I navigate using sound.
I had a wonderful time, and I was sad when it was over. But I know I can go again, next year.
