My job at the Emerging Writers’ Festival is currently being advertised.

Strange – I have done so much at the organisation, but it stills feels like yesterday that I started. When I look at the role of Director, all laid out in the position description, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride. Before I started in the role, I had barely imagined myself as someone who could do all of those things. But I am. And I was then, too, I just didn’t quite know it yet. But the EWF knew it – and I am so grateful for that.

Since taking on the role at the start of 2010, I have felt that three years was a natural time frame to be in the position. And so it has turned out to be; with three festivals under my belt (and three roadshows by the time I sign out in November), I believe that both the organisation and me have gotten all the best bits out of each other, and we both need new perspectives in order to keep growing – for me, a new job challenge, and for the EWF, fresh insight from a new director.

I have been incredibly spoiled as EWF Director. The freedom, flexibility and creativity of the director role is simply amazing. Right from the start, the Emerging Writers’ Festival made me feel that my potential was limited only by my imagination. But even then, I couldn’t imagine the places it would take me. Physically – Edinburgh, Abu Dhabi, Ubud and Sharjah (twice). Professionally – Aus Co Emerging Leaders Development Program and British Council BookCase Conference. Personally – and perhaps most importantly – the festival has equipped me with confidence and courage. To work in a job that supports you to be audacious, express your individuality, experiment and take creative risks – well, we all know that kind of role just doesn’t come along every day.

I think any arts organisation benefits greatly from staff renewal. When I look back at the history of EWF and I can see the mark that each Festival Director before me made. The Emerging Writers’ Festival in particular is known for freshness – of ideas, people, and delivery – and although I will miss the role immensely, I can’t wait to see how the festival grows under the fresh gaze of a new director. (Could that new director be you?)

I keep getting asked, will I miss the festival? The answer is, of course, no. I’ve been a part of EWF for six years now – as an audience member, a panellist, a Programming Advisory Committee member, and as Director – and I look forward to being a part of the ongoing evolution of the festival; as a patron, perhaps, or maybe once again as an inspiration-seeking punter.

One of the things I was most excited about at this year’s Emerging Writers’ Festival was curating an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria, Future Bookshop.

I got the idea after last year’s festival when I was visiting MoNA. What would I put in a gallery if I had one available to me? Future Bookshop was the result, and I was very lucky that NGV Studio loved the idea and invited me and the Emerging Writers’ Festival to exhibit with them for three weeks.

Part art installation, part library and part interactive playground, Future Bookshop is a space for lovers of the written word. Bring a laptop, bring a smartphone, or just bring yourself and experience the ways we will be reading, writing, publishing and engaging with texts in the coming years.

Explore, ponder, read, write and imagine the future of books – then add your own ideas to the exhibition before you leave.

Featuring literary predictions from Emerging Writers’ Festival, Express Media, Freeplay, if:book Australia, Paper Radio, People Collective, SPUNC, Matt BlackWood and more, Future Bookshop imagines the brave new world of reading in a digital age.

Also at the Future Bookshop as part of Fed Square’s Light in Winter festival we have about 20 people doing a Words in Winter writing residency. Until 17 June we will be in there, writing, working, collaborating and dreaming. Our outputs will be displayed in the gallery and also online at the EWF blog.

There is plenty to play with and ponder at Future Bookshop. I’ll be there most days also. Please come and say hi!

A few days ago I wrote about Digital participation at the literary frontier.

On Sunday, EWF launched EWFdigital, an online writers’ festival dedicated to discussing the topic of ‘digital writing’.

EWFdigital is a completely free festival with plenty to explore – an interactive keynote address, panels, a round-the-world blog exhibition and loads of conversations.

It’s a festival, online. Get into it.

It constantly surprises me that there is a such a slow uptake from literary organisations into the growing field of digital programming. I founded EWFdigital three years ago now (case study here) and remain one of very few people and organisations working in that space in literary Australia. The following is an excerpt from an article on online literary participation in the Digitalism issue of Island Magazine.

Technology is no longer separate to creativity and culture; art happens in a variety of spaces, both online and off. Within five years – perhaps even less – it will be just as commonplace to ‘go’ to (or rather, participate in) an event in the digital space as it currently is to head to a traditional venue for a programmed event.

Modes of digital engagement - how sophisticated is your use of the online space?
It would be rare to find a literary organisation that doesn’t accept that the internet is a key method of reaching and connecting with audiences. Most organisations and groups tweet, maintain a website, send out e-newsletters and set up Facebook pages. But while the interest in and understanding of online marketing and audience development have grown in the past decade, there has been little corollary interest in digital programming.

There are three ways that literary (and more broadly, arts) organisations are working in the online space. It is helpful to look at them as levels of sophistication, noting that the stages outlined below are not mutually exclusive. An organisation does not ‘graduate’ from one level to the next; rather, those who are working most successfully online are doing so by operating across all three modes of engagement.

