Ask Me Anything: Episode 1

We weren’t able to answer all of your questions in this first segment, but we’ll get to more in next week’s AMA video. Stay tuned Steve, Richard, Pablo, Philippe, and Michel — your answers are coming soon, with even more to follow the week after (Joseph, Mike, Randy and more). Here’s a transcript of this video:We’ve started a new Ask Me Anything feature on the Substack thingy, and we’ve gotten some questions from people out there in the great beyond. Thank you to all of you who’ve sent things in. This will be a regular feature, so you’ll have other opportunities to ask. I hope there are some rude questions.This first one is from Monica in Macon, Georgia.“I’m putting together a panel on his work for the Society for the Study of Southern Literature’s spring conference. Inspired by the exchange in the Netflix series, when Anna Madrigal says she has practically memorized Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find, I’d like to know if Armistead enjoys the southern gothic—whether Flannery O’Connor or others. Does he consider his writing as part of this tradition? It certainly has had its gothic moments!”Well, yes it does — and I’d be honored to be considered part of that tradition. I’ve never particularly thought of myself as being Southern Gothic in the way those great writers are, but I’ve certainly been influenced by them. I’ve felt them in my life. The presence of Tennessee Williams has always been there, and I think all Southerners have something in common with him in that way.Do I enjoy it? Yes. Do I consider myself part of that tradition? Well… it certainly has its Gothic moments — yes, it does. And I suppose I got that from Southern Gothic writers. I don’t know. It’s hard to attach yourself to a tradition that’s rooted in another place.I suppose some of my Gothic stuff came from the South. I’m from the South, so it’s certainly part of who I am, and it must come out in my writing somehow.I actually wrote an essay when I was in high school decrying these writers — hating them — because they felt like traitors to the South to me because of the stories they told. That’s how far gone I was.Years later, it was wonderful that I had an opportunity to meet Tennessee Williams. We were both invited to some gallery south of Market Street in San Francisco. I remember it being very over-lit — painfully.The look on his face was astonishing to me. He was surrounded by people who all tried to get in a picture with him, who wanted some of that glory, and he looked stricken. I thought: That is not an enviable position to be in.I went out into the parking lot and lay on a car there. It was a handy place to lie down. Tennessee Williams entered shortly thereafter and came over and joined me.He said, “Do you mind if we share your car?”And I said, “Well, it’s not my car.”We talked about nothing — the beauty of the moon and the sky and the temperature of the evening. It was really a non-conversation. But at the end of it all, I felt like I had met the soul of the man. That was a wonderful thing to have happen. I loved that he could strike up a conversation with a stranger like he did with me. I don’t think it had anything to do with my age… but it might have.Chris reminds me that I smoked a joint with Tennessee Williams — which does seem a noteworthy thing to say, to brag about — and maybe it made it easier for us to be in the moment. I don’t know.Chris asks (off camera): You mentioned earlier in your response that you railed against those writers as a young man? Was that because they were too liberal for you when you were a young conservative?Armistead: Yes — exactly. That’s what it was.I came to understand what he was writing about. I was unbearable, I think, in my youth — just unbearable.Thank you, Monica, for that question from Macon, Georgia. I wish you luck in your pursuits, and thank you for writing.The next one is from Alison Barrow, who’s a friend of mine — and also, by coincidence, my publicist at Penguin. We’ve known each other for many, many years now, and I feel quite close to her.“I would love to ask you about a favourite (anonymous) story from the many encounters with your fans over the years. I recall meeting a couple of beautiful men in line for an event with you about 10 years ago. I was chatting with a few people as they waited for their books to be signed. These two told us that they had first met while waiting to meet you at another event over five years previously. They had not known each other before. The queue was over an hour long. In that time they talked, shared their love of your writing, swapped stories. Five years on they were in line again. They had married the summer before. The most heart-tilting story. It has lived with me since that day. Can you share another?”God, that makes me a little misty. That’s very sweet. I love when people share their love for each other with me.Allison also asks if I have any other similar stories.I hesitate to talk about these because it just sounds kind of grand, but I do hear from a lot of people who say how much the books meant to them — that they came out of the closet, they became their true selves, that I saved their lives. I hear that a lot. I’m embarrassed already, but I do appreciate that, and I enjoy it when it happens. It’s amazing what it feels like. It’s quite exhilarating.I have a funny story for you — at least I think it’s funny.I met a couple of Frenchmen, as one tends to do when you hang out in a bar in the Marais, and we got drunk on pastis together. I invited them back to my hotel. I remember getting there was a bit of an ordeal because they were trying to avoid the Princess Diana tunnel — what they call the Princess Diana Tunnel, where she died, of course.But we got to my place, and we had a frolic, the three of us. And when it was over, one of them looked at the other and said, “You ask him.”The guy replied, “No, no, no — you ask him.”And it was back and forth like that. Finally I said, “For God’s sake, will one of you ask me what it is you want to ask me?”And one of them finally said:“Why did Mary Ann become such a b***h?”That is something fans of the books have always asked me. I don’t think she became a b***h. I liked her, actually, at the end — but she’s seen that way by some people.I feel like Mary Ann was a cautionary tale to myself — to not be enticed by fame or anything, to not be seduced by the world. And she sort of was, for a while there. So I was talking to myself, really.Thank you, Allison, for the question.And here’s the next one, from Gerald Wilkie in Charleston, South Carolina.“I’m enjoying BL Dispatches very much as well as Chris’ yoga instruction. Thanks for both!I’m curious about your decision to live in London and what, if anything, do you miss about the USA. I live near Charleston, SC, am disillusioned about our unending corrupt politics which does not respect anything but $$$ and try to understand how it came to be this way.”I loved Charleston myself when I lived there. It was a wonderful, beautiful place — a real charm.The decision to move to London was something Chris and I agreed on very early on. We had both spent time here. We both had happy memories — different eras of living here. And we wanted a new adventure — something we could do together that would be new and special and fresh. And I had old friends here anyway, so that made it even better.Part of our reason to move here was political. I did not like what was happening in the United States, and I didn’t want to spend my remaining years — I’m 81 now — living in that poisonous atmosphere.It was easy to live here because it’s a beautiful place. There are many beautiful people here. I love realizing that when I go down to the Sainsbury’s on the corner I can meet people of every race who are all friendly and have the basic gentility of Londoners in dealing with each other. It’s amazing to me.One of the things that affected the decision was the fact that both Chris and I have family members that have become vocally homophobic after years of knowing us. So that was all I needed to see. I don’t need to be part of that anymore. I don’t even need to cultivate those friendships — even if it is with family members, especially if it’s with family members, because they should know better.We’re very happy to be here, but we’re constantly hoping for a better America. I can do that from a distance.Next one: Andrea Stockel.“I have recently done a complete reread of all your books ( yes I am a huge fan like forever). Outside of Tales, what is your favorite of your books. And...which was better in your opinion: PBS or Netflix version of Tales”The Netflix version relied on a writer’s team, and they invented new storylines — some of which I think are wonderful, others of which didn’t land well with me, but I kept my mouth shut.My favorite book outside of Tales in my canon is Maybe the Moon. I think it was successful in a way the other books were not. It really nailed a feeling. You’ll have to read it yourself to see whether you think that’s true, but there’s a chance it’s going to be a movie soon — there’s some talk of it. I’m always dubious until these things come through, but there’s serious interest.Thank you, Andrea, for that question.We’ve discovered there may be more questions here than I can answer in one video, so we’re going to do a second video and try to answer the rest then. Thank you so much for writing in. I’ve enjoyed talking to you. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit armisteadmaupin.substack.com/subscribe

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