On green rooms

-the highs and lows.

Do you know who hates the sound of my voice more than you?

Me. The answer is me.

For the last few months, I have been banished to the land of book promo (yes, still) and I’ve been talking a lot of shit (yes, still). I’ve been ‘in conversation’ (many); I’ve traumatised people over brunches; I’ve sat on panels about the ethics and considerations of memoir; others on writing about food; I’ve run masterclasses; I’ve chaired discussions between people I idolise and people I don’t; I’ve been tricked into being a part of literary salons which are just ways to make awkward authors perform improv; and along the way, I’ve shared in-jokes and private moments with a fiercely intelligent chef striving for social change; discussed the nuances of humour with an international best-selling author; regretfully declined dinner with a true Australian celebrity; jumped around to Peaches with the Miles Franklin winner; accused an agent/comedian/best-selling author of being ozpublishingtea; met a Bachelorette; been mildly stalked by people who have formed parasocial relationships with me; and bought a tonne of books along the way. I have also been nominated for a few prizes (a surprise) and won nothing (not a surprise).

It’s been a weird and exhausting time.