I spent a very pleasant hour on the weekend with a cup of tea and the program for the Sydney Writers' Festival which is on next month. Pleasant, that is, until I remembered a festival a few years ago when my highschool nemesis was on the program.
Highschool nemeses, as they age, should do the only respectable thing and allow themselves to be forced by dire economic circumstances to take mind-numbing jobs in overcrowded cities and generally live lives of woe. They should NOT become successful writers and pop up on writers' festival programs.
It was entirely possible (although not probable) that my nemesis had grown into a delightful, caring and non-mean person; it was entirely possible (although not probable) that we could be best-friends-forever just waiting to happen.
But I decided to be infantile and assume not, because I could that's why. Humph.
Anyhoo, when my eye lighted upon his name on the program all those years ago I thought "ha! On the program but no publicity shot!" ... but then I saw it, all black and white and serious and writerly in the left margin. Dang.
Then I thought maybe his session had been scheduled for some inhuman time (8am Sunday morning?) when no-one was awake let alone ready to hear about former-nemesis-penned tales, but no, there he was in a prime time evening slot. Dang.
I was somewhat appeased, however, when I realised his session was free. Free! Free I tell you! "No tickets, no takings..." I thought in a shameful bad karma way, "no cash for the trip to Sydney next year?"
How tightly did I cling to this infantile reasoning, but that was years ago and I've moved on. Clearly.
7 comments:
LOL Kettle!
Don't worry, I'm sure his books are all remaindered now in some discount book warehouse, plastered with 75% off stickers and a sign saying a further 50% off the remaining 25% price
Yes yes, Squib! I shall make it my new mission to scour discount book warehouses until I find said discounted books then, well, throw little pieces of household rubbish at them, like paddle pop sticks and yoghurt lids (then I'll go and stand in front of a mirror and have a long hard look at myself).
Hi! Just found your comment on my blog from a while back!
And what a great post to stumble upon! Like Morrissey sings "We hate it when our friends become successful"... however I do think we hate it even more when our nemisisisisssss become successful. (That's how I say nemesis, anyways, makes them even meaner)
You've got a cool blog so that'll show him!
Hi Veronica! Thanks for stopping by; you have a very cool blog (but hopefully not a nemesisisissssss!). And you're right: all those esses do make nemesisissss' sound meaner. I think I should now retire to the couch with a medical bottle of red wine, that should clear my mind of any nemeses ;)
This reminds me of a Clive James poem.
"The book of my enemy has been remaindered and I rejoice."
High school nemesii only exist in my world so if I ever saw them, I could shake my fist and say DAMN YOU (name)...
Thanks for the reference to the poem, Ramon, that is most excellent. Now I can be sure that if my invitation to speak at a writers' festival doesn't turn up it's simply because it got lost in the mail or eaten by a dog or trampled under a herd of stampeding elephants (in Sydney). My nemesis's session, on the other hand, was free because, well, (surprisingly I can't make myself finish that sentence. Perhaps I'm finally growing out of my extended adolescence? God help me how boring) (sorry for the ramble, Ramon, I really just meant to say thanks for the poem).
Miles there's a post in there: times in your life you've metaphorically (and literally) raised your fist at someone and cried DAMN YOU...
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