Apparently I write YA books because I still think like I’m in high school. And I’m okay with that.

A couple years ago at an awards gala, I sat beside a highly successful writer who had flown in for the occasion, apparently from the land of I-am-obscenely-famous. He was… let me use my Grandmother’s words… much too big for his britches. In fact, if his britches were a size small, he was an extra large. He spent all of his time leaning back in his chair, his feet sprawled out in front of him, expostulation on book tours and the difficulties of dealing with publicists and the fatiguing nature of air travel.

And then he started in on blogs. And lamented that he hadn’t worn his T-shirt that said, “I don’t want to read your blog.”

There were about eight other writers at his table and he hadn’t asked if anyone blogged before he began on this topic, so I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one quietly watching him and thinking, “I bet you didn’t have a single date in high school.” Because really, with social skills like that, you’d better hope that your books skyrocket to the top of the charts and you never have to earn your living as a bartender.

This touching scene has come back to me because… could this be true?… Is Margaret Atwood really blogging? And is she blogging about apparently nothing, just like the rest of us blog? Okay, maybe she has her staff blog for her, but still. This really does appear to be a Margaret Atwood blog. And if she had been at that awards ceremony, Mr. Britches, her line-up would have been WAY longer than yours.

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