Like most of us, I’m used to juggling about 52 roles in life. Wife. Mother. Sister. Friend. Author. Sometimes I feel a bit ‘multiple-personality’.
To some extent, all authors are a little schizophrenic. We lead most of our lives in solitary confinement, living and breathing the books that we’re writing.
Then it’s out into the world to promote the book with sparkly shoes and twinkly anecdotes, a total change of gear that can feel like a disconnection.
My own life has been doubly disconnected, as I’ve written books under two different names. As an author, your name almost becomes a brand; readers know what to expect.
My real name is Madeleine Wickham, under which I write dramas with an edge of humour. As Sophie Kinsella it’s fast, all-out comedies, such as the Shopaholic series.
Having two names has its drawbacks. No one knows what to call me. I don’t even know what to call myself. ‘Hello, it’s Mad-I-mean-Soph…’
But recently, I’ve felt even more of a disconnection in my life – and it’s been nothing to do with my own career.
As I accompanied my husband Henry to Hertfordshire for a job interview, I was intending to be there as backup. He was being interviewed for the job of headmaster of a boys’ day and boarding prep school, Lockers Park.
I imagined myself looking around the school, then flicking through Country Life while he had the interview – until I saw the two chairs in the interview room and found myself being ushered in. Gradually it dawned on me: I was being interviewed too.
‘And what role will you be playing in the school?’ inquired the chairman of governors. I explained that I had a full-time writing career. There was a polite pause. ‘I see. But would you be able to supervise the matrons?’ My husband explained that I wouldn’t be supervising any matrons. Nor would he want me supervising the matrons (domestic skills have never been my strong point).
To their credit, the governors understood. And so, in spite of his wife’s lack of matron-supervising ability, my husband got the job. Bring on identity number 53: Mrs Wickham, Headmaster’s Wife. Bring on a new house (on site), situated in acres of woodland, and a whole new, 24-hour, seven-days-a-week lifestyle. It’s like living in the middle of a play date, all the time, with 150 boys.
Then last year brought the filming of the Shopaholic movie in New York and life became even more surreal as I found myself flitting backwards and forwards between Lockers Park and the film set, neither feeling quite like real life
To some extent, all authors are a little schizophrenic. We lead most of our lives in solitary confinement, living and breathing the books that we’re writing.
Then it’s out into the world to promote the book with sparkly shoes and twinkly anecdotes, a total change of gear that can feel like a disconnection.
My own life has been doubly disconnected, as I’ve written books under two different names. As an author, your name almost becomes a brand; readers know what to expect.
My real name is Madeleine Wickham, under which I write dramas with an edge of humour. As Sophie Kinsella it’s fast, all-out comedies, such as the Shopaholic series.
Having two names has its drawbacks. No one knows what to call me. I don’t even know what to call myself. ‘Hello, it’s Mad-I-mean-Soph…’
But recently, I’ve felt even more of a disconnection in my life – and it’s been nothing to do with my own career.
As I accompanied my husband Henry to Hertfordshire for a job interview, I was intending to be there as backup. He was being interviewed for the job of headmaster of a boys’ day and boarding prep school, Lockers Park.
I imagined myself looking around the school, then flicking through Country Life while he had the interview – until I saw the two chairs in the interview room and found myself being ushered in. Gradually it dawned on me: I was being interviewed too.
‘And what role will you be playing in the school?’ inquired the chairman of governors. I explained that I had a full-time writing career. There was a polite pause. ‘I see. But would you be able to supervise the matrons?’ My husband explained that I wouldn’t be supervising any matrons. Nor would he want me supervising the matrons (domestic skills have never been my strong point).
To their credit, the governors understood. And so, in spite of his wife’s lack of matron-supervising ability, my husband got the job. Bring on identity number 53: Mrs Wickham, Headmaster’s Wife. Bring on a new house (on site), situated in acres of woodland, and a whole new, 24-hour, seven-days-a-week lifestyle. It’s like living in the middle of a play date, all the time, with 150 boys.
Then last year brought the filming of the Shopaholic movie in New York and life became even more surreal as I found myself flitting backwards and forwards between Lockers Park and the film set, neither feeling quite like real life
As a novice to the film world, everything seemed exciting: watching the first Shopaholic scene I ever wrote come to cinematic life, Becky Bloomwood (played by Isla Fisher) gazing at her Visa bill in horror, seeing the designer name I invented, Denny & George, emblazoned on the windows of Henri Bendel on Fifth Avenue, hanging out in the wardrobe trailer and lusting after all the outfits by costume designer Patricia Field, and filming all night in Barneys department store.
One day we were shooting a ballroom scene with huge numbers of extras in evening dress and a stellar line-up of actors including Isla, Hugh Dancy, Kristin Scott Thomas and Lynn Redgrave. A producer gestured round the room and said, ‘This is all your fault, you know.’
Of course, filming has its less glamorous moments. I never quite got used to the 5am pick-up calls. And I’ve never been as cold as I was when we spent all night shooting outside on the sub-zero pavements of Manhattan.
But on the last night we filmed till dawn in a balmy Miami street. There were lanterns, a band, street sellers and Hugh and Isla dancing a Cuban fan dance. I’ve never laughed so hard. Then I was on a plane and – boom! – back to Hertfordshire, 150 small boys and a chapel service.
Since then my life still feels disconnected. When the phone rings at our house, it might be New York, Los Angeles, or a matron from school. I might answer as Madeleine, Sophie or Mrs Wickham. The important thing is that I still (just about) know who I am.
When he got the job, as a joke my husband gave me a director’s chair saying ‘Headmaster’s Wife’. In return, when he came to visit me on the Shopaholic set, the producers had made him a chair labelled ‘The Author’s Husband’.
My own director’s chair on the set said simply, ‘Maddy’. Not a brand. Not a role. Just me.
One day we were shooting a ballroom scene with huge numbers of extras in evening dress and a stellar line-up of actors including Isla, Hugh Dancy, Kristin Scott Thomas and Lynn Redgrave. A producer gestured round the room and said, ‘This is all your fault, you know.’
Of course, filming has its less glamorous moments. I never quite got used to the 5am pick-up calls. And I’ve never been as cold as I was when we spent all night shooting outside on the sub-zero pavements of Manhattan.
But on the last night we filmed till dawn in a balmy Miami street. There were lanterns, a band, street sellers and Hugh and Isla dancing a Cuban fan dance. I’ve never laughed so hard. Then I was on a plane and – boom! – back to Hertfordshire, 150 small boys and a chapel service.
Since then my life still feels disconnected. When the phone rings at our house, it might be New York, Los Angeles, or a matron from school. I might answer as Madeleine, Sophie or Mrs Wickham. The important thing is that I still (just about) know who I am.
When he got the job, as a joke my husband gave me a director’s chair saying ‘Headmaster’s Wife’. In return, when he came to visit me on the Shopaholic set, the producers had made him a chair labelled ‘The Author’s Husband’.
My own director’s chair on the set said simply, ‘Maddy’. Not a brand. Not a role. Just me.
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