Perceptions of writers

As a writer in Argelés like this piece of marble among ordinary stones in the wall, I sometimes stand out and I find it ever so strange.

Being a writer in Geneva is no big thing. A large number of people I hang out with are writers. I have lunch with them, spend time with their kids, eat at their houses, go to lunch with them, visit museums, go to film festivals, take writing classes, talk on Skype, exchange work. My non writing friends consider my writing as normal as any other profession.

I don't know how it started but in Argelés I am often treated as an almost celebrity. I can be in a café and some will try not to point and say in French or English, "that's the writer." I heard a new neighbour moved in and another neighbour said that the woman would love to meet me but was afraid it would be an intrusion because I was a writer. I received a phone call from a man I sometimes have morning tea with...he was paving the way for a friend who is just starting out to write but was afraid to approach me. I was chatting with one woman and she said in French "Elisabeth said you were a writer." Elisabeth is one of the green grocers.

I know France appreciates its writers. My favourite Saturday/Sunday morning program Thé ou Café http://the-ou-cafe.france2.fr/index-fr.php?page=accueil interviews a wide variety of writers along with politicians, philosophers, dancers, artists and other people that add to the cultural level of France. Last weekend they interviewed the French philosopher/feminist/writer Elisabeth Badinter and the mystery writers Danielle Thierry and Mary Higgins Clark. My limited publication success does NOT put me in danger of being invited onto the program.

One of my favourite Canadian writers and acquaintances, Lauren B. Davies said when she was first published and made the Canadian best seller list, other writers either tore her down or sucked up to her. She was living in Paris at the time and that writing community is very different from the supportive one in Geneva.

Last week I was at the café and one of my French friends introduced me to her visitor also French. We chatted for a while, not about writing, just ordinary things. Later my friend told me her visitor remarked that I was so normal. I am not sure what she expected me to do...

The stangest part I never identified myself as a writer to people but in a small village you end up with descriptions: Rosella, the potter, Nathalie, the jeweller, Barbara, the book seller, Annie, the framer, although people don't point them out and say, "That's Rosella, the potter."

Not that I mind any of this, but I do find it strange. Being a writer, like any of the parts of living in Europe does not change the inner me, or for that matter being a writer does not negate having to wash the floor, take out the garbage, etc. My identity as a writer is personal, and people laughed when I said, I didn't feel like a REAL writer until I had the contract on my third book signed despite the amount of hours I spend at it. What is amusing that those who point me out as a writer, most have never or never will read my books.