This past weekend was all 'Cape Town or Bust' - with the key almost being bust. We got there. A day late. Whole schedule thrown into chaos due to Thing 2, and then me, getting ill. Luckily nobody expects much from me when I throw a party, so Thing 2's party went just fine.
So we arrived in Cape Town around 4pm on FRIDAY, rather than 8pm on Thursday.
All of which meant I nearly did not make it to the Open Book Festival's hour with Julie Myerson. This would have been very bad. Not just because I would have missed it. But because Husband and I made up audience number 4 and 5.
Ouch.
As a seasoned pro, Julie Myerson acknowledged the shitty numbers, smiled, then acted as if the place was packed.
That said, dear heavens. Five people? Sure, okay, by the end another five had snuck in (may have actually been employees of Lobby Books sitting down in chairs...but it helped). But this is terrible. I am a huge champion of South African reads. If I can only buy one book and it is between an SA read and an international read - SA read wins. But SA cannot live in a bubble. International talent visiting South Africa is wonderful. Must get bums on seats or international talent will not visit us again.
I went to the Julie Myerson for nostalgic reasons. When we lived in Englad, every Saturday Husband and I would buy the Guardian Weekend edition. Then we'd sit down to to munch on humus, French bread, vegies and fruit. Bits of the paper would be spread out everywhere while we chatted about Charlie Booker (yes, Screen Burn, despite the fact we didnt' watch TV), gasp at housing prices and then we'd laugh and shake our heads over the anonymously written column Living with Teenagers. It was painfully honest. The mother did not always make the right choice. Aspects of it all would make us cringe. Then we'd cast a glance at the baby-of-the-moment and shudder. How the hell were we going to survive the teenage years?
'Nice to know other people fuck up,' we'd say.
And sometimes, sometimes the parents would get it right.
Because there isn't a lot written about teenagers, other than labeling them the curse on society. Even less on how to raise them. Kind of this idea that you set the foundation in their earlier years and after that. . . Woe to you that let your child eat one too many sweeties and popped in that DVD when you had that splitting headache - it's too late now.
The reason that there is little written on living with teenagers is, of course, that should any parent do so their children will hate them. Which is kind of what happened. There we were preparing to leave* England to South Africa when Julie Myerson's book, The Lost Child, hit the press and all hell broke loose. Out came the news that it was she behind 'Living with Teenagers' and Myerson was labelled by many as the Worst Mother in the World. (I would like to be first in line to say that I'm grateful that award has already been given. Saves me from risking such fate, myself.)
How do you bounce back from that? Did she just shrug it off?
As a person who practically caused a war over a single line in Facebook, about myself, my own experience, but nonetheless, caused anger of epic proportion - one does wonder where the line is for writers between the personal and professional. Heck, let us be honest, any human out there with a blog walks this fine line when they post. Then there is that essay I wrote for Wisdom Has a Voice. Sure, my Aunt is no longer here to read it. But her brothers are, and so is her sister, along with many other nieces and nephews.
I had some real fears that I'd piss people off. Thankfully, if I did, everyone has been more than polite and supportive to my face.
But what if they had not been?
It appears Myerson did not bounce back from the incident with a simple shrug. Her latest is dark and twisted, which she admitted had much to do with the chaos in her personal life. She never said if she regretted it, nor where one draws the line. But perhaps after all this time there seems little point in rehashing it.
What I did appreciate, however, was her honesty. It was horrible. For herself, for anybody who knew her. It took years to shake it from her system.
Then there were the things, that I as a writer, loved about her talk. Her absolute glee that her latest work actually begins with the first line she began with when she sat down to write that first draft. I know how rare that is and could totally appreciate how much of a win that was for her.
I also felt comforted that such a successful writer struggled / can't write with outlines. That she has to discover the story as she goes. She does not edit the same as I. But then I doubt she has the same challenges I have. However, she did admit that each paragraph in her book was carefully combed through at least thirty times. Nice to know she doesn't slam it out, write The End and hand it in.
In short, it was lovely to hear how another writer writes. How she is spooked by ever talking about a work-in-progress out loud. I've made that mistake a few times. Then as soon as the story left my mouth it died. It had already been told. She felt that doing so was setting herself up for failure. That it would create an expectation she could perhaps not match.
She made perfect sense.
However, I did not buy her latest book. Perhaps I'll read it later. For now, I stuck to purchasing The Lost Child, now that so much time has passed I can see for myself if a line was truly crossed, or if the press just decided to have Julie Myerson for lunch. (British press are notorious for this.)
The other issue was that the interviewer spoilt Myerson's latest for me. A book that is said to have many plot twists and a journey of discovery. They tried to dance around it, but each little tid-bit was another piece of the puzzle. It was like watching a movie trailer go on for far too long. Now I need time to try to forget what they've said.
Thankfully before attending a second Open Book Festival event, I bought the book and read it. Because once again, the interviewer said too much. I found the whole thing odd because it wasn't the typical horror story where the writers were being lofty and refusing to give the goods. Both writers were more than happy to talk. In fact, at times it was as if the interviewers were cutting the writers off. Sure, readers like to know a bit about the book. But in my humble experience (and as both an avid book worm and struggling writer) what people really want to know is what is the writer like? How did that book become a book? What kind of help did the writer need?
(A special thank you to Myerson who did not pretend she wrote her earlier stuff while rocking the cradle with one foot. She happily acknowledged her first novel never would have been if the father of her children had not stepped up to the plate and that she also, in furthering her career, used childcare.)
Back to my rant. There is a word of advice given to writers when writing: Trust your reader. This applies to audiences as well. Book-lovers are far from a stupid bunch.
*Edited to add that apparently the sleep depreveation in the year running up to our move and the aftermath had me confused. We left England in '08, the book came out in '09. So I was watching the chaos unfold via my brand new ADSL line.
