I remember, at the of 2010, looking back and thinking, roughly, "meh". It had not been that much of an exciting year, following as it did almost exactly the same pattern as 2009 had, but without the added challenge of moving countries and starting a business from scratch.
I thought my assessment of 2011 might be similar, but, on reflection, realised that this year has been different, in subtle but perhaps significant ways.
This was, after all, the year I met Rob Lowe, and consequently wobbled briefly in my devotion to Bradley Whitford, because when a person is that good-looking and that charming in real life, it can tend to confuse you. I quickly recovered, though.
This was, not unrelatedly, the year that I discovered the Hay Literary Festival. Okay, my meeting with a slightly-famous-author did not turn out to be the key to fame and fortune and a lifelong literary friendship, but Hay was fun, and inspiring, and educational, and there were lots of books, and I want to go again, and again, and again.
It was, however, the year in which a literary friendship did begin: my creative-non-fiction friend Sylvia is a lof of fun and hugely inspiring. And there were other new people in my life too: people like Brian and MA - both DC friends that began online and moved closer to the realm of reality this year.
This was, returning to the subject of meeting famous people (famous to me, that is - for which read people having to do with the West Wing), also the year that I met Richard Schiff, who was reasonably nice to me when you consider that I lost all power of speech and reason and the ability to form intelligent questions like "so do you prefer stage or screen?" It was the year that I failed to meet Elisabeth Moss, though (straying briefly from the West Wing for a second) I did, as a result of attempting to meet her, get Keira Knightley's autograph. It was the year that I met Melissa Fitzgerald (who plays CJ's assistant, Carol), though I hesitate to put her in the same category since meeting her felt less like star-spotting and more like making a new friend.
It was, of course, still not the year when I met either Bradley Whitford or Janel Moloney, but I'm guessing you've worked that out, since I might have mentioned it by now if I had. A lot. Loudly. With many exclamation marks.
It was also the year when I finished my first novel (although "finished" is a relative term - I'm not sure that you ever really finish - it seems you just stop). It was the year when I started my second - Primary Season is its current working title - and I will, at some point, write a blogpost that predictably will compare this experience to having a second baby - it's not that you love your first any less, but you have less time to devote to it, and less time to devote to the second because of the first, and a tiny part of you is already thinking of the third. Anyway, I digress.
It was the year that I did my first real campaigning in America (unless you're counting the few phone calls I made trying to convince people to vote for Martha Coakley way back in January 2009). I did phone banking and door to door canvassing, and I would have done voter registration if the good people of Pasadena hadn't been scared off by the prospect of drizzle (don't get me started).
it was the year I self-published my little eBook on language learning, Conquering Babel, which has sold, oh, forty copies or so, and started blogging about language learning to build a platform in my attempt to take over the world as a language-learning guru.
It was the year, for better or worse, that I discovered Authonomy, where my first novel, Inevitable, is currently in 28th place, meaning that sometime in the first half of 2012 it should land on the desk of a Harper Collins editor, who may or may not offer me a contract, which I may or may not accept.
It was the year when I did (and loved) my first Gotham Writers' Workshop course. It was the year when I was accepted to American University to study for an MFA in Creative Writing (whether or not I end up going is anothe rmatter). It was the year that I did NaNoWriMo (or National Novel Writing Month - the challenge of a 50,000 word first draft of a novel in thirty days) for the first time. So I suppose it was a year where writing featured heavily. It has so become a part of my life that I didn't even really notice. It doesn't feel shiny and new anymore, yet I keep going, and for someone who normally moves onto something new after the excitement fades, this is a good sign.
It was the year of my first internal American flight and also my first visit to Portugal, where the coffee, let me tell you, is delicious, and tastes exactly like Spanish cafe con leche, to which my mind often turns as I sip on a Belgian coffee that I wish I could enjoy.
But, wait! This was also the year when Starbucks opened in Brussels, which has considerably reduced my homesickness and irritation at missing trains, and thus my general levels of grumpiness.
