St. John's my middle name. The books go under M.
Some things I’ll remember years later:
1) There was this one time when Donna Tartt recommended my novel to Ann Patchett, which I found extraordinary because The Secret History and Bel Canto are two of the best novels I’ve ever read, and then Patchett wrote a really lovely blog post. She said, “Station Eleven is so compelling, so fearlessly imagined, that I wouldn’t have put it down for anything.”
2) The summer before Station Eleven was published, I spent as much time as possible in my garden on the rooftop terrace. It was so beautiful to me that it didn’t seem quite real. I watered the plants in the evenings, my favourite time of day, and couldn’t imagine anywhere else in the world where I’d rather be. I tried to take pictures of it sometimes, but they all fell short: it wasn’t possible to capture both the plants and the shining city just over the river at the same time, not to mention all the intangibles like the scent of honeysuckle, etc.
Station Eleven was living its own life out in the world by then. I was pleased that people seemed to like it, and it was the reason why I could afford to start a garden, but otherwise the book seemed quite distant and like something that didn’t particularly have anything to do with me by that point.
3) On the topic of beauty: the first time I saw a photograph of the finished UK edition of Station Eleven, I gasped aloud. The books had just arrived in the Pan MacMillan offices in London.
The days when I worry that Internet slang is moving faster than my ability to keep up with it. “I can’t even,” people say, on Twitter. (It is probably a sign of advancing age that my first thought is always “what? you can’t even what?” before I remember that “I can’t even” actually is a complete sentence in 2014.)
In extreme cases: “I’ve lost the ability to even.”
"I’m going to take a nap," Twitter people announce. Okay, I think, sounds good. I’m in favour of naps. "I am going to nap so hard," they say, at other moments. Okay, sure, still with you. But then last week someone said this: "I am going to take a nap. WITH MY WHOLE FACE."
A cri de couer from the sender of the previously-posted email, writing from her day job:
WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP GIVING ME RECEIPTS I NEED TO FIND OUT WHY THE PROPHET’S DOG IS CALLED LULI