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It
was an honour to be invited to the Brit Writers’ Awards at the weekend. I’m not
sure why I was invited, I wasn’t up for any awards; I hadn’t even entered this
year. Between you and me, I think it was because I can do an awesome wolf
whistle, or maybe someone more important couldn’t make it and they needed to
fill a seat. Whatever the reason, I was happy to be included in what is fast
becoming the hot ticket event of the year – move over X Factor!
And
what a spread it was. There was a red carpet, a stage, an audience, and an
obscene amount of talent, all brought together for the sole purpose of
celebrating great writing. And then there was me, somewhere near the back,
supping contentedly on a glass of bubbles, and in complete bewildered awe of
the diversity of people in that room.
I
don’t think I’ve ever won anything of any consequence, so I can only imagine
the excitement and, quite possibly, terror that each finalist must have felt
that night. Two of the finalists were sitting at my table, Yvonne Marjot who
was nominated for the adult poetry award, and Joel Cranefield for the under 16s
songwriting award. And imagine my surprise and elation when both won their
category right there in front of me and my starter. Not a great time to bring
out the wolf whistle, but I clapped until my hands were sore, and glowed like a
proud mother, even though I hadn’t met either of them before that evening.
And
that really sums up the vibe that night. Despite the fact it was a competition,
and a fierce one at that, there wasn’t a feeling of one-upmanship, there was
genuine support and encouragement from everyone. And I credit that to the
accessibility of the Brit Writers’ Awards and the diversity of people that
entered. And it wasn’t just adults that were being commended, it was children too,
sharing the limelight and accepting equal admiration for their talent, despite
their age and relative inexperience.
And
then there was me, who, whilst devouring my main course, heard my name spoken
from somewhere in the chandeliers. And before I’d even had a chance to realise
it wasn’t due to one glass too many, there was a microphone in my face and all
I could do was pray I didn’t have gravy running down my chin. That’ll teach me
to sit smugly in my seat, glad of my anonymity. There I was, answering questions
about my book, without a pre-prepared script and in front of several hundred
people. I’m not sure what I said, but I have even more respect for those hugely
talented winners who accepted their awards with such dignity.
And
then all that remained was for the man himself, the driving force behind Brit Writers, Imran Akram, to take a bow and accept the accolade for his part in
giving us writers the chance to tout our wares, despite the temperamental
climate.
Ring Around Rosie by Emily Pattullo http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B009T5W4TC/ref=tag_dpp_yt_edpp_rt#tags
@EmilyPattullo
Pictures courtesy of RKL Photography
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