It was the year of weddings, too - four, and yes there was a funeral too, and that was incredibly sad. It was the year of the last Brighton Leaders' Conference. It was the year I started swimming again. It was the year in which one of my multiple twitter accounts gained considerable momentum, hit 5,000 followers and kept going. It was the year in which for the first time an article of mine was published in a magazine you can actually buy in WHSmith - Writers' Forum.
It was another year in which I failed to keep a diary, though, so I'm forgetting a lot, no doubt. I'd like to think that next year I will be disciplined enough to fill in a few lines a day in my five-year diary thing that I bought, full of good intentions, at the beginning of 2010. I think I actually might this time, because I am expecting great things of 2012. But that's the subject of another post, another day..
Showing posts with label rob lowe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rob lowe. Show all posts
Thursday, 29 December 2011
2011: this was the year that...
Sunday, 29 May 2011
3BT: Rob Lowe, encouraging writers, and more on my book
1. I wake up still grinning about my Rob Lowe encounter yesterday. The buzz lasts all day, and is rekindled when I see that the Telegraph quoted him answering my question.
2. I wanted to go to a talk by a certain author; it's sold out, but turns out she is doing another one, straight afterwards. It's free, and much more relaxed, with far fewer people there. She's metres away and answers my questions. When I ask her to sign my book, she asks me why I have been taking notes. I explain I've just finished a novel of my own. She takes the time to ask me how it feels and ask me to email her. I don't know if she has any idea how exciting that is for me, especially given that hers is a book I've wanted to read since it came out last summer.
3. My book continues to climb the Authonomy chart; I'm now safely inside the top 250.
2. I wanted to go to a talk by a certain author; it's sold out, but turns out she is doing another one, straight afterwards. It's free, and much more relaxed, with far fewer people there. She's metres away and answers my questions. When I ask her to sign my book, she asks me why I have been taking notes. I explain I've just finished a novel of my own. She takes the time to ask me how it feels and ask me to email her. I don't know if she has any idea how exciting that is for me, especially given that hers is a book I've wanted to read since it came out last summer.
3. My book continues to climb the Authonomy chart; I'm now safely inside the top 250.
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Rob Lowe: so much more than a pretty face
After I have stopped grinning, after the buzz of today has waned, here's, I think, what I will remember about Rob Lowe at Hay. Yes, the blue eyes. Of course. But it was the honesty that I didn't expect.
'I walk out and you guys laugh and I feel great, and I don't know what that's about,' he said.
I don't know either, but there was something winsome about his admitting that, straight up. It made me sit up and listen. (Okay, I was already sitting up and listening pretty closely.) It made me identify with him on some level: I was also the equivalent of the nerdy kid in school who didn't get picked for the soccer team.
He talked about how his fame gives him a sense of communicating, of being heard, of control, all of which were lacking from his childhood. He talked, too, about the freedom of being sober and how he no longer worries what other people think of him, and that freedom is what enables him to be funny.
He mentioned his love of literature and language, passed on to him by his mother; he talked too of his crafting his book. I was a little skeptical about his having written it himself, but I no longer am, and now I get to feel a kinship with him as I do with all other authors. Oh, to be in a room with him and get to chat about all of this stuff at length.
He talked, too, about the hurt he felt as a young man when he saw a star he admired throw away a lollipop he had passed on to him - the contempt it showed. I knew then that I would see a different attitude, a willingness to engage with his fans, that I haven't really seen in any of the four other West Wingers that I've met (or failed to meet) so far. I was right: he was gracious, and fun. He posed for cameras; at the book signing, he joked, he winked, he made eye contact.
And he was also realistic about what adulation often is: he knows somewhere deep inside him that that adulation can't be all about him, or who he is, or his work. Often it's objectification - young people, especially, using him, in some way, to work through their own issues. Things like that show a depth of thought that I hadn't necessarily expected to see in him.
Predictably, I also loved what he said about us West Wing fans: he said that in the end, the actors were just in it, but the show belongs to us now, that it's part of us. I think on some level that shows a special kind of humility, of being willing to give a gift and let go of it. I was suitably impressed.
