steven herrick spoke at the melbourne writers festival to a very full auditorium of school students, their teachers, other writers, friends and me. he spoke to the students, with the students, and not at them. he had the lights put on so he could see them. he singled the cheeky ones out and laughed with them. he listened kindly when a girl, inspired by one of steven's characters, shared her sadness at her mother's death. he talked about drinking, kissing, vomiting. masturbation. fathers. sons. how he left (or rather, it was suggested that he not come back) school at fifteen and now has twenty books to his name, and two sons and a football team of middle-aged men who wear pink. it was session that will not be forgotten easily.
