Hello! Remember me? It’s been a minute. I’m in the final push to finish my book, so I’ve been a bit heads down of late. I’m massively grateful to my Working co-hosts and the Outward podcast team for taking up some slack so I could have a month of uninterrupted focus.
And then I went and interrupted my own focus earlier this week by taking a couple of hours to attend First Minister’s Questions at the Scottish Parliament. I’ve put off most of the exploration of Edinburgh and Scotland that I’d like to do until after the book is delivered, but when Nicola Sturgeon announced that she was stepping down as leader of the Scottish National Party, I knew I needed to go sooner rather than later. I’ve seen some good silver cast performances at the opera, but let’s face it, the gold cast is usually better. (Sturgeon’s replacement should be chosen by the end of the month, and I intend to check whoever wins some other Thursday at noon.)
My verdict? Nicola Sturgeon is an amazing performer. I was in the debating chamber for a few minutes before FMQ, and when she came in, she was immediately the focus of attention. This wasn’t just because she’s the most important person there, or for reasons related to government policy, it’s because she’s tremendously charismatic. I was reminded of being at the Eastbourne tennis tournament back in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. It was always obvious where on the grounds of Devonshire Park Billie Jean King was. I’m not quite sure how radar works, so it was either like radar or the opposite of radar—she would involuntarily send pings off into the air so you just had a sense that there was a charismatic presence nearby. (When I went back to Eastbourne 15-20 years later, I was surprised to learn that Anna Kournikova had a similar presence.)
During FMQ (which you can watch here—I was egomaniacal enough to enlarge the image enough that I could see myself up in the public gallery, but unlike Nicola Sturgeon, who wore a bright red suit, I did not stand out in my black ensemble), she was both exceptionally good at coming up with facts and figures to counter opposition talking points and at administering sick burns to their more personally needling “questions.”
I’m torn about the last bit. I exchanged a few words with my MSP after question time (at his invitation—a member of his staff had arranged tickets for me and three other people and given us a little tour of the gorgeous parliament before the session; we were told he’d talk to us afterward; I was the only person who actually lives in Scotland and could vote for him), and he was obviously very proud of his mad heckling and yuck-yuck skills. (If you’ve got it, you shouldn’t need to shout about it, I always say, though on reflection that may not have been the best attitude to bring to annual reviews.) I hate the braying, schoolyard shit you hear in the House of Commons, but Sturgeon was head and shoulders better at that comedy-hour putdown schtick than the rest of the people trying it on. (In that sense, I appreciate that Labour leader Anas Sarwar stuck to politics, more or less, and didn’t try to offer up a tight two minutes of insult comedy, unlike Conservative leader Douglas Ross.)
Bottom line, though, if you’re ever in Edinburgh, definitely put the Scottish Parliament on your itinerary. But for real, if you’re ever in Edinburgh, call me first!
Department of Corrections: Back in the mists of time, aka Jan. 7, 2023, I wrote about some of the differences between early U.S. and U.K. feminist publishers. A friend who was my boss back when I worked at a U.S. feminist publisher pointed out an error in that newsletter. I said that all the women of Sheba Press were British-born, which might have been true of the collective that I worked with in the ‘80s, but an earlier lineup included U.S.-born Sue O’Sullivan (who had also been on the Spare Rib collective) and Kenya-born Pratibha Parmar.
Department of Amplification: And speaking of that issue of the newsletter, I started it off by noting the death of Dame Carmen Callil. My pal Colm then blew my mind by sharing a story from his youth. (Shared with his permission.)
I saw her on a talk show, and she spoke at some length about how she felt it was important for publishers not to be in ivory towers, to be available to speak to people, and stay in touch. This being not long after she appalled the wimmin of Virago by moving to the Big Time, i.e., taking over as boss at Chatto & Windus. So this must have been ‘82 or ‘83
So anyway I wrote to her and said well, you said you are always accessible so I’m writing to ask you for a job. And she wrote back saying, well, I need a secretary—which obviously was not what I had in mind—and I wrote back saying well, I’m really not sure I’d be a good secretary, you must be mad, but I’d definitely come for an interview.
So she rang me up and said “So you think I’m mad, do you?” And we chatted briefly and I agreed to go down there.
We had quite a nice chat, but I’m sure she could see that despite my brave face, I was a bit put off by her description of the job, which was more like a company director’s faithful dogsbody PA out of a sitcom than a secretary. Someone to do typing but also do jobs—the one that always sticks in my mind is someone to go to her flat and collect her cat and take it to the vet and back. I mentioned that I didn’t drive, let alone have a car, and she asked if I could do all that by tube. Yes, I said—having made my way from Euston to wherever Chatto was. Then I had to do a typing test.
A few days later she wrote saying my typing really wasn’t up to it, which was actually a very polite get-out, there were seventeen ways I wasn’t up to it … And she put a tenner—or was it a twenty?—in the envelope because she was concerned about me spending all that money on a train ticket to come down. (It was either enough or nearly enough to cover my expenses, I can’t remember.)
I think she was just flabbergasted anyone who didn’t already live in London would even have considered such a thing. Lots of Young Northern Men in the ‘50s would have made a whole novel out of such an outing.
Indeed they would!
RECOMMENDATIONS: I’m just wrapping up Chapter 5, about feminist sex-toy stores, the research for which had me talking with several former employees of San Francisco’s Good Vibrations. One of them recommended David Talbot’s book The Season of the Witch, which is a fantastic evocation of the city in a period of crazy hope and abject horror.
LISTEN TO ME: You’re going to need to call in sick to catch up with this long list! On Working proper, I spoke with Chip Livingston about the work of compiling a collection of letters between writers Lucia Berlin and Kenward Elmslie; with director Chase Joynt and co-writer Morgan M. Page about the making of their amazing film Framing Agnes (which everyone should see); and with Oscar winner Siân Heder (who is one of the nicest people EVAH!) about winning big for CODA and her work on the Apple TV+ series Little America. On Working Overtime, Karen Han and I talked about being kind to yourself when creativity isn’t flowing; Claes Oldenburg’s self-priming technique, and then Isaac Butler and I tried James Altucher’s strategy for building up the “idea muscle.”
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this newsletter and want to share it, or were forwarded this edition and want to subscribe, the link is https://buttondown.email/WhereAre. The archives are here. When my book is ready to be preordered, this is where I will tell you about that, but that won’t happen until 2024. Reply to this email to share any thoughts or ideas.
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