'I walk out and you guys laugh and I feel great, and I don't know what that's about,' he said.
I don't know either, but there was something winsome about his admitting that, straight up. It made me sit up and listen. (Okay, I was already sitting up and listening pretty closely.) It made me identify with him on some level: I was also the equivalent of the nerdy kid in school who didn't get picked for the soccer team.
He talked about how his fame gives him a sense of communicating, of being heard, of control, all of which were lacking from his childhood. He talked, too, about the freedom of being sober and how he no longer worries what other people think of him, and that freedom is what enables him to be funny.
He mentioned his love of literature and language, passed on to him by his mother; he talked too of his crafting his book. I was a little skeptical about his having written it himself, but I no longer am, and now I get to feel a kinship with him as I do with all other authors. Oh, to be in a room with him and get to chat about all of this stuff at length.
He talked, too, about the hurt he felt as a young man when he saw a star he admired throw away a lollipop he had passed on to him - the contempt it showed. I knew then that I would see a different attitude, a willingness to engage with his fans, that I haven't really seen in any of the four other West Wingers that I've met (or failed to meet) so far. I was right: he was gracious, and fun. He posed for cameras; at the book signing, he joked, he winked, he made eye contact.
And he was also realistic about what adulation often is: he knows somewhere deep inside him that that adulation can't be all about him, or who he is, or his work. Often it's objectification - young people, especially, using him, in some way, to work through their own issues. Things like that show a depth of thought that I hadn't necessarily expected to see in him.
Predictably, I also loved what he said about us West Wing fans: he said that in the end, the actors were just in it, but the show belongs to us now, that it's part of us. I think on some level that shows a special kind of humility, of being willing to give a gift and let go of it. I was suitably impressed.
3BT: happy Hay moments
1. 'No, you can't meet him,' says the well-spoken young man at the registration desk as I glide into my question about whether or not speaking to Rob Lowe was going to be a possibility. He's smiling. 'I know he has an army of hard core fans...'
'But at something like Hay, I mean surely...'
'You'd be surprised.' He rolls his eyes. 'People lose all sense of decorum.'
'But,' I persist, not one to be deterred so easily, 'some of those people might have come all the way from other countries to meet him.'
'Then ' he says, 'I suggest those people take a long, hard look at what they're reading.'
I redeem myself with a not entirely true claim that it's really just the West Wing that I'm obsessed with, and he just happens to be a West Winger, and I walk away happy, having enjoyed the banter.
2. Books and board games: two of my favourite things. Turns out the two have been combined into one - kind of a cross between Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit, incredibly clever, and a lot of fun.Turns out, too, that the guy I spend a contented half hour playing it with invented the whole thing, and is the designer behind those funky Penguin mugs and notebooks. I come over all starstruck, not for the last time this weekend, and full of admiration. I even consider appointing myself his assistant, Donna Moss style. I really do think he may find me valuable.
3. The talk on the making of the King James Bible is fascinating, inspiring, and unexpectedly funny. Since Adam Nicolson is signing his book afterwards, I decide to buy two copies - one for me, and one for my step dad, who's interested in this kind of issue. We have a brief exchange about how mystery and simplicity meet in the King James, and how important that is to understanding the character of God.
I'm holding Rob Lowe's book, too, as well as my Hay programme with a rather dashing picture of him. Adam Nicholson asks me how Rob was.
'Not till this afternoon,' I say.
He signs my book, then the other one.
'To Roger,' I say, 'he's my stepdad.'
'Not your boyfriend, 'because obviously that's Rob Lowe.'
He writes 'to Roger,' then pretends to add, 'you're no Rob Lowe.'
I walk away smiling again after more enjoyable banter, and of course anticipation. Which, as it turns out, was well-founded.
'But at something like Hay, I mean surely...'
'You'd be surprised.' He rolls his eyes. 'People lose all sense of decorum.'
'But,' I persist, not one to be deterred so easily, 'some of those people might have come all the way from other countries to meet him.'
'Then ' he says, 'I suggest those people take a long, hard look at what they're reading.'
