It was brilliant. I cried a lot about a lot of tiny revelations.
Five nights around a fire, talking about theatre, singing songs, drinking wine. Stars, stars, starts. Abundance. Food, food, food everywhere. So much laugher. So much quiet peacefulness. Spectacular views. Animals. I spent quite a bit of time strolling around the farm and forests around the centre, talking with the beasties that looked as curiously at me and I did to them. Poor cows. They’re going to get munched. The Northern Lights even turned up.
My biggest takeaway from the confetti-canon-of-fantastic from the week is that I’m not shit. I’m not shit, by the way. That’s news to me. Which is quite exciting. I’m not utterly shit. I didn’t realise that I wasn’t fat until I was 27 and I didn’t realise that I’m not a terrible writer until I was 29. I think a lot about needing permission to write, but man, I’m the only one who needs to give me permission.
Thanks to support from Moniack Mhor and Playwrights’ Studio Scotland. Without their contributions, I couldn’t have made this journey. Moniak Mhor offer grants for all their courses. Find out more at http://www.moniackmhor.org.uk/courses/grants/