Margaret Atwood was an awful disappointment, but I think this is my own fault. I saw the day going much differently. Here we would be; twelve pupils, all students of her novels (in a seminar, no less) getting to meet the author who wrote the books we read. I felt like I would have been honored if I were her, I expected her to be pleased and accessible. I didn't account for the nature of her job, she travels all over the country, doing the same thing every time. She can't afford to give a shit about the individual people that she meets, she'd spread herself way too thin if she did.
I shouldn't make an enemy in the industry I wish to participate in, shouldn't I?
The first words I heard Margaret Atwood say were, "How did you get invited to lunch? Did you win the lottery?"
Tonight I helped her sign books for an hour ("If you'd like Margaret to sign your book with your name, write it in block letters on a post-it note, opposite the page with the largest title. Please keep your book open and on the table. I can help you if you need it.") and when it came time for her to sign mine, she didn't even look at me. She was having a conversation with someone else.
Her talent deserves the praise it's given, but that's different from her person.
Bitter, bitter, bitter,
P. I. Staker