I redeem myself with a not entirely true claim that it's really just the West Wing that I'm obsessed with, and he just happens to be a West Winger, and I walk away happy, having enjoyed the banter.
2. Books and board games: two of my favourite things. Turns out the two have been combined into one - kind of a cross between Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit, incredibly clever, and a lot of fun.Turns out, too, that the guy I spend a contented half hour playing it with invented the whole thing, and is the designer behind those funky Penguin mugs and notebooks. I come over all starstruck, not for the last time this weekend, and full of admiration. I even consider appointing myself his assistant, Donna Moss style. I really do think he may find me valuable.
3. The talk on the making of the King James Bible is fascinating, inspiring, and unexpectedly funny. Since Adam Nicolson is signing his book afterwards, I decide to buy two copies - one for me, and one for my step dad, who's interested in this kind of issue. We have a brief exchange about how mystery and simplicity meet in the King James, and how important that is to understanding the character of God.
I'm holding Rob Lowe's book, too, as well as my Hay programme with a rather dashing picture of him. Adam Nicholson asks me how Rob was.
'Not till this afternoon,' I say.
He signs my book, then the other one.
'To Roger,' I say, 'he's my stepdad.'
'Not your boyfriend, 'because obviously that's Rob Lowe.'
He writes 'to Roger,' then pretends to add, 'you're no Rob Lowe.'
I walk away smiling again after more enjoyable banter, and of course anticipation. Which, as it turns out, was well-founded.
Mission accomplished: on meeting Rob Lowe...
I'm not proud of it, but I should probably feel worse about it than I do. Which is, let's face it, not even a little bit. Although I do feel a little bad about not feeling bad, if that means anything at all.
Yes. I queue jumped.
Rob Lowe's talk had just ended; I had been one of the lucky few endowed with a microphone and had asked him a relatively coherent question, without breaking into a fake American accent. Then, like all the other hundreds of people, I pegged it to the bookshop to get his autobiography signed. I snaked in and out of courtyards, though I don't think I elbowed or pushed anyone. In the meantime, I made a new friend, who was doing the same.
But oh, the size of the queue.
You have to understand, I had come all the way from Belgium for this.
I had also almost lost my chance to seize the microphone, out of uncharacteristic graciousness, when I let someone else go first, and then it was taken from me and I had to fight to get it back.
My new friend said, 'I'm here with someone who's disabled, and I'm going to ask if we can go to the front. Come with us.' I found out both their names and, feeling like a fraud, I followed them to the front. Someone saw, and told me off, and I am still British enough for that to fill me with shame. I hung back. I gave my book to my new friends. But, bless them, they persuaded me they needed me. And then took pictures of Rob signing me book.
I did not lose all sense of propriety, and stammer 'I loved you in the West Wing' as I had with Stockard Channing (which is not, in fact, strictly true, though I do love the West Wing, and she was in it). I was not momentarily paralysed as I had been with Richard Schiff. In fact, I think it's fair to say I have nothing to be embarrassed about at all, though in the photographs ot does look, inexplicably, as though his publicist is trying to restrain me. He looked straight at me - and oh, those eyes - and he winked at one friend and joked with the other.
And, my word, the man is beautiful.
Yes. I queue jumped.
Rob Lowe's talk had just ended; I had been one of the lucky few endowed with a microphone and had asked him a relatively coherent question, without breaking into a fake American accent. Then, like all the other hundreds of people, I pegged it to the bookshop to get his autobiography signed. I snaked in and out of courtyards, though I don't think I elbowed or pushed anyone. In the meantime, I made a new friend, who was doing the same.
But oh, the size of the queue.
You have to understand, I had come all the way from Belgium for this.
I had also almost lost my chance to seize the microphone, out of uncharacteristic graciousness, when I let someone else go first, and then it was taken from me and I had to fight to get it back.
