Writing is hard

I read another self-published novel the other day … the author told me it’s really hard getting published. I read his book. There are reasons they don’t publish everyone’s book. Writing is hard. Writing well is almost impossible. After putting his book down, hard, I wept to know that there are now suicide writers as well. And they’ll try to take you with them. I left the book on the threshold of my house, terrified to invite it in. It sucked, you see.

Mark Banks is a wise man. He once said, “the most dangerous thing about amateurs is that they’re fearless”. Wow is he right. This guy had a title and a cover. He boasted how quickly he’d written the thing. I just worry that trying to be proud of my country includes not lynching locals for crimes against reading.

God knows the world needs readers. Forget about donating blood; learn something new today. On that topic, there is an uproar here about the blood bank’s refusal to accept “gay blood”. How one recognises gay blood I’m not sure. Perhaps it contains homoglobin.

We’re about to have a police inquiry into the death of a young woman who was skydiving. She died of hitting the ground, end of discussion. If you willingly do something called sky diving you are not allowed to be surprised if you die.

In fact, when they see you reading the brochure for skydiving, they should aim the cellphone at your ovaries and dial Hong Kong or tie your balls off with an elastic band. I know the arguments, I understand the odds. Friends, the odds fall away when you hit the ground, and your chances of dying as you do so rise rapidly every time you don’t. I’m not interested in the idea of falling to prove that I’m free.

Maybe I’m a weed. I’ll live with that. Notice my use of the word “live” there. See how effortlessly the concept rolls off my keyboard. I like living. I like having sex and getting warm and eating when I’m hungry. I enjoy intrigue and vision and reading. I don’t think I’d enjoy falling out of the sky, wasting my final breath on a scream and hearing the sickening splat as I burst.

And all this so I can wear a T-shirt that proves that I’m crazy to other people.

Skydiving is for amateurs. They’re fearless.