5 Reasons Why Brighton Is The Place To Be For Writers

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Brighton writers’ retreat: the biznitch for word-pushers

Hey. You. Brighton writer. What’s good?

1. Coffee shops
Many of Brighton’s digital freelancer open plan flexible working spaces also serve coffee to the public. You can kickstart your nervous system AND feel like you’re in an Apple store all the while typing untruth-bombs framed by a window. Passers-by will think ‘look at that genius’ while you are thinking ‘what’s another word for “said”?’ Shout out to local faves Small Batch and Pelicano, plus Dexters, who let writers hang out and sip latte fumes for hours.

2. The sea
The cold wet thing at the end of the country? Brighton backs onto that. Bodies of water can be both very calming and dramatic as fuck, so a remedy there for the mallow or manic writerly brain. In the summer there’s people and boats and wee in it and in the winter you can stare out moodily across the vista that has inspired a kabillion ‘the old West Pier with some starlings in silhouette at sunset’ pictures.

3. Festival season
Basically in May a bunch of artists get bussed in to entertain the city for a month. Pop-up venues bloom like mushrooms in the darkness of your dreams and everywhere there is music and art and words and weird stuff that doesn’t fit into any category but which you’ll remember because it made you feel angry/odd/sexy. Soak up the inspiration, take part in the literary offerings of the Brighton Festival or stage your own work at England’s biggest festival Fringe.

4. Writery-writer-write-writeballs
Okay so there’s writers groups, live literature nights like Rattle Tales and poetry open mics and the Brighton Prize– BRAAP BRAP (AIRHORN) Big up the Brighton & Hove Libraries! They’re dropping mad books (actually they’re very careful with their stock) and keeping it real (by curating literary events and seasons) and all the shit (they have printers you can use when you can no longer get away with using the one at work on the sneak).

5. The who-gives-a-fuckness of it all
People literally ride bikes naked here. They get in the sea on Christmas morning. They burn clocks and they pierce and ink and dye and paint everything and they eat weird plant shit and they care even if no one else does. The whole place turns into a rainbow on an annual basis. Apparently anything is permissible so, please, go ahead and smear onto a page the idea that’s in your melon and be another sparkle in the glitter burst of what-the-hell-was-that? Boom

p.s you can book tickets to join us at Brighton Writers’ Retreat here

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