I read a newspaper article about Margaret Atwood. I’ve never really followed her career, although I loved The Handmaid’s Tale. Love her! Oh, so much so!
Told Lawrence about the article, adding, “If I were a writer, I’d be her.”
“If you were a writer? Are you no longer a writer, then?”
“Yes, just as I am an artist and a scientist and a girl, etc.”
“And a musician,” he said.
“Yes.”
“But before now, I’ve never heard you refer to yourself as anything but a writer.”
True, true. Why do I continue to hold such a strong prejudice against myself? I am a writer.
I was very pleased with him today; when I asked if he remembered when my birthday was, he replied with the answer before I had finished asking the question.
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Giselle
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