so the process of asking for money from the govt to write has begun. am I a leech on the side of the taxpaying public, or a legitimate culture worker? do I deserver $10,000 to noodle about in my underwear drinking coffee and scribbling one-line ideas in a notebook? (and, I have to say, subsequently retyping 3000-word handwritten documents with the resulting headache).

who knows. but I'll ask anyway. the info session last night and meeting this morning was moderately useful, ie I wasn't sorry I went. but I've had my first brush with fellow-writer bitchiness.

I went into the room where the sessions were being held, on time; the officers were busy with the previous person. so I sat under a cooling fan and waited, having ridden like sting in 30 degree heat to be on time. a woman with bright red hair entered. ah, I thought, the other person booked in for 10 (there were two officers). so I motioned her in. when she realised I wasn't an officer but a fellow applicant, her face changed. she informed me I should have gone to the desk (at the writers centre), not come into the room. we were then moved by the well meaning writers centre staff to a hot, fan-less room. I felt I'd been uprooted. I was quite happy where I was, well across the room from the previous person and in no way eavesdropping. I sat near a bookcase; the redhaired woman made herself busy in the kitchen. awkward, I thought, so tried to be friendly. I said "If you tell me you're not applying as an emerging writer, then we're not competing" (meaning: and we can talk to each other). she stared at me and named her category. I misunderstood it. she listed the categories, all the while staying as far across the room as possible from me. I faltered at congratulating her on having at least one book out - you can see the vibe I was getting. I said, in a last ditch effort at breeziness, "well, we're not competing". and she said, like a schoolmarm. "It's not a competition." I was still feeling a bit speedy from my ride and I have a tendency to blurt, and sometimes people can mistake my emphatic amusement for something else, I think. anyway, the last words spoken in that room were mine: "it is a competition; 500 applicants for what, 100 grants?".
at which she found the kitchenette sink very interesting and spoke to me no more. was it my unseriousness? my lower-on-the-scale position than her, not having a book out? who knows. I suddenly discovered that the bookcase next to me was filled with Booker prize nominees. so I looked at one of those instead. instead of what? instead of saying: "Lighten up. I'm only trying to be sociable and chat. there is no need to put on the superior freeze attitude."
because to say that would have been a) rude and b) pointless - she had obviously made up her mind about me. sigh. if this is what I have to look forward to as I inevitably become Famous and a figure at Writing Events, I think I'll go the Salinger route...