Present: marketing (talking about you)
Marketing is the entry point for online engagement. At this level, online interaction is (mostly) limited to an organisation talking about itself. They might use their online channels (such as e-newsletters, websites or social media) to publish information about upcoming events, make organisational information accessible, and profile their artists. The internet has been a boon for arts marketing – especially for organisations with limited budgets – as it can reach larger and broader audiences. However, this level of online engagement is the bare minimum an organisation should be aiming for.

Engaged: community building (talking with audiences)
If basic marketing is about talking to an audience, a more sophisticated method is talking with an audience. Organisations in this category use the internet to connect with audiences (and potential audiences) in a way that is meaningful and sincere. It differs from a traditional marketing model of advertising in order to get bums on seats, and instead is a long-term process of developing a community of people who may be interested in coming along to your events (or joining your organisation) – or who may just want to talk about it. Community building often happens in conjunction with offline events – for example, having audience members use a hashtag at an event will encourage discussion about the topic in the online space as well.

Another common tactic is to publish dynamic content (such as blogs, video) that speaks to its audience, and facilitating discussion about that content (such as comments). Organisations succeed at this level when they become a hub for discussion and interaction within their area of expertise.

Sophisticated: artistic programming (creating literary experiences)
Programming goes beyond using the internet to promote and connect; it is about actively creating artistic activity in the online space. Online-only events and programming that cross over between digital and traditional spaces apply here. Online artistic programming creates literary experiences for audiences that are accessible through digital platforms.

Online learning is a good example of effective digital programming, and is a powerful tool for connecting and engaging remote or non-traditional audiences.

Another good example is the Queensland Writers’ Centre dynamic Rabbit Hole event, a thirty-hour writing frenzy where participants come together and attempt to write 30,000 words. Writers are also welcome to join the event by ‘playing along’ at home, and this online engagement is facilitated via a Facebook group, with interaction between the at-home and in-person writers taking place across the weekend. The Rabbit Hole demonstrates how traditional events can be complemented by running concurrent digital programming.

Digital programming is about actively creating pathways for audiences to interact with literature and literary activity online. Despite being the most exciting and creative area of potential literary engagement, it is also the least utilised, least understood, least tested and – in my opinion – least valued segment of programming potential.

A decade ago, the remit of a creative producer, festival director or program manager was relatively straightforward: create events that were so compelling, writers and readers would leave their desks and lounge rooms to buy a ticket and come along. Engage audiences, sell tickets, get bums on seats: this has been the model of literary activity for decades.

The rise of the internet has shaken this model to its core. No longer do arts audiences need to leave their home to take part in literary activity. They can talk to fellow readers online (even connect directly with their favourite writers), take part in discussions about literature, and access videos of their favourite authors reading or in conversation. It is not enough to hope or assume that audiences will continue to come to traditional events. Instead, literary organisations need to actively consider how they might better serve the evolving needs of their audiences.

With the rise in smartphone technology – aka the internet in our pockets – the distinction between digital and traditional programming is becoming increasingly porous. Technology is no longer separate to creativity and culture; art happens in a variety of spaces, both online and off. So why are most literary organisations limiting their online reach to marketing and community building, rather than experimenting with artistic programming in the digital space?

In other words: digital convergence is here. Literary organisations – and the bodies that fund them – would do well to keep up.

This is an excerpt from an article published in the latest DIGITALISM issue of Island Magazine. The article goes on to discuss What digital programming looks like; Audiences: the changing face of literary programming; Barriers to digital experimentation and Where to from here? You can buy the mag online here or download the article in pdf form from Island Magazine.

Wajahat Ali describes himself as an ‘accidental playwright’ that had the ‘fortuitous good luck’ by creating a successful first play that then enabled him to embark on a career as a writer.

This first play, The Domestic Crusaders, is an award-winning piece of theatre that has been performed in America and around the globe, including Off-Broadway in New York. In 2010 it was the first play to be published by the American literary journal McSweeney’s. Eight years after its 2004 premiere it continues to be performed and discussed, a successful run that is clearly due to more than simple good fortune.

The Domestic Crusaders is a slice-of-life in two acts, focussing on a Muslim Pakistani-American family of six who meet at home to celebrate the 21st birthday of its youngest member. Sparks fly among the three generations, culminating in a battle as each family member struggles to assert their opinions while maintaining family unity. It remains relevant almost a decade after it was first produced – a situation that Ali finds a sad reflection of the state of affairs in the US.

“The play, from a purely current affairs standpoint, does quite bluntly and honestly discuss the post-9-11 or rather post-post 9-11 world that we all occupy as global citizens,” Ali says. “The intersection of language, national security, religion, identity and politics that have emerged from that collision, this generation has quite literally inherited. I wrote the scars and memory of that event.”

