November 14, 2007

I attended the Writers' Trust Gala Dinner at the Four Seasons tonight. The first person I saw was Margaret Atwood, who looked, well ... stunning, despite her no-nonsense attitude to appearances. She was standing talking at the top of the escalator when I arrived, wearing a colourful shawl over her decidedly lean and rather small figure. Yes, she was radiant, and the only true star in attendance.

At my table, along with Humber agent Margaret Hart and Joe Kertes of the Humber School for Writers, were Antanas Sileika, the featured writer, and his wife, as well as fellow writers Kim Moritsugu (The Restoration of Emily), Nairn Holtz (The Skin Beneath), and Sally Cooper, whose new book, Tell Everything, is about to be released from Dundurn Press. Also in attendance was Anand Mahadevan (The Stike) who, in his Indian kurta, was the best dressed man there.

The event itself was lacklustre but nice, in true Canadian style. (At $10,000 a table, it should have been much much more, and no, I didn't buy my own ticket, so this is not a complaint, just a comment!) I heard someone say that at least this year's event wasn't bitchy, unlike some previous years. Not enough gay men, I'd say.

At least my table was fun, as was the next table over: that of Cormorant Books, hosted by my soon-to-be publisher Marc Cote. Sadly, even the food was unimaginative, if nicely done, with rare roast beef and baked potatoes and unflavoured (as in plain old) horseradish, ho-humpty-dum-dum.

Oddly, someone had decided that deserts were to be shunned (half the woman there looked underfed and overly concerned with fitting into a particular dress size, so three guesses which sex designed the menu.) We were presented with a plate that looked like something Kandinski had fiddled with--three bites and it was gone! No, I'm sorry--deserts should be both substantial and memorable. That's the rule. And if a gay man can say that, then it must be true.