My new friend said, 'I'm here with someone who's disabled, and I'm going to ask if we can go to the front. Come with us.' I found out both their names and, feeling like a fraud, I followed them to the front. Someone saw, and told me off, and I am still British enough for that to fill me with shame. I hung back. I gave my book to my new friends. But, bless them, they persuaded me they needed me. And then took pictures of Rob signing me book.
I did not lose all sense of propriety, and stammer 'I loved you in the West Wing' as I had with Stockard Channing (which is not, in fact, strictly true, though I do love the West Wing, and she was in it). I was not momentarily paralysed as I had been with Richard Schiff. In fact, I think it's fair to say I have nothing to be embarrassed about at all, though in the photographs ot does look, inexplicably, as though his publicist is trying to restrain me. He looked straight at me - and oh, those eyes - and he winked at one friend and joked with the other.
And, my word, the man is beautiful.
Location:Hay Literary Festival
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Erratum: Starstruck part 2
I would like permission to revise and... oh, what's that phrase? You know, the one from the US Senate?
Anyway, permission to change my mind about something. When I said yesterday that Rob Lowe tweeting me was more exciting that Janel Moloney's signed photo, I may have been overstating it a little. I'd say they were, in fact, tied. (Nationally.)*
I've just taken my Janel picture back out of the envelope again and I have to say it is rather cool. Especially as I get two pictures for the price of one, and not just because ebay messed up and also sent me the one I didn't want where she doesn't really look like her, but also because it's the picture where she's standing with her White House pass round her neck - where there is also a photo of her. A picture within a picture. I'm sure there's somewhere I could go with that, if I wasn't so tired from staying up late getting excited about my tweet from Rob Lowe.
But, anyway. I love my Janel picture, and the fact that she has signed it. That is all for tonight.
* Sorry, couldn't resist the obligatory Josh and Donna reference...
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
NaBloPoMo or the art of drivel
I've just signed up to NaBloPoMo - which is not, as you might think, a hitherto-undiscovered strain of swine flu (or 'flu - hands up if you still write that, and 'cello, and 'phone). It's National Blog Post Month. Or something like that, anyway. And since I've recently decided I need to up my word count if I'm going to stand a chance of ever being able to write this novel anything like as well as I would like to, I've decided to give it a go.
Much like practising the oboe, which seems to bascially consist of making the same mistakes and then some new ones day after day until it all magically falls into place (apparently), if I churn out enough drivel, one day I will write something good.
Lucky you, you get to read the drivel.
I have to admit, I was hoping NaBloPoMo would come up with some kind of Daily Prompter, but all it has is a theme.
This month, the theme is "Big".
Which is lucky, because something "big" happened to me today. Well, it's actually something very tiny, but I am bouncing up and down and unable to concentrate on anything else so well, what better topic for this, my first of this month's thirty blogposts.
Rob Lowe tweeted me!
Rob Lowe!
You know, Sam Seaborn. From the West Wing. That programme I go on about endlessly and have probably mentioned or alluded to in every blogpost since time immemorial.
Sorry, Janel Moloney, but even getting a signed picture of you in the post this week does not trump this. (Though, to clarify: I bounced a little then, too.)
I have to say, I have not been this excited since I got my first tweet from Josh Malina - and then - even more excitingly -a DM from him - then a retweet - and then, oh miracle, he started following me. Goodness knows why - I doubt he enjoys my daily adulation of Bradley Whitford. (They have some kind of rivalry going: it amused me greatly when I spotted a line that Brad made Josh say in a West Wing episode he wrote - "I can't act; I'm a terrible actor." Josh deserves it though - he does things like tear out the last page of books before the person has read them. Ouch.)
And he still hasn't unfollowed me - I know this, thanks to Qwitter, which I don't suggest you sign up for if you have any issues with self-confidence. And who doesn't.
Quite why any of this should be so exciting eludes me. Somewhere in my list of blog posts to be written is the title "fame - the illusion of greatness". There's one to ponder. But first, sleep.
Friday, 20 November 2009
You know your addiction to the West Wing is beyond all hope of redemption when...
