Permit me, my beautiful readers, to introduce my special guest, Leah McLaren. She is more than a guest. She is a three-time published author, award-winning journalist and a G&T-loving friend. And don't we all need one of those?

On Leah's invitation during the deep and dark time of Covid, I boarded a completely empty train and got my ass to a little rustic Welsh farmhouse that Leah had rented. I was attempting to write my very first book, and Leah was pounding out her latest, a poignant mother-daughter memoir, Where I End, and You Begin.

"Don't talk to anyone", she warned me. "I mean it, Christina, no one." She was terrified that the Welsh villagers would take one listen to my Canadian accent and, with torches high and pitchforks at the ready, storm the farmhouse and evoke a tiny-town-terror of Covid justice.

Now, Leah doesn't know this, but those few days validated me as a writer for the first time. I could never call myself a writer, especially in the presence of a real writer, a published author. I still trip over that word...author. My blog didn't count, not beside someone who, for over the last 20 years, has made a living writing. I mean, let's be real, the odds were staggeringly against me to not only finish writing my book (and for it to not completely suck) but then sell it. And not once did Leah question it (out loud).

Our day would start with some picturesque walk through forests with trees as large as apartment buildings and fairytale-like castles on the horizon. We’d then retreat to opposite sides of the little house and write.

Over a dinner of Slim Noodles (I was Keto-ing it) and a perfectly timed gin and diet tonic, we'd read our day's work and offered a gentle critique. Now what could I possibly say listening to Leah McLaren read her skilful, professionally honed words other than "Fuck Me!!!! What do I think I am doing, trying to write a book?” But Leah listened, smiled, sipped and encouraged. And whether or not it was the gin talking, she assured me, in only the way Leah could, that I wasn't smoking crack. 

And here we are. 

So, with that said, I will turn it over to Leah—our interview, our fabulous babe chatter, and intimate insight into just what can happen when the girlfriend collective starts to kick up a little Wizard of Oz tornado-making dust.

And if you haven’t checked out Leah's Substack, her fabulous newsletter, you must subscribe. And you can thank me later.