York Festival of Writing: how was it for you?

All I can say to anybody reading this who was attending the event over the weekend is: 'wasn't it fab?'

Mind you, I am exhausted beyond belief. (More moments to relax, please, organisers, next year?) The varied events were good as was the catering. Great speakers, intelligent and interactive workshops, with some great people and a chance to play groupie to people I've longed to say hello to for years: in my case, the wonderful Katie Fforde, who I waylaid just as she was about to have her breakfast on Saturday morning and Emma Darwin who I nobbled after the Sunday workshop she shared with Fiona Shaw (whose writing I also love) and their mutual agent, the slightly formidable Clare Alexander. I found that talk fascinating as well as Fiona's not long before, after which I gushed to her disgracefully as she signed a copy of her latest novel: Tell it to the Bees.

I also made some new friends  (Penny who lurks on Nicola Morgan's blog whom (Penny, not Nicola) I instructed to comment and 'out' herself. And also the lady from Blackpool who I had so much in common with you wouldn't believe whom I only met by chance on the final day. Your name escapes me for now, sorry,  but I can see your face and remember everything you said, but it will come back and I will email you, when I've tipped my bag upside down and found you!

I also caught up with some old mates I hadn't seen in years and didn't know would be there. Lynne Patrick, Sarah Cuthbertson and Sandra Garside-Neville. Great to see you!

If I've forgotten anyone, then please forgive me. (The Irish lady who showed me her ebook reader, in particular.) I was already exhausted when I arrived there late on Friday and totally spaced-out when I left on Sunday afternoon. Next year, will somebody shoot those bloody geese? Noisy buggers who wake up at 6am and never stop.

Seriously though, the idea is for us lowly writers to mingle with trade people (which I did) and interest an agent (which I may have done--or maybe not, but he was very nice. It was that kind of weekend.) We punters were all seeking that elusive entry into the wonderful world of publishing and there was plenty I could tell you about what I learned. However, this is not a publishing blog--I leave that to Morgan and Smith.

My blog is about reading and writing (my two passions--who cares about getting published, eh?) and one of the joys of an event like this is stumbling across exciting things you might never have done otherwise. One of the workshops I attended was led by Genevieve Pegg, commissioning editor at Orion. (And no she doesn't look at un-agented submissions, so don't hassle her! Mind you, I would have done had she done so!) So why was she there? She was there to explain her day job: what happens from the moment the publishing contract is signed by a big conglomerate through all the processes it takes to get a book on the store shelves.

For the purposes of her talk she chose the title she is currently working on: West End Girls by Barbara Tate which is to be published in July. It's a memoir (not fiction) and I got so excited about it I wanted to buy it and read it there and then. I can't tell you much more about it except to say that I predict it will be HUGE! I will blog about it as soon as I can. All I can do now is alert you to what I believe is a great read by a talented writer (as well as a painter) who was (as we all often are) put off publishing it years before. It would have remained under her bed gathering dust, had a friend not encouraged her to try again. Sadly, by then she was in her eighties and, alas, died last year.

Sad though this is, it is positive news in a way because it refutes the lie that only the young and the glamorous get publishing deals these days. Genevieve Pegg deals in commercial women's fiction and is interested in a damn good story. West End Girls is non-fiction but it tells a cracking story, warm and engaging, about, among other things,  friendship, even though one of the friends is a West End (or rather Soho) Girl in the 1950s.

All in all, a positive happy, busy weekend. Only don't try and speak to me for at least a week. I am seriously sleep deprived and adrenalin charged.