...you get the cravings. You know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, there is still hope for you
... you're listening to Eva Cassidy's "Fields of Gold", and think you heard, "you'll remember me when the West Wing moves"
... you know exactly how long it’s been since you last watched an episode
... you are proud of yourself when you get through the day without watching an episode, so you reward yourself with some fan fic, a fan video, or some discussion on Facebook or twitter and end up spending longer on this than an episode would have taken
... except, of course, that an episode always takes an hour at the absolute minimum because you have to rewatch every Josh and Donna scene, pause to scribble down particularly good one-liners, and occasionally tweet to let the emotion out. And then if the inspiration strikes for writing some fan fic, well, what can you do...
... there being a B in the president's name, it sometimes happens that you are listening to Radio Four and think they are talking about President Bartlet. In your defence, this is usually while cooking or clattering about - so lots of background noise.
... you visit New York City and half expect to bump into Janel Moloney and become best friends with her. In fact, you do a double taken every time you see anyone blonde. You’re sure you saw her husband, too.
... you are more excited, in fact, that “wow, she has, like, actually been in this coffee shop” than about Macy’s or the Statue of Liberty or the tall buildings or anything, you know, normal.
... you visit Washington DC (of course), wander around in a happy daze, but are actually a little surprised and disappointed not to bump into Josh, Donna, Sam or CJ
... every time the Capitol building comes into view, you hear Josh in your head: “you want a piece of me? Come on! I’m right here” and you want to hug him. More than usual, that is.
... you get very cross when anyone misspells Janel Moloney’s name (it’s with an O people, where have you been all this time?!) even though there was a time when you thought not spelling it Maloney was just plain awkward for the sake of it.
.... in fact one of your characters in a future book is going to have that surname, just so her quirk can be “and it’s Moloney with a O.”
... speaking of future books, they all have politics in, and you have to figure out how to get the heroes not to all look like Brad and the heroines to not all look like Janel. Or you could just cast them in all the films. Yeah, come to think of it, that’s a much better solution.
... you weren’t going to bother with a pen name, but you like “Lyman”, so why not?
... you are in denial about the fact that Brad Whitford is, in fact, old enough to be your father. After all, your father is old enough to be his, just about, so it’s all okay, right?!
... you look up the name “Donnatella” on a website for baby names because you’re sure it should only be spelled with one N. And as it turns out, you’re right. But I guess the whole “It’s Dona, with 1 N” thing would have worn thin after a series or two.
... you inexplicably find yourself buying a lot of argyle, feeling like someone stylish and cool would wear this stuff, then realise while watching series 5 and 6 that Donna Moss in fact wears quite a lot of it.
... you have developed a habit of tilting your head when listening intently, and never knew where it came from till you just spotted Josh doing it
... you see a book that makes you laugh and think “I should buy that for Josh for Christmas, he’d like it”
... you are still boycotting everything with Rob Lowe in it, because you haven't forgiven him for his treacherous departure which was such a loss to the show, despite giving us more Josh, which is a (obviously) no bad thing
... you find yourself explaining the American political system to your bewildered students, who really couldn’t care less and whose level of English is not quite up to differentiating between Congress and Senate.
... you give a gold star to one of your students for knowing who Martin Sheen is and for picking Josh Lyman out of a picture of the cast. Well, it’s good to encourage their comprehension of authentic Anglophone culture.
... your students, in fact, know to say “it’s amazing” whenever you ask “what can anyone tell me about the West Wing?”
... you pester your editor to let you write about the West Wing, then you use your own article in a lesson.
... “dimple” is a word that you feel you need to include when you are teaching your students to describe people
... you get your students, who have explicitly told you they want to learn about British English (which you used to think was laudable) to try and name all the States, and are a little proud of them for knowing Wisconsin, and even more proud of yourself for resisting the temptation to tell them that Donna Moss and Brad Whitford both come from there
... you find yourself thinking in an American accent and adopting American vocab, and, shock horror, even grammar.
... the day inevitably comes when your spell-check (which in days gone by, you had, of course, set to British English) has to correct you when, for the first time, you write “color”, and it’s not on purpose.
