I, Writer … # 9 (Remaindersville)
Last time, in I, Writer … # 8, I pressed a button and found myself in the sleepy hamlet of Procrastination. Some of you joined me there I’m sure. Hopefully we are now all back and accounted for.
I have now returned and Optimism, my bright and beautiful friend, is fully dressed again.
So did you enjoy your little trip to Procrastination ?
It was morbidly fascinating.
Do you know how long you were there ?
Er … Difficult to say. About 20 minutes maybe.
Try … 30 years!!!
30 YEARS!!! I don’t understand.
Allow me to explain …
I think you should.
All those empty writing days. Time filled them with other things. Don’t be sad. Many of those things were wonderful. Some were not so good. Matter not. Experiences all. Now they have brought you here. You have always been a full-time writer at heart. Stop worrying about what might have been. Just get on with it now.
You still haven’t told me where we are. And what are all these piles of books doing here ?
We are in Remaindersville.
Yes. This is where all the books go when they are no longer wanted. And yet, in their day they were practically flying off the shelves. Look. Some of them still have their wings.
But don’t you think it’s rather sad ?
No. Not at all. They represent the hopes and dreams of those that wrote them and of countless authors to come. If you ride on one of those it will take you to Full-Timeness.
So, in your honest opinion, what are my chances of success once I reach Full-Timeness ?
Well … I would say that you have the same chances as any other almost 65 year old with silver-grey hair who was last published over 30 years ago.
Thank you. I think.
I would take the less painful option if I were you and just kill myself.
That’s a bit brutal!
Oh, excuse me! OK. J.K. Rowling will be shaking in her shoes at the merest mention of your name. She will probably pay you millions not to write anything at all. How’s that ?
I think I preferred brutal you sarcastic little bastard.
Oh I do so agree. He is a sarcastic little effing bastard and I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. But I still love him. He’s my brother when all is said and done.
Look. Here’s a book come to carry me away!
Hop on. Hold tight and don’t forget to send us a postcard.