My Mistress and Her Ditties

Summary

The text is a writer's impassioned defense of lazy writing, arguing for its value in the literary ecosystem and the importance of writing as a personal hobby rather than a professional pursuit.

Abstract

The author of the text expresses a strong counterpoint to P.G. Barnett's critique of lazy writers, asserting that so-called lazy writers play a vital role in the world of writing. They serve as a contrast to more serious writers, providing a benchmark for quality and a source of inspiration for improvement. The piece celebrates the democratization of writing through technology, particularly the laptop, which has allowed more people to engage in the art without the need for formal training or validation. The author describes writing as a mistress, a source of joy and creativity that doesn't demand the same commitment as a professional career. The text also touches on the idea that writing, even when deemed lazy or inferior, is an act of defiance against the gatekeeping of traditional literary standards. The author emphasizes the natural selection of writing quality and the resilience of writers who continue to create despite criticism.

Opinions

Lazy writers are essential as they provide a contrast that highlights the skill of more accomplished writers.
The advent of the laptop has democratized writing, allowing anyone to participate in the craft.
Writing as a hobby, rather than a profession, can be more liberating and fulfilling.
The author views their personal relationship with writing as a passionate and sometimes unpredictable affair, akin to a mistress.
There is a defiant stance against the notion that only traditionally skilled writers have value, advocating for the rights of all writers to express themselves.
The author suggests that the writing world is akin to a Darwinian jungle where only the fittest survive, implying that quality will naturally rise to the top.
The editor's role in maintaining writing standards is acknowledged, but the author asserts that the spirit of writing cannot be stifled by editorial decisions.

Note: This story is a rejoinder to P.G. Barnett’s, ‘Stop being so Freaking Lazy Writers!!’

The Freaking Lazy Writer piece desperately deserves a rejoinder. Mostly because the putt-putt golf in my neighbourhood is closed until further notice and partially because I’ve gotten over being ‘Sheepish’.

Thus, despite collective groans from the Rogues’ Gallery, I find myself being thrust into the Writer’s Kitchen. It would appear, even to the lazy untrained eye, Nelly was talking about this kitchen while rappin’, ‘Hot in here.’

I was like, good gracious, Flirtatious, tryin’ to show patience I’m waitin’ for the right time to shoot my steez Waitin’ for the right time to flash them keys,

So here I am, flashing my keys, hoping it doesn’t get all the professional writers too ruffled because Lazy Writers Matter. We serve a crucial purpose in societal benchmarking. In this food chain, we are the plankton to the Tunas, the Big Writer Kahunas. How else would the serious tribe know how good they really are? We bring the philistine darkness to the table, baby, to contrast the sublime luminosity of your syntax and punctuation.

Writing is my hobby. It’s my mistress. We rock it as we knock it. It works.

She’s not clamouring to walk down the Medium aisles, for me to make an honest hobby out of it. If anything, a mistress knows how to keep it fresh and sizzling. She doesn’t complain about my day job.

She is my muse. She has the mystique and guile to draw me in every weekend. She knows when I want a little something different. Something Kinky. Something Spicy. She is well-schooled in the dark arts of kindling my mojo, choreographing my creative juices, till they vigorously erupt on the keyboard.

She is usually quite disciplined but I love it too when she’s not. Like when she creeps up on me in the middle of a mind-numbing meeting at work on a Tuesday afternoon and whispers deliciously dirty ditties in my ear.

I sigh, loosen my tie, and cast my eye around the room to check if anyone has noticed the uprising of the plebes in my pants.

Not being a patrician, my package is less of a Roman senator and more of Jon Snow on a winter day. Therein lies the seductive appeal of my hobby. She lights my fire; inflames my desire.

The winter may have come and gone, but the lazy writers will forever defend their rights. Their primeval right to lay siege at the fortresses of superior writing. The right to peek over the towering walls and steal a glimpse into the gilded life of real writers. We lust for your Anna Kareninas and your Lady Godivas.

The editor can ax our split infinitives and our phallic quills but never our fingers.

Simply stated, this ain’t a kitchen, Sir. It’s a Darwinian jungle. A Rogues’ Gallery. Survival of the fittest is the mantra, or so I’m led to believe. Natural Selection will take care of the lyrically infirm and prosaically unfit. You just take care of your messy panties.

If you’re hurting for a hug, I’m happy to give you one. My mistress won’t mind.

:)) This originally appeared in The Rogue’s Gallery but was expunged within 8 hours, by the Editor because He Can!

Editorial Police brutality?

Note: This story is a rejoinder to P.G. Barnett’s, ‘Stop being so Freaking Lazy Writers!!’

Stop Being So Freaking Lazy Writers!!

If you want to treat your writing as nothing but a hobby then do the rest of us writers a real solid and take up…

So I hop, pub to pub, wondering “What’s the fucking nub?”

Writing is my hobby. It’s my mistress. We rock it as we knock it. It works.