I have spent the past 2 days volunteering in the food service part of the Vancouver International Writer’s Festival (which I’ve blogged about previously). It has been awesome. Food service for events — doing prep work in the kitchen and working concession stands during intermission — is something I excel at, and as I never tire of having my ego stroked hearing that I’m wonderful from staff is, in a word, heaven.
Of course, my arms and legs are killing me because I worked harder in the past two days than I have in the past three months. Totally worth it.
One of the featured authors for the opening reception, which I worked, was Helen Oyeyemi. She’s 27, has put out 4 books, and was first a guest at VIWF when she was 20. I’m not going to lie, my first thoughts when I heard she was 5 years younger than I am now when she became a guest at VIWF were less than charitable, but her writing is very good, and I was very privileged to hear her read.
I’m still damn jealous that she got on it sooner than I did, however, and is a good writer. (I’m not jealous of all young writers, after all.) But that jealously more stems from self-loathing over not getting my shite done quick enough.
Maybe loathing is a strong word. Self-annoyance. I am annoyed at myself. And at the fact that being part of the 99% makes it so rent and food always come first, all the time, writing career be damned. (Won’t pay until I treat it like a career, can’t treat it like a career until it starts to pay. You know the trap.)
Anyway, I digress. I’m having a lovely time at the VIWF, as is my mom — she gets to pick up Russell Banks from the airport, which has her over the moon. He’s one of her favourite authors.
And I am keeping our last name held in high esteem with my awesome work. So the staff members say.
If I sound a little full of myself, well, it’s because I am — and it’s all true, anyway.
See you on Friday, maybe, if I can take 5 minutes to myself to write a post. And come up with a topic.