I had a blast reading at Underword last night. Well, that was half the fun, getting to present something I’d enjoyed and hearing the wide variety of “cover version” stories the others read. The other half of the fun was going to the pub afterward and getting to meet more Edinburgh book-folk. It’s easy to despair about the state of things, but these people are out there, madly writing, getting their work finished, packaged, and presented, and inspiring people to read and write.
Particularly valuable was a chat with someone from Edinburgh UNESCO City of Literature. I had a lot of cynicism about this organisation and its purpose, which seemed to be about promoting its creators and the work of Edinburgh’s long-dead white guys or the super-rich, don’t-need-the-help mega-authors, while ignoring those of us on the fringes who are trying to create new work.
It ain’t true — not anymore, at least. They may be very small, but ECOL are doing a lot of good work around the city. They’ve even created a bridge between independent up-and-comers and the Edinburgh Book Festival. I never thought I’d see the day. (For years, I’ve dismissed the Book Festival as expensive celebrity worship.)
So it’s time to give up some outdated stories about this city, get out of my cave, and see if I can help make stuff happen. We’re not there yet, but there are fewer obstacles than I thought, and some devoted, willing helpers out there.
I made a copy of Finitude to have in my bag for the occasion, and gave it to the ECOL woman when she told me her compatriot at work is passionate about hand-made books. We also talked about the possibility of a ‘zine community in Edinburgh, like the one she saw in Adelaide, Australia and I’ve seen in Toronto, Canada. This from the ECOL! So I couldn’t have been more wrong about them.
Before last night’s event, after work, I’d been looking at expensive perfect-binding machines, wondering what the next evolutionary stage is for me in bookbinding. Then I gave my head a shake and just made that copy of Finitude, because I can do that already, and fairly quickly. My flatmate reminded me, too: “But your thing is telling people that they can make books themselves without all kinds of industrial equipment!”
Oh, right. I’m forever encouraging people to not ask for permission, not to get mired in arguments about the validity of their art, but just go ahead and do their own thing. Still, there’s that slight twinge of shame that this page is a little crooked or that cover isn’t very fancy.
Each of us has the right to our own “culture of one”, and we should never apologise for the things we create, or get lost in comparisons.
It’s easy to fall into bad thinking. I suppose it provides an excuse for not trying, and sometimes it’s difficult to muster the energy to keep getting back up and getting out there. Sometimes, though, things are better than I think.
<
p style=”clear:both;”>
<
p>
