I've never been a big fan of reality television, partially because I can't tell whose reality it is supposed to be, and partially because it's made so many of my writer friends in LA consider taking jobs that involve asking, "Do you want fries or a hot apple pie with that?"

When Canada's BookTelevision put out a call for writers to sit in a bookstore for 72 hours churning out a novel for a reality series, I thought it might be fun to observe the selection process. I figured that I would never be chosen for the show, because I do not write the stereotypical Canadian literary fiction. I also thought that they would be looking for much younger writers.

As usual, I was wrong. After thirty-four years of marriage, I have become quite used to being wrong at just about every turn. It's one of the preordained givens about being a husband. For some reason, the powers that be at BookTelevision, decided that they wanted me along for the ride. I'd provide the age, the other eleven the youth and beauty.

I hadn't planned on spending Labor Day weekend in a bookstore. In fact, I had some very specific plans about what I wanted to do that weekend. None of them involved sleeping in bunk beds with eleven other writers. But on August 31, 2007 I was there, wheeling in my suitcase and a bedroll, wondering how I had managed to get myself into this situation.

At one minute after midnight, we twelve started to write. I had developed a plotline for a comedic mystery novel ahead of time, but since most of my writing has been limited to 700-word newspaper columns and such, the daunting task of writing a full-length novel was just that, daunting.

When I finally found my way to the bunks that first night, it was 4:00 AM. At 6:00 I was awake again and ready to continue. In a room filled with eleven other people, changing under the covers was an exercise in contortionism.

My body doesn't do contortionism.

It would be one thing, if all we had to do was sit at our computers and write for as many of the 72 hours as possible. Unfortunately, the producers decided that twelve episodes of 'must see TV' needed more than that. Every few hours, they would round us up and put us through some sort of a challenge.

I decided that the best strategy would be to aim to be in the middle, neither winning nor losing the challenges. If you were a winner, it often meant time away from writing for things like a massage, or a meeting with last year's winner. If you lost, it meant time away from writing to clean the bookstore's toilets, or some equally unpleasant task.

My strategy worked fine until Sunday afternoon, when we were faced with a spelling bee. I knew I was in trouble, because I depend on spell check for the simple words, let alone the big ones. Thankfully, it was a team event, and I was paired with two people who looked like they knew how to spell.

Looks can be deceiving. My teammates and I ended up as the chefs for the evening barbecue.

My spelling and typing ability also became a source of public entertainment when I had to spend two hours on a computer that projected everything I wrote onto a large screen behind me.

The most difficult part of the whole process was not knowing when a camera was going to be in your face. After the first few hours, we all came to realize that there would be cameras following our every movement.

Yes, even those movements.

Since returning home, a lot of people have been asking me if I managed to finish my novel. They've also wondered if the twelve writers managed to survive the weekend without coming to blows with each other and/or the camera crews. Knowing me, they also wondered what I did to thoroughly embarrass myself during the weekend.

I'd tell you all that and more, but I am out of space. You'll have to wait until next week for those details.

©2007, Gordon Kirkland