Sometimes humbling is good

Le Livre sur les Quais was a weekend literary festival along the dock in the Swiss city of Morges. However, there were other events including a boat ride where authors were participated in reading their work and panel discussions. I have no idea of the attendance this year, but last year 40,000 people were counted as being present at some point during the three-day event. This year, I was invited to join.

Because of the bus schedule we were out of the house a little before 8 a.m. Showers alternated with sun, but the lake was smooth as we sailed from Geneva to Morges in a little under three hours. The beauty of the Geneva and French countrysides were visible through the windows.

Admittedly I thought of myself only as a person who writes until my third book was published. Only then did I really consider myself a "real" writer.

Sharing the writers panel with the other three writers was humbling not just because they are good writers, but because of their lives. Wallis Wilde-Menozzi, an American poet living for decades in Italy I've known for years. I've taken workshops with her and admired how she massages words into deeper meanings.

But it was Carmen Bugan and Bashir Sakhawarz who I was humbled by. Not only are they not writing in  their mother tongues, they've lived through experiences that anyone raised in the comfort of middle class America have little or no concept. Dealing with secret police, being a refugee, or living through a foreign invasion had no place in my childhood or my adulthood. They've used their past to create strength and beauty.

Yet, despite our different backgrounds we all are locked into a love affair with words. We find time and place to commit those words to a retrievable form despite pressures of daily life. I admit I am in awe of my fellow panelists.

When we disembarked in Morges, Rick and I were starved and went directly to lunch at the Casino. Watching the people was almost as good as the food.

Then we entered the tent with rows and rows of writers of books I'd seen in the book shops. Some like Amélie Nothumb I've read eagerly, although reading eagerly in French might be overstating it a bit. Contentedly might be a better term. Rick pointed out on the board listing the participating writers, below Nothumb's name alphabetically was mine. (http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.fr/2013/09/author-author-author-author.html for another point of view of the event and some great photos)

Again I felt humbled, although I no longer doubt I am a writer not just a woman who writes.