A Writers Tale

Here’s some valuable advice that I have picked up from the caffeinated front line: Never, ever, engage a writer about their work. Ever.

Now, I understand the glaring hypocrisy of bemoaning writers when I myself spend most of my spare time cobbling together words to make badly thought out screenplays, ridiculous short stories and a novel which, I have to admit, will probably never see the light of day. Not to mention this irreverent blog, written as if I’m some kind of pioneering genius, the first person in the world to use the internet to bitch about their job.

However, I do try my best not to bore people in real life by explaining in excruciating detail the character arc of my latest protagonist or the subject of my latest blog rant. This, sadly, is not the case for all writers.

If you remember my Coffeeshop Bingo post a while ago I told you about Laptop Hemingway Prick, a self obsessed, waste of time fuckbag who is so studiously wrapped up and involved in his writing that he has to tell anyone and everyone about how wrapped up and involved he is with his writing. So instead of spending time writing he spends his time talking about how he spends his time writing. He therefore achieves nothing apart from boring those around him into brain-dead submission.

Luckily I’ve become fairly astute at avoiding these tedious litanies but sometimes a Laptop Hemingway Prick can be devious and not immediately obvious. Today I was suckered into talking to one.

And to make it worse, it was my day off!

Sadly my social life has come to such a grinding halt, completely diminished by my relentless work schedule that I now spend my days off in the store, just to socialize. Yes, I spend all day and all night cursing the place but still voluntarily whittle away my free time there. I understand this makes me a bellend of epic proportions. No need to point that one out for yourselves.

Anyway, so there I was, innocuously chatting away to my work mates when a regular sitting near us started to join in the conversation. I noticed he had a pen and pad of paper in front of him so I casually asked what he was writing about. This was a big mistake. My colleagues, sharper than I was, quickly vanished, suddenly remembering they were inundated with a work load that had to be done immediately. As they scampered away like wild animals from a forest fire, it dawned on me that they knew something I didn’t. Little did I know was that this regular is a Laptop Hemingway Prick (minus the laptop) and my question was the worst thing I could have asked. It was the catalyst he needed to lunch into a dreary speech about his book; a travel memoir about his life as a steward for motor racing events.

Now, motor racing is a fairly exciting sport so it takes a special kind of monotone douche to demote it to the kind of boredom usually associated with garden bowls. But boy, did he manage it. Just half an hour of being lectured on the weather conditions of Silverstone, track smoothness in Singapore and the catering service in Dubai felt like being forced to watch and entire Le Manns race, completely unedited and without sleep. I was exhausted. Exhausted and depressed.

And the worst thing was, as he was spewing this garbage, he didn’t once think that people wouldn’t be interested in his life story and his anecdotes about work. I mean, what sort of sap would voluntarily read about someone describing their life doing a tedious and monotonous job in aching detail………