... your list of must-haves for future partners has grown from just “single, male and passionate for God” to all those things plus American, Harvard-educated (okay, Yale or Princeton at a push), incredibly articulate, and of course Democrat-voting, though to be honest the chances of you falling for a Republican were always pretty (sorry, quite) remote. (Although, if it can happen to Donna... ) The furrowed brow and receding hairline you could probably live without, and you’ll (reluctantly) trade the dimple in for a passion for the West Wing. Otherwise, what will you do in the evenings? And what will you talk about?!
... You start planning to help out in the next Obama campaign, and wondering if that is, in fact, where this amazing yet slightly vulnerable man in need of an assistant and the love of a good woman is hiding.
... You spend longer communicating with people you have met via discussion groups on Facebook than you do with friends you have known for years. Oops.
... you’re watching a film, and you want to shout, “but where’s the politics in this?”
... and then you want to shout, “but where is Bradley Whitford? Who am I meant to be in love with here?"
... You have regular West Wing related dreams, your favourite one to date being the one where you are explaining to Matt Perry why it’s better than Friends. This in front of your heroes, Brad Whitford and Janel Moloney. Stupid alarm clock!
... People have to ask you to stop putting things like “wishes Josh would hurry up and kiss Donna” in your Facebook status updates, because you are ruining the plot for them
... you feel guilty writing a list like this and not yet mentioning Allison Janney, whom you love, and who was your favourite for a long time until your Josh and Donna addiction fully took over
.... you are determined to make it back to NYC next time Allison Janney is in a musical, or any of the cast are in anything at all in fact
... in fact, you need to set up a Google Alert for that, to go with the ones you already have on “the West Wing”, “Bradley Whitford”, “Janel Moloney”
... You are dedicating your next novel to Brad and Janel, and mentioning Aaron Sorkin in the acknowledgements for inspiring you to write
... You are in on a Friday night writing this list... but it’s okay, you’re going out to meet a friend soon, and she hasn’t even heard of the West Wing. You'll soon fix that...
... you're listening to Eva Cassidy's "Fields of Gold", and think you heard, "you'll remember me when the West Wing moves"
... you know exactly how long it’s been since you last watched an episode
... you are proud of yourself when you get through the day without watching an episode, so you reward yourself with some fan fic, a fan video, or some discussion on Facebook or twitter and end up spending longer on this than an episode would have taken
... except, of course, that an episode always takes an hour at the absolute minimum because you have to rewatch every Josh and Donna scene, pause to scribble down particularly good one-liners, and occasionally tweet to let the emotion out. And then if the inspiration strikes for writing some fan fic, well, what can you do...
... there being a B in the president's name, it sometimes happens that you are listening to Radio Four and think they are talking about President Bartlet. In your defence, this is usually while cooking or clattering about - so lots of background noise.
... you visit New York City and half expect to bump into Janel Moloney and become best friends with her. In fact, you do a double taken every time you see anyone blonde. You’re sure you saw her husband, too.
... you are more excited, in fact, that “wow, she has, like, actually been in this coffee shop” than about Macy’s or the Statue of Liberty or the tall buildings or anything, you know, normal.
... you visit Washington DC (of course), wander around in a happy daze, but are actually a little surprised and disappointed not to bump into Josh, Donna, Sam or CJ
... every time the Capitol building comes into view, you hear Josh in your head: “you want a piece of me? Come on! I’m right here” and you want to hug him. More than usual, that is.
... you get very cross when anyone misspells Janel Moloney’s name (it’s with an O people, where have you been all this time?!) even though there was a time when you thought not spelling it Maloney was just plain awkward for the sake of it.
.... in fact one of your characters in a future book is going to have that surname, just so her quirk can be “and it’s Moloney with a O.”
... speaking of future books, they all have politics in, and you have to figure out how to get the heroes not to all look like Brad and the heroines to not all look like Janel. Or you could just cast them in all the films. Yeah, come to think of it, that’s a much better solution.
... you weren’t going to bother with a pen name, but you like “Lyman”, so why not?
