We’re all such a bunch of pretentious wankers anyway.
I usually like reading those “How Writers Write” pieces – at the very least, they reveal a lot about how writers perceive themselves and their chosen field (usually in the most flattering terms). I find the fictional quality of many of these quite amusing: “I always arise at dawn, and sit promptly at my desk at 9:03 a.m, having sipped on absinthe for precisely 21.2 seconds. I then write 700 words entirely by hand on a writing pad made for me in Milan, and go over the piece at 5:03 p.m. Upon which time, I allow myself one hour for a stroll and sit down for dinner at 7:03 p.m.”
There’s never any mention, of course, of the drudgery that goes into the life around one, and I’m always left wondering: Who did the dishes? Did the laundry just pile up? WHO FED THE CAT? I mean, OMG, did Kitteh get no pets and hugs all day long?
I really do wish someone would interview me for one of those, even though I doubt the text would ever make it past the editor: “Well, I write between bouts of flicks like all the Harry Potter and Alien movies, and lots of Parks and Recreation, and I know it’s going especially well when I jerk off. Masturbation is key – it’s when you know things are falling into place.”
I mean, we’re all such a bunch of pretentious wankers anyway – if we’re going to invent lies and lives, they might as well include details of such.
Don’t plagiarise any of this, in any way. Read and memorise “On Plagiarism.” There’s more forthcoming, as I point out in “The Plagiarism Papers.” I have used legal resources to punish and prevent plagiarism, and I am ruthless and persistent. If you’d like to support me, please donate and/or subscribe, or get me something from my wish list. Thank you.
Image: Pablo Picasso’s Le Rêve, 1932