The topicality of the play is just one facet of its success. Its humanity – and the fact that it makes people laugh, Ali points out – is perhaps the true reason behind its wide acclaim.

“The play is a universal family drama told through a culturally specific lens,” Ali says. “I think I’ve been successful because when you strip away these layers, people see universal emotions and universal family tensions and relationships.”

As a writer, Ali cares about telling stories that demonstrate our shared humanity, and theatre offers a rich tradition that enables him to reach an audience in a profound way.

“Playwriting is the universal storytelling genre, method, technique. A few people in one location, forced to confront and talk to one another. That’s a play,” he says, noting that every culture in the world has theatre. “You do it for an audience in a very immersive, interactive, visceral way. It’s very intimate and it’s almost uncomfortable. But if you pull off your job, the audience is able to see a reflection of their reality.”

Despite its tradition, the motivations and techniques of modern playwrights are fresh.

“The modern playwright’s role is the passing of the baton,” Ali says. “All the stories that have been told, there is a new way of telling them. Stories of families have been told before but unfortunately we haven’t heard the stories of all families, which is sad, especially in this modern day and age where there is no such thing as local anymore.”

The local becomes the national and international with the push of a button, and this hyper-connected new media world is changing the face of live theatre. “It’s the theatre of the internets,” Ali says. “But it’s just a new way of sharing stories.”

As a writer, Ali has embraced these digital opportunities, working as a new media journalist and commentator. However, his current project has brought him back to scripts, though in a new way; he is working on a HBO tv pilot with co-writer Dave Eggers, the founding editor of McSweeney’s.

Although Ali never considered writing for TV, once suggested to him it seemed like a natural fit with his playwriting skills. Both mediums are about telling a story, and both need to engage and sustain an audience across time.

“I realised that I’m telling a story,” Ali says. “I have to sustain the audience’s interest, I’m taking them on a journey, and there’s an arc. They have to invest in the characters and invest the emotions, and care about them.”

So while writing for TV is very different because it has its own format and accepted structures, pared down to its core it’s all about these base storytelling techniques. The questions a writers asks of his TV show reflect universal literary concerns:

“Are there characters that are interesting? Will the audience watching at home or on their ipod invest in the characters? Will they be willing to go on this journey? Can you sustain their interest and involvement for a 52 minute time span and do it repeatedly week by week for twelve weeks? That’s it.”

Although figuring out the limitations and freedoms of writing for TV was a challenge, Ali’s early grounding in playwriting helped. A writer has got to be able to deliver, and being able to do so often comes down to experience.

“My experience of producing and writing and publishing Domestic Crusaders gave me the ingredients, the confidence and the fundamental tools to dive into this brave new world of TV writing,” Ali says.

For someone who describes himself as ‘never meant to be a playwright’, theatre has nonetheless led Wajahat Ali to a writing career. As a writer his goal is to share his ideas, and hopes they will continue to ignite discussions and effect social change.

This piece was first published in the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair Show Daily.

You can find out more about Wajahat Ali at his blog, Goatmilk, or by following him on Twitter. There is also an interesting mini-doco on the Domestic Crusaders.

“Books all open a window onto a different world…” began host Anita Sethi on an Abu Dhabi International Book Fair panel about the role literature plays in spreading cultural understanding.

Tishani Doshi is a poet and dancer of Welsh and Indian heritage, who started writing only after she had left her hometown of Madras as a young woman. It was being immersed in a new culture – America’s deep south – that lead her to begin thinking about questions of culture. She believes that seperation leads to understanding:

“As a writer you have an acute sense of standing outside and somehow trying to figure out what is going on. You need to be at a distance in some way so you can see the picture clearly.”

Emirati writer Mariam Al Saeedi had a similar experience. Growing up in cosmopolitan Abu Dhabi, she never saw people of other nationalities as different to her – until she realised that, perhaps for some, she was the other.

“Being Arabs, wearing the uniform… I started to realise that it really makes you look different, though I don’t feel it,” she said, and it was through this realisation that she began to see the importance of books and writing.

“Literature made me think that it’s the way to bridge all these feelings of differences. We get to mingle and see each other less as the other and more as the same.”

I love the idea that through books we are mingling with people from all around the world. It reminded me of what Adam Talib said at Sharjah Book Fair last year, that “translations are like eavesdropping on national conversations.”

Doshi agrees with Al Saeedi about the connective power of art. Despite embracing her role as an outsider – “if I ever get too settled I leave; discomfort is good” – Doshi’s constant state of flux has lead her to an understanding of the human condition. No matter where anyone is the world, she says, they share what it is to be human:

“The basic human questions are the same, whenever you ask them and whenever you ask them. Although our stories are different, it’s also the same story that’s been going on and on.”

As writers we find new ways to tell these same stories. I think great literatures resonates so deeply because it reminds us of this shared humanity.

This panel was presented by the British Council as part of ADIBF’s UK Focus.