I, Writer … # 6

I, Writer

( My continuing journey towards Full-timeness )

# 6 … in which I get to eat cake!



I have just emerged head-first from a bookwormhole. I would like to say that I performed this particular manoeuvre with a perfect parachute roll. Unfortunately I have landed arse-over-tit in a most undignified heap.

I clamber to my feet and dust myself down. This seems a very strange place. Surely this can’t be Full-timeness. I am in a room. The Room is full of books. Piles of books. All sorts.


I suddenly realise that I’m feeling a bit peckish. That’s what happens when you stand next to a pile of cookery books.


Fortunately, the floor is covered with cakes. Yes, cakes. Lots of lovely little cakes with books on. This is good.


I venture an exploratory nibble. Very good. I stuff a whole one into my mouth. Then another. And another. It’s the sort of thing any respectable person must do. Eat cakes.

Then a familiar voice  asks me a question …

Why are you eating bookworm droppings ?


It’s not the sort of question that generally occurs in everyday conversation. I consider my reply carefully. A measured response is clearly called for. So I give it my best shot.


I’ve never been one to be over critical. I was just wondering why you’re stuffing bookworm turds down your throat like there’s no tomorrow.

You mean I’ve been eating bookworm shit. I think I’m probably about to throw up.

Hi. Is my brother bothering you again ?



He says that I’ve been consuming …  literary crap.

He’s kidding. He tries the same old joke on everyone.
They really are cakes.

Right. Well, in that case I’ll have a few more while you tell me exactly where we are.


And so, with a mouthful of cake, the truth is revealed to me.


4 responses to “I, Writer … # 6

  1. Cake! Cake! Cake! Oh yes this is more like it. A writer’s life must be filled with cake. Even if they were bookworm droppings, if they tasted good I don’t see the harm. Now I am hungry.

  2. Thank you kindly. Do you have a favourite type of cake ? My favourite is Bakewell Tart. No … fruitcake. No … battenberg. I think you know what I mean.

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