For the past few weeks I've been doing media interviews for a new book that's being published by Pan Macmillan/Plum this week. (
Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart.) Now you'd think that a journalist would be au fait with interviews. You'd think that a journalist (especially one who has conducted hundreds of her own), would be professional enough to accept they're an inevitable part of any publicity. But may I just say this: I hate being interviewed. It is truly one of life's most terrifying experiences. I would rather be tortured by a dripping tap than answer questions about writing / love / publishing / life. (Insert deeply personal subject matter here.)
I'll always remember sitting down to interview one of the Finn brothers from the band Crowded House – I think it was Tim, the grumpier one? (I'm ashamed to say that I can't tell them apart). Before the photographer and I even had a chance to set up, he suddenly stood up, flung his hands dramatically in the air and said: "I've had enough of these $(%*(#*%& interviews!" (I promise you, I hadn't asked a single question. Not ONE.) At the time, I found his reaction beyond belief. But now...? Mr Finn, I'm with you all the way.
This is how I feel about interviews...
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