WRITING & WRITERS

What’s the Weirdest Conversation You Ever Had About Writing?

I’ve stopped trying to explain what it is I do, or why.

So you’re a writer.

Ever been asked what that means exactly?

You know you have.

I’ll bet you tried really hard too. Had some priceless conversations for your trouble and met some prize specimens. And in the end, more than likely, said some crazy shit just to get out of it.

The truth, for free

At some point, all self-respecting writers discover a great truth about their first love, their lady, their muse — writing: People ask what the hell it is we do, but they just don’t get it, and they just don’t care.

They really don’t.

Of course, being a writer, you can’t help it. You must explain. So even though they’re probably just passing the time, you entertain the shits.

Shit writers get asked

Here’s a common question: “What do you write?”

I mean, where do I begin?

The polite thing in the circumstances is to help your boy narrow things down. So usually, I end up saying something like: “Uhm, well, and what do you mean? I mean, what do you mean? D’you mean form? Like, ‘do I write poems, or essays’? Or genre? As in cowboy romance?”

But try to remember that the kind of person who asks this sort of question usually doesn’t know themselves, and you’ll find it easier to accept that everything is more or less fucked from that point on.

With any luck they’ll notice someone else and walk away.

Or they might try a different line of attack. “Yeah,” they might say. “Like, who do you write for?”

Which, I always feel it’s fair to point out, is a whole different fricassee of fuck.

But possessed of sound mind and judgment, I usually don’t.

Instead, with the chilling realisation that this is now my life, I might say: “Do you mean audience, because that’s something I can actually answer? Or do you mean employer?”

“My cousin writes for the Globe,” someone once retorted, triumphantly. “The classifieds.”

“Which is a form of writing, for sure.” Whoosh, over their head. “I mean, I’ve written finance, for the Sun. But is even that writing?” Whoosh-whoosh.

“My cousin says The Globe is better.”

“…”

“But seriously, what books have you written?” This, I’ll admit, is not even such a bad question these days. People write 30 books by the time they’re 40, design them all in PowerPoint or Word, and never turn a profit.

“Not really books, as such. Ay book, certainly. You don’t just rock up at your desk every day and knock out a chapter a week or anything. It can take over your life and cost you your marriage. It comes and goes, like a bad wife. See? You can’t do it all the time. And it doesn’t pay.”

“Like, what’s it about?”

At which point I usually give up and lie. True crime, I’ve been known to say. Ecclesiastical porn.

Lies, lies, lies.

I’m lying to you right now.

So what’s the most laughable convo you’ve ever had about writing? Lie if you need to. It’s all bullshit anyway.

My novel I Love You, We Said* touches on the criminally misunderstood joke that is writing, as does Betty Blue. I reckon you’ve probably got some war stories of your own.

The Celtic Chameleon J.R. Schaefers Debra Groves Harman, MEd and Michelle Scorziello (and anyone else) — what weird questions and conversations have you had, trying to explain ‘what you write’?

* Get my book on Amazon or in weekly chapter instalments on Medium for the small price of a monthly membership.