Writers can bitch. Fact.

Posted: August 30, 2011 in Publishing

Anyone who gets paid to be a writer and complains about it is a bitch. Fact.

Okay, so I was asked you be a speaker of sorts at a writers seminar. Well that’s like asking Gary Glitter to work in a crèche. But, what the hell. I’ve got a deal and there are people there who aspire to have what I’ve lucked into.
Couple of things came to mind. Apart from the beer there was shit. They only had real ale, and that’s a clue of the serious nature of the evening, ‘grown-up’s beer’.  And the coffee was shit. I love espresso, it is my methadone. But the coffee was shit too. I got some very odd looks when I poured my espresso into my beer. I thought the shitness and the shitness would cancel each other out. Not so. That wasn’t the two things that came to mind.

Firstly, there are some very intelligent and brilliant writers, who should be published. I hope to shit that the ebook or self publish platforms get these folks where they need to be. These people with brains and their shit together, asking me for advice, oh the irony. How can I say “Look, I’m a shit-head idiot, I’m here by accident and I write funny shit, not smart shit.” I felt so lucky, blessed and unworthy. The other thing that struck me is what a bunch of whining fuckers some writers are. Telling of how hard it is. The anxiety, stress. When you get the ‘dreaded’ block. How you’ve got up early, had a coffee and no idea’s. So you went for a walk and nothing… FUCK OFF. I’ve had to get up at 4am in sub-zero conditions to erect scaffolding. I’ve done horrible things while working for a crime syndicate. Done factory jobs and driving jobs at the same time to pay the bills. 18 hour days. They are hard jobs, not drinking gallons of coffee and going for walks! Anyone who gets to make a comfortable living from writing and moans about it is a bitch. I might not fit in, and thank fuck for that. One turned up in a new Range Rover, the other in a massive Mercedes not two years old and they complain… is anyone fucking home?

The people I met who came to hear the advice, work long hours as care workers, greetings card buyers, a petrol station manager, a shit the bed scary butcher and a pharmaceutical consultant amongst others. All writing their hearts out, in the hours they can scavenge between work and home life. Writing for the love of it. Driven by passion, dreams, ideas. They should have been doing the talking, not us. If I have to go to one of these things again, and some old fart moans, I don’t care how hold he is, I’m going to straight punch that fucker in the back of the head.


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