Over the years of attending festivals in Australia and overseas, I have collected a large dossier of notes – pearls of wisdom, insight, humour and humanity that inspire me or help me understand how stories work and how writers work their stories. I have learned a lot about the industry – the different pathways for different writers and different types of books, the highs and lows of getting that debut work published, what it means to be a career writer, the challenges facing creators today.
I have learned a lot about the creative endeavour of writing a book, and the common threads across time and space of how writers try and make sense of themselves and the world through the act of writing. And I have been inspired by the passion and inquisitiveness others have for an astonishing array of topics and ideas.
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Writers festivals can serve us in different ways. Listening to a writer talk about a book I have already read can amplify my experience of it, adding a layer of insight, sometimes in surprising ways. Listening to a writer I’ve heard of but never read, can provide an entree into their work. Listening to a writer I’ve never heard of before can prompt me to read something I might not have naturally gravitated towards. I always come away with a long reading list and a heavy bag of books!
And then there are those magical sessions, where something transformative happens between the writers on the stage and everyone leaves the space changed in a profound way. This was the case late one afternoon at the Byron Writers Festival in 2024. It was cold and wet with the ground muddy beneath our feet. The smallish audience was hunkered down in puffer jackets and shawls. Caoilinn Hughes was in conversation with Nam Le.
I had been an admirer of Nam Le’s work since the publication of his short story collection The Boat in 2008. Sixteen years later, he had released his second book, a book of poetry, 36 Ways of Writing a Vietnamese Poem. I’d never heard of Caoilinn Hughes, an Irish writer with four published novels. She was at the festival talking about her latest book The Alternatives.
Unbeknownst to Le, or the audience, Hughes had been a long-time admirer of Le’s work and had a strong interest in poetry. Her comments and questions about Le’s poems showed an unusual level of analysis, consideration and insight that at one point left Nam Le speechless, he was so moved and honoured by her reading of his poems. No interviewer, he said, had ever showed such deep and perceptive engagement with his work. He took a moment. Then together Le and Hughes explored the landscape of imagination, meaning and poetry.
After sustained applause, the audience lingered, not quite wanting to step away from the glow. With knowing nods and broad smiles, we all knew we’d been part of something that was very special and immensely beautiful.
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Australia has an astonishing number of writers festivals. Over 90 are scheduled for 2026* – a reflection of the appetite we have to listen to what writers have to say, and to do it with others.
It is this shared experience that makes a festival so powerful; being in community – a community of readers and writers and thinkers, both on and off the stage, who are invested in the creative endeavour. A community open to wonder and curiosity. A community that values the friction required to wrestle with an idea and share the outcome. A community open to the magical moments.
More than ever before, coming together at writers festivals is an affirmation of the importance of human connection. My notebook is always at the ready.
* A full list of writers festivals in Australia can be found here.