Wimmin
November 1, 2007 – 1:04 pm by CathI got taken to a wimmin’s writing circle-type meeting last night. God, I was leaking trepidation at the prospect - nodding my head sagely while someone reads out over-thesaurised experiences of, say, childbirth just ain’t my thing. But along I went, not in the least enticed by the chance to met Gwyneth Lewis, author of the cheerful book about depression Sunbathing in the Rain. I eased my gatecrashing guilt by immediately announcing my gloryhunter status upon my arrival before settling in for an evening of author grilling.
And grill her I did. The poor woman must have wondered if I’d demand her knicker size next. I wanted to know how she started, whether she found writing lonely, if she felt like a tit when she read over past efforts…I’ve never seen such patience in someone. She must have sunk into her car seat upon leaving and sobbed quietly over the steering wheel at the Cathy Bates-like nature of my number one fandom.
But at least I made the effort. I was astounded at how many writers turned out for the event yet failed to ask her anything about her work. Perhaps my journalistic ways mean I’m born to fidget and probe. Perhaps others were too star struck to speak. On second thoughts I suspect it’s because, thanks to my over-animated mouth, no one else could get a word in edgeways. Bloody wimmin.