... you are in denial about the fact that Brad Whitford is, in fact, old enough to be your father. After all, your father is old enough to be his, just about, so it’s all okay, right?!
... you look up the name “Donnatella” on a website for baby names because you’re sure it should only be spelled with one N. And as it turns out, you’re right. But I guess the whole “It’s Dona, with 1 N” thing would have worn thin after a series or two.
... you inexplicably find yourself buying a lot of argyle, feeling like someone stylish and cool would wear this stuff, then realise while watching series 5 and 6 that Donna Moss in fact wears quite a lot of it.
... you have developed a habit of tilting your head when listening intently, and never knew where it came from till you just spotted Josh doing it
... you see a book that makes you laugh and think “I should buy that for Josh for Christmas, he’d like it”
... you are still boycotting everything with Rob Lowe in it, because you haven't forgiven him for his treacherous departure which was such a loss to the show, despite giving us more Josh, which is a (obviously) no bad thing
... you find yourself explaining the American political system to your bewildered students, who really couldn’t care less and whose level of English is not quite up to differentiating between Congress and Senate.
... you give a gold star to one of your students for knowing who Martin Sheen is and for picking Josh Lyman out of a picture of the cast. Well, it’s good to encourage their comprehension of authentic Anglophone culture.
... your students, in fact, know to say “it’s amazing” whenever you ask “what can anyone tell me about the West Wing?”
... you pester your editor to let you write about the West Wing, then you use your own article in a lesson.
... “dimple” is a word that you feel you need to include when you are teaching your students to describe people
... you get your students, who have explicitly told you they want to learn about British English (which you used to think was laudable) to try and name all the States, and are a little proud of them for knowing Wisconsin, and even more proud of yourself for resisting the temptation to tell them that Donna Moss and Brad Whitford both come from there
... you find yourself thinking in an American accent and adopting American vocab, and, shock horror, even grammar.
... the day inevitably comes when your spell-check (which in days gone by, you had, of course, set to British English) has to correct you when, for the first time, you write “color”, and it’s not on purpose.
... your list of must-haves for future partners has grown from just “single, male and passionate for God” to all those things plus American, Harvard-educated (okay, Yale or Princeton at a push), incredibly articulate, and of course Democrat-voting, though to be honest the chances of you falling for a Republican were always pretty (sorry, quite) remote. (Although, if it can happen to Donna... ) The furrowed brow and receding hairline you could probably live without, and you’ll (reluctantly) trade the dimple in for a passion for the West Wing. Otherwise, what will you do in the evenings? And what will you talk about?!
... You start planning to help out in the next Obama campaign, and wondering if that is, in fact, where this amazing yet slightly vulnerable man in need of an assistant and the love of a good woman is hiding.
... You spend longer communicating with people you have met via discussion groups on Facebook than you do with friends you have known for years. Oops.
... you’re watching a film, and you want to shout, “but where’s the politics in this?”
... and then you want to shout, “but where is Bradley Whitford? Who am I meant to be in love with here?"
... You have regular West Wing related dreams, your favourite one to date being the one where you are explaining to Matt Perry why it’s better than Friends. This in front of your heroes, Brad Whitford and Janel Moloney. Stupid alarm clock!
... People have to ask you to stop putting things like “wishes Josh would hurry up and kiss Donna” in your Facebook status updates, because you are ruining the plot for them
... you feel guilty writing a list like this and not yet mentioning Allison Janney, whom you love, and who was your favourite for a long time until your Josh and Donna addiction fully took over
.... you are determined to make it back to NYC next time Allison Janney is in a musical, or any of the cast are in anything at all in fact
... in fact, you need to set up a Google Alert for that, to go with the ones you already have on “the West Wing”, “Bradley Whitford”, “Janel Moloney”
... You are dedicating your next novel to Brad and Janel, and mentioning Aaron Sorkin in the acknowledgements for inspiring you to write
... You are in on a Friday night writing this list... but it’s okay, you’re going out to meet a friend soon, and she hasn’t even heard of the West Wing. You'll soon fix that...
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