So this was the dream I had Saturday night.
I was supposed to be interviewing author Camilla Gibb and a friend asked me if she could tag along. We got to the hotel, and I excused myself to go to the loo. And when I got back to the coffee shop, there was Camilla being interviewed by my friend instead of me ... and I was incensed!
When I finally sat down at the table to begin the interview, I realized that I didn't have a single pen in the big bag I carry around, my little cassette recorder had no batteries, a tape in it that was all tangled up, and a nest of ants living inside it. And when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I found I couldn't remember the titles of any of her books, couldn't find my notes and heard myself asking the most inane of questions.
I woke up in a huff at five a.m. If that was the way my dreams wanted to play it, I wouldn't give them room. You have to show them who's boss. Change the channel.
As it happened the interview on Monday went fine (apart from a mix-up about the time which meant it got rescheduled for later the same day). The piece should be in Sunday's StarMag. If you see me posting erratically on this blog over the next day or two it's because 1) the Litfest is on and I'm chasing stories and talking my heart out about books and writing, and 2) because I really need time to work on the article and my best writing time is also my best blogging time i.e. the crack of dawn.
Hope to see some of you around this week.
(My picture of Camilla taken at the interview while the pixman from the Star was going his stuff).