Questions, good and bad

A while back, commenting on my post about the Guardian asking authors to ask themselves questions journalists never ask, Susan wrote: “And Meg? What about your unasked questions?”

Let’s start with the asked questions. The ones I wish people had kept to themselves.

“You’re a writer? Have you published anything?”
No. I killed the real Meg Gardiner, stole all these published novels you see before you, and have assumed her identity.

“Isn’t it nice that your hobby has turned into something?”
Would you ask the same question of Serena Williams? Oh, never mind — of course you would.

“You… work?”
The guy who asked that — an American businessman, not a Saudi princeling or time-traveler from 1950 — may still be reeling around Waterloo station, staggered by the revelation that ex-pat women don’t spend their days (and their husbands’ earnings) buying English regency antiques.

“Does your publisher keep track of book sales?”
No. The publisher leases a cargo 747 and flies around the world, shoveling copies of my novels out the loading ramp until the jet is empty. Because publishing runs on wishes and sparkles and the giggles of kittens.

And questions I do wish people would ask:

What are the top ten favorite scenes you’ve ever written?

If you could have a free ride on the space shuttle, would you take it?

And:

More chocolate with your Tahitian beach vacation, Ms. Gardiner?

Answers next time.

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