Writers at Woody Point in Newfoundland & Labrador: A Powerful Celebration of People and Place
I’d been looking for something like Writers at Woody Point my whole life, and I didn’t know it until my boat touched the dock of Bonne Bay. What I learned and experienced during my time at this festival will stay with me for the rest of my days, and I can only hope to share some of the magic with you.
The Woody Point Lighthouse.
Growing up, my house was full of books.
In most rooms, you’d be likely to find an enticing rainbow of book spines, begging you to stop for a moment and to be transported to another world. There were books on nightstands, books on side tables and, especially in my room, books strewn upon the floor — the most wondrous of tripping hazards.
I owe everything to books.
I was, with no exaggeration, the poster child for ADHD in my youth. My mother, ever the kind soul, often noted that I was “spirited” (a monicker that, in retrospect, was rather apt, and could still be applied today), but I never had trouble sitting still for books.
They were my safe place — the insurance policy that nobody knew I had taken out for when my brain, not unlike a nuclear reactor, would overheat. I knew that I could always hop into the cool, calming current of a book.
When my mom started making up her own stories to me at night, in this case of two mischievous racoons that scoured the streets of Toronto looking for trouble, I realized an important lesson. These writers and story tellers were not these otherworldly, all-knowing, god-like beings, they were just people, sharing from their heart in order to entertain, to inspire, and to share the world as they saw it, either explicitly or implicitly.
I went to Ireland to learn about Irish authors (and a bit of my ancestry) when I was 16, I then studied English Literature at Queen’s, and started to travel and write with a fervour. Fast forward a decade or so, and Bri and I were sitting in a room in Woody Point, Newfoundland and Labrador, working with Newfoundland and Labrador Tourism as the Writers-in-Residence, while sitting beside and listening to many of the authors I’d studied during my degree.
At Writers at Woody Point, there wasn’t this grand separation between author and reader, or this formal pedestal that authors were placed on. There was such an accessibility and warmth to it all.
There was an atmosphere there that celebrated what I had learned all those years ago — that authors and creators were just people who had tirelessly chased a dream, and had something to share with this world of ours, perhaps in attempt to help us all understand it all a little better.
Writers at Woody Point - A Gathering Like No Other
For 20 years now, Writers at Woody Point has celebrated the best of Newfoundland and Canadian literature, as well as music, spoken word, art and everything in between. I remember distinctly when we first took the ferry across from Norris Point, and arrived on the south shore of Bonne Bay, all while surrounded by the humbling landscape of Gros Morne National Park.
I looked at our schedule for the following few days, with events taking place all over the village, and turned to Bri and said (with a cringeworthy amount of glee, I’m sure), “This. This is my Disney World.”
The festival is organized by the Friends of Writers at Woody Point, who have sold out the performances at Woody Point Heritage Theatre since day one. It really is the perfect venue. It was built back in 1908, and has been carefully restored and renewed over the years for events just like this one.
As the organizers note, “during the festival, our performers connect with their audience in intimate venues, over dinner and drinks, or on a hike into the pristine hills. And they can soak up the area's own creative talent at exhibits of art and crafts, musical performances and impromptu after-hours celebrations that combine jam sessions, dancing and lots of laughter. “
Ron McLean, considerably more succinct than yours truly, summed things up beautifully when stating:
“From its humble beginnings, the festival has taken on a life of its own. An intersection of writing, music, and storytelling.”
In thinking about how I might describe the wonder that is this festival, I couldn’t help but laugh at how impossible it is to quite capture the magic of it all with words, when it is indeed a festival celebrating words. But it’s true, it’s something that has to be experienced and lived in a sense.
I hope that I’ll be able to attend many more in my day. I have this strong sense that there’s so much left for me to learn here, and that there’s a powerful momentum that underlies this whole conference which enables each year to build on itself — a mountain made of stories and awe and welcoming.
The Experience of It All in 2023
Stephen Brunt, the Artistic Director, was a host like no other when he took the stage — somehow talking to a room of people, but also directly to every individual. Shelagh Rogers, too. “It’s fun,” she noted, with a unmistakable smile gracing her face. “It’s deep fun. And it’s all about story.”
We saw Jesse Thistle, a Métis-Cree author, from Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, talk about his raw, emotional book From the Ashes, and book of poetry, Scars and Stars. He was the ultimate reminder that it’s never to late to start again, and that our experiences, good or bad, shape and define us, and that the best we can do mine those experiences for nuggets of wisdom.
I have signed copies of both now, and have read and re-read From the Ashes. I found it was helpful for me to continue to help process the loss of my best friend at the age of 21, a beautiful soul who also had his struggles.
Lawrence Hill & Suzette Mayr in conversation.
We saw Suzette Mayr and Lawrence Hill in conversation, two authors that I couldn’t have more respect for if I tried. They shed some important light on using the narrative form from a past time to shed light on some of the difficulties of human existence that we still face today. I could have watched them talk for days on end, and getting the chance to tell Lawrence Hill how impactful Book of Negroes was to me all those years ago felt like the opportunity of a lifetime.
I relished the chance to hear Shelly Kawaja talk about The Raw Light of Morning, and to hear about Sarah Polley’s journey. Sarah is an Academy Award-nominated screenwriter and director, yet she spoke to the intimate gathering of us all like we were old friends accompanying her in her living room.
We saw Aysanebee perform, as well as Rollie Pemberton, and had coffee with Elizabeth Hay. We had the pleasure of seeing the man behind the microphone, CBC’s own Tom Power, who interviewed both Shelagh Rogers and Rollie Pemberton (who also spun a DJ set at the local pub one night!).
We clinked our beer glasses with glee at the Merchant Warehouse during William Ping’s reading, and caught some live music there the following day from The Des Walsh Experience featuring Tickle Harbour. We had coffee at The Old Store Cafe and Galliott Studios, and dinner at The Black Spruce Restaurant.
Michael Crummey chatted with Shelagh Rogers in his wonderfully honest, reflective sort of way, and Anita Best and Sandy Morris teamed up to sing some of Newfoundland’s best traditional songs, and brought the whole house down.
There’s comedy, there are concerts, and I can’t remember too many moments when we over in Woody Point and there wasn’t something on which piqued our interest.
And each night, we took our ferry (often the very last one) back to The Tides Inn in Norris Point, filled to the brim with ideas and excitement. I often looked forward to getting back there, simply so I could lie in the dark and relive it all in my mind.
We Need Festivals Like This
It’s only as I’m at this point in the article that I realize I’ve actually been sipping on the “Writer’s Roast” from Gros Morne Coffee Roasters to fuel this whole reflection. If that isn’t serendipitous, I don’t know what is.
We live in a world where the focus, especially in the news cycle, is all on what divides us, all with the effect of making us feel like the problems that we face are ours and ours alone. That whatever road we walk may indeed be a lonely one. But test that theory at a gathering like this, and see how may seconds it holds for.
You come to Writers at Woody Point to hear stories and performances that cement the notion that we’re all in this together. You come to Writers at Woody Point because you know that everyone is welcome inside the Heritage Theatre, and that people inside will bare their soul to you — a shining light that has this remarkable effect of melting away the perceived separation between us all.
You come here to remind yourself that art is fun and playful, but also deep, despairing and important.
And you come here because you quickly realize that what’s here, the deep roots of it all, cannot be found anywhere else.