My love affair with Smallroom

Now that we’re acquainted, there’s still a bit of ground to cover. You see, my writing journey really kicked into gear a couple of years ago, when I started going to Smallroom Writer’s Collective. This was the beginning of belief in myself as a writer.

Smallroom is a group that meets once a month during Uni trimesters for readings, wine, networking, conversation, laughter and connection. I first found out about it through one of my tutors, Dr Sally Breen, and I’ve been hooked ever since. You can check out more of what we’re about at our facebook page https://www.facebook.com/smallroomwriterscollective/

The thing is, for the first few years of studying, I struggled to connect with other students. Being a single mum, I’d drive the hour or more to Uni, go to class, maybe hit up the library, then jump in my car and shoot home in time for after school pickup, shopping, making dinner and falling in a heap. My writing was done basically in isolation.

I found out about Smallroom, held at the drama theatre on campus at Griffith, and I was desperate to go. I did a lot of community theatre growing up so the performance bug had already bit me, I just hadn’t had the chance to explore that side of me for a long time. I actually missed the first Smallroom and when I realised, I broke down – frustrated, upset, yearning for connection and the chance to share my work. It became obvious I had to get there!

I don’t have any pics from my first night at Smallroom. I was like a little child, wide-eyed and shy, soaking it all up. I remember sitting in the rows of faded red theatre seats, my guts up in my throat waiting for my turn to read. They called my name. Smallroom virgin. I walked up to the lectern with words printed on paper that trembled in my hands – my piece was an anti-establishment rhyme I’d written years before. I braced my palms on the lectern and tried to ignore the shake in my legs. Drawing in breath, I opened my mouth, and delivered.

The feeling afterwards is difficult to describe. A rush of adrenalin? Sure. A feeling of relief? Maybe. A release of emotion held in for years? Definitely. When the crowd loved it and I didn’t fuck up and I spoke my piece and they clapped and cheered and urged me on, something inside me was seeded. Some deep need breached the surface and charged me with pride, passion and longing. I was gone, besotted, changed forever.