I have to say that I entered Brit Writers' Awards' 2012
without great hopes. I submitted my
first two novels and a set of loosely-related poems (called Five Poems),
inspired by the natural environment here on the Isle of Mull and the artists’
community that thrives here. I’m a lone
parent with school-age children so my income is very low, and I rarely enter
competitions that have an entry fee. But
I told myself that I was paying to have someone actually read my work, and
believe me after years of trotting my sample chapters off to agent after
publisher after long-shot, and in 99% of cases never receiving a reply, it was
worth it just to know that my work was going to be read by someone who cared.
I was delighted to be short-listed, and it seemed a
heaven-sent opportunity to buy some new clothes, take a trip down from the West
of Scotland to visit my family in England, and go out to dinner in London
(never done that before!) So I arrived at the Thistle Hotel, Marble Arch, ready
to have a good time and cheer like mad for all the prizewinners. Mingling
before the event was good fun: I met some of the other finalists with their
friends and families, and chatted to sponsors and successful authors. But it didn’t occur to me for a moment that I
might find myself one of them.
.jpg)
The adult poetry award was the second to be announced,
and I think everyone else at my table realised it was me before it had sunk in.
I’m still on Cloud 9 – I don’t intend to
come down for at least six months. After
the poetry prize, the award for Under-16 songwriter was announced, and Joel was
also at our table (lucky table 19). So
let me tell you: we had the most enjoyable, outrageous, uproarious time for the
rest of the evening. Those people clapping,
hooting and whistling for every single winner? That was us!
One of the most moving aspects of the evening was the way
in which Brit Writers took time to remind us how lucky we are to live in a
society which values the written word, which rewards its writers, and which
above all else grants us all the freedom to read, write and publish whatever we
like. There are many places in the world
where to write, read or even speak is constrained or forbidden. Char March’s poem about Malala Yousafzai
reminds us of the price that may be paid, for something as simple as education.
Something we take for granted. Something we often forget to value.
2012 has been a roller-coaster year for me, and I can’t
help feeling the ride ahead will be just as exciting.
Thank you Brit Writers and Indigo Dreams Publishing. I can’t wait!
Yvonne Marjot
Pictures courtesy of RKL Photography
No comments:
Post a Comment