I am two years past my first Writers’ Festival and the experience still heavily influences how I write as well as how I view myself in the scheme of the literary community. I went into the day worried that I would be distant from the writers. I’d have to elbow through adult strangers just for the chance to brush Tracy K. Smith’s garment… then maybe, just maybe, I would absorb some of her holy knowledge. This was not an accurate prediction. Every writer, from alumni, to local favorite, to headliner was dedicated to make connections with the attendees of the festival. This along with the festivals intentional design made for an incredibly intimate experience. The writers took us in as their own students and brought us powerful lessons that not only shook my approach to writing, but had me leaving each workshop with a new piece of writing.

The writer I was anticipating the most in the months leading up to Writers’ Fest was Jessica Hendry Nelson. Like all of the featured writers, she is wholly unique. In my freshman year our class read “Rapture of the Deep” for a lesson in creative non-fiction. From there I began reading her book and just fell in love. She wields language in a way that does not wring meaning from tired syntax. In creative nonfiction I found myself constantly trapped in the cycle of retelling mystery then adorning it with sparkling language and colorful images. This method is like beautifying a corpse before burial.

Jessica does not just clip pretty pieces to a dead thing. In her workshop she taught us how to extract vivid details from our experiences. We received practical instruction on how to use specificity to reveal a deep, meaningful reflection of each moment. She taught us how to avoid vaguely reflective narration and instead allow carefully selected details to advance the physical and emotional narrative.

Jessica Hendry Nelson moves memoir through brilliant bursts of syntax like a flash of light. Striking the eye unexpectedly and leaving you momentarily blind. Forcing you to blink your way to insight. After her workshop I feel I am a step closer to doing the same. At the end of the day I was able to personally express my gratitude to her and she responded with a hug. I very poorly concealed how overwhelmingly ecstatic I was.

One can not overstate how impactful Writers’ Festival is to the young writer. It is an opportunity to (in many cases literally) brush shoulders with what could be their future. The organizers of Writers’ Festival do such a masterful job of showing writers with incredibly diverse styles at different points in their careers creating in very different ways. For me it was a powerful push of encouragement confirming that at heart I am a writer and no matter how that manifests itself for me there is a place for everyone in the literary community.

– Ashley Chatmon, Senior Marketing Editor

I had my first Writers’ Fest sophomore year. Admittedly, I didn’t know what to expect. I was still developing my craft during that time and hadn’t broke through that creative surface. I struggled with accepting my writing as my own, creating stories and stories that didn’t entirely tell my truth.

When I arrived on that early morning, I was cold and tired. It hadn’t dawned on me that I was about to be in the presence of amazing writers who wanted to share their expertise with my classmates and me.

I hadn’t accepted that this event was for me; I really hadn’t accepted that I was a writer. I had made notes about workshops that I was interested in and took notes while I was in those master classes, but the experience didn’t really hit me until I attended a workshop with Ira Sukrungruang.

I went to his workshop, originally, because I enjoyed his personality on stage when all of us creative writers were introduced to the authors. He was bright, funny, and incredibly genuine. I wanted to see how he was able to be himself since I struggled with doing that – in other words, I was seeking out personal truth. I didn’t know this was what my creative brain was reaching for, but looking back, that is exactly what it craved, subconsciously.

In that master class, I learned about the depth of creative nonfiction – a genre that boggled my mind because I hated writing anything about myself.

I was exposed to a bigger issue within myself. I was closed off and felt unworthy of expressing what pained me and what made me happy. I wanted my stories (both fictional and not) to have nothing to do with me; many of my stories told of the fantasies I wanted my life to be filled with. Writing, for me, was always a very solitary and self-fulfilling practice in those years. I never thought about the reader; I was my only reader. I never wanted to express the journey of my characters because I knew, somehow, it would get too personal.

As I have gotten older, I have realized how damaging this can be to one’s craft and one’s own journey of healing.

In that master class, Ira told us to write something true. Something that affected us deeply. He said no one had to read it but you. That was the first time I ever wrote something honest about my insecurities. After we all took that time to write, he allowed some people to share what they put down.

That space became incredibly vulnerable. He even asked if anyone of us had nervous habits; I opened up about how I picked my nails or cuticles when I was sad, angry, or nervous.

Overall, that entire experience was shocking; the things I shared surprised me. I had always been uncomfortable with vulnerability because I had been so used to bottling my problems, but that experience taught me to let yourself live; to allow truth a voice. By allowing your writing to capture a personal lens, the reader can relate to it. If not for the story or nonfiction piece, in the very least, do it for yourself.

That Writers’ Fest, yes, taught me about writing, but it mostly taught me about humanity. I lacked so much humanity and understanding in my life because I was taught it didn’t matter. I was used to keeping it to myself because my pain didn’t matter; what made me live and hurt didn’t matter.

I am happy to say I consider myself more of a writer than I did, then. I am a lot more mature, vulnerable, and I understand the importance of personal truth. I try to live by my truth every day; I am more myself because of it. By allowing myself access to my humanity, I have been able to connect to the humanity of others, even if it’s just for a laugh or moment of empathy. I strive to be as genuine as Ira and it has helped me grow tremendously. I am not as scared to be myself, anymore.

Granted, I still struggle – there is always doubt when I decide to write something that puts my vulnerability out there. I know there is a reader, though, who may resonate with what I say; maybe through my words, they will find their own.

– Reece Braswell, Senior Art Editor

I was able to go to Douglas Anderson’s Writers’ Festival for the first time when I was in my sophomore year of high school. When I looked through all the authors and their workshops I had a hard time picking which ones I wanted to go to, as I found each one interesting. One that stood out to me immediately was Jim Peterson’s workshop called the Jazz Method of Poetry. The workshop was about connecting writing poetry to playing jazz, and I knew once I read the description that I wanted to go.

Looking back at my memories of Writers’ Fest, this workshop stands out the most to me. Peterson gave a bit of a lesson on how jazz is played and how that connects to writing poetry. Jazz musicians don’t know what they will be doing next when they are performing. This causes the music to become brand new, to become one of a kind. He connected this to writing and being able to go into your unconscious. To find something new within your ideas. I really connected with this idea and still find myself returning to it years later.

We were then given an exercise where we were given a list of words, some of them being rifle, crouch, mockingbird, tin can, leash, and so on. We had to include each word in every other line. I remember being nervous about doing this exercise, like I was afraid of writing something bad with what I was given. Once I pushed myself to go for it I ended up finding it a really beneficial experience. What I thought would restrict me actually helped me go further in my writing and create something I didn’t expect at all. It was freeing to be able to do this and I’m so glad I attended this workshop. It wasn’t like anything I had done before.

Thinking about this one workshop makes me so excited for this upcoming Writers’ Festival. It is such a special opportunity that us students get, as well as the Jacksonville community. Along with Jim Peterson’s workshop, another special memory I have from the event was hearing every artist read some of their work at the morning sampler. It was the first thing we did and made me so inspired and excited for the rest of the day. That moment truly put into perspective how amazing it was to be there.

Writers’ Fest felt like a game changing moment for me. It was one of the first moments I felt like a true writer. At that point in my writing life, I had never felt more inspired by what I was surrounded with. Going into this year’s Writers’ Fest, I’m so excited to be a part of this again. Where I was as a writer in my sophomore year compared to my senior year is a big difference. I’m a different person than I was then, but I’m just as excited to attend this event.

 – Anna Howse, Senior Fiction/CNF Editor