Brisbane Writers Festival 2023
This time last week, I was watching Irvine Welsh in conversation with John Birmingham (author of, “he died with a falafel in his hand”) discussing Welsh’s 1993 novel “Trainspotting” 30 years on. It was an excellent session, funny, insightful, entertaining, irreverent. It took me back to my late teens/early 20’s when everything was exciting and new. My life lay in front me and anything was possible. It made me want to grasp that feeling of wonder and fresh excitement again.
I asked a question at the end of the session. I was really nervous and babbled a bit, tripping over my words. Classic me, put a microphone in my hands and I either turn into karaoke Gollum coveting my precious all night while I belt out “house of the rising sun” and “nothing else matters” or I’m a blathering mess. This was not karaoke night so some awkward rambling ensued while I tried to get to the point. I was finally able to engage brain and mouth in sync and I asked whether it was possible for there to be an underground/alternative scene in today’s digital world. And if so, where would it be?
This is a question I’ve been pondering for some time. Growing up in the 90’s, there was a distinct line between the alternative scene and mainstream, but I look at pop culture now and don’t see that same divide. And I wonder, what do the kids who don’t “fit in” do? Are they finding their people in online groups? Are they shouting into the void to be heard?
Welsh’s response was that he didn’t think it possible for an underground to exist in the digital age. Everything occurs online and once something is uploaded it’s out of our hands. It takes on a life of it’s own where it is commodified and manipulated to appeal to the masses. Essentially – there can be no unique outlets or expressions because everything can be bought and sold online.
John Birmingham summarised this beautifully “The ‘underground’ will be offline.”
It’s an interesting point and something Birmingham and Welsh had touched on earlier – the internet has changed the cultural landscape. We’ve gone from a street culture to a media culture where smart phones, social media and instant access to information has shortened our attention spans. People spend their days doom scrolling, searching for the cyber induced dopamine hit. We’ve become trapped in this loop of cyber engagement and we can’t disconnect because most of our life’s necessities like accessing services and paying bills, are carried out and organised online There isn’t the same visceral, tangible excitement of youth that came from physical connection in physical spaces. It’s kind of sad but it makes me ever more thankful for growing up when I did and being the last generation to come of age offline. We lived in the excitement of the moment. There was no “pics or it didn’t happen” mentality. We were there, we knew it happened and we had the group experience with our peers to prove it (sometimes also the scars or the shoe lost in the moshpit). We couldn’t pause the TV, we couldn’t catch up on missed episodes through streaming services. Movies we missed at the cinema took a year to come out on video (remember videos?!) and then we had to go to the video store to hire them – usually $1 a week for old releases and $5 for overnight rental of new releases.
God, I miss video stores and record shops. There was something so magical about waiting for the release of a band’s album, going to the record store and buying the physical product, taking it home and unwrapping it. That delicious moment when you opened the album cover to reveal the wonders inside and then pouring over the cover art while you put the record or CD on endless rotation.
After the session I took my old school copy of trainspotting, purchased in 1996, and had it signed by Irvine Welsh. It was an awesome day. I left there beaming from ear to ear.
I had intended to write some blog posts while at the festival but I get this kind of writer’s paralysis. I want to produce perfect writing. The cleverest, funniest thing that’s ever been written. I want to create pieces that are fully formed; to be a master of the craft, an overnight sensation. Of course, I can’t. And if I let this paralysis take over, I’ll never do any writing. And like any craft or skill, writing is something you need to do regularly to improve and create good habits. This was a message that came through multiple times over the days that I attended the writers festival:
- You need to treat it like a job where you clock on and off.
- Don’t lose your fucking notebook (which I have done this week and now need to find it before I can continue writing this post. Ugh!)…
- …Oh, wait, I remember. Don’t overthink it – let the subconscious come through…
- …Don’t get in your own way. Trying to sound smart is the best way to sound stupid.
- Don’t try too hard, just let it come.
- You don’t need to show off.
- Do it every day – journalling is a good way to get in the habit.
It was a brilliant few days of reconnecting with literature, interesting ideas and that youthful feeling of excitement about the future. It also brought me clarity on my own writing in looking at what motivates me and how to develop my style and my voice.
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