All the genuine interest in my story has led to a perhaps not-unexpected regression over the weekend, in which I stayed very close to home (truthfully, I barely left the house) and tried to recover some equilibrium. Perhaps the tipping point was my first public presentation of the book, which I managed without recourse to a handkerchief, but which was a little confronting for its lack of boundaries between author and work. This is the soil of the memoirist, I suppose – tilled in private but sown in public.
One of the lovely surprises of the reading was the appearance of one of my favourite English teachers from high school, whom I finally had the pleasure of thanking for being the first teacher to give me a decent mark for an essay about books and writing, and thus encouraging me.
One week until my next reading, at Customs House Library at Circular Quay – for which reservations are required. Details here.