Under the Gun
- William J. Archer
- Aug 30, 2017
- 3 min read
Apparently, In order to be a writer, you need to write. Damn! What a pain in the ass. Not that I dislike writing all that much, but getting started on something is often, for me, more difficult and even more time consuming than the writing done after thinking of what to write about. As a result, many roads to hell have been paved with my intentions to write something worthwhile. Tomorrow.
At least I can drink on the job. Kind of a requirement really. Luckily I’m not Irish or my liver would be taking twice the beating. Thank heavens for these little graces that spare my organs.
The last book I wrote got lost when my computer shit the bed. It was almost finished and had taken over five years to get to where I was happy with it, but what the hell? I suppose if procrastination hadn’t repeatedly showed up to the party at the exact moment inspiration and motivation were preparing to get to work and beat them both senseless, the book would have gotten finished long before my computer decided to stab me in the back. Then you would have read that, been utterly breathtaken with the sheer genius on display, and rushed immediately out to buy this one.
As it is, your good fortune has guided you to these pages. After you finish it though, I can not be held responsible if you get frostbitten or mugged while camping outside whatever book store chooses to peddle my next masterpiece. I aspire to attract fiercely dedicated followers, word addicts willing to suffer sub-zero sidewalk sleeps in hopes of getting an early copy. Bring appropriate gear for the situation, and a gun.
Maybe some selfless fan will bring a gun to my house and force me to write the next volume under duress. Whatever it takes. I would welcome the coaching effort. Thanks crazy person, book all done now, please don’t shoot me. Let’s just have a drink and you can edit while I try and drown my shattered psyche with this marvellous bottle of thirty-year-old tawny port. Be honest. I can take it. If you are having a tough time doing an honest edit, just give me the gun. Yup, hand it over.
Now remember, I will shoot you. See the crazy look in my eye? I stole it from you, the real scary one from about two weeks ago. It worked so I figure I might as well just run with it. Now edit my bloody book or I am gonna blow your crazy brains out all over the floor. I ain’t afraid of nothin’ now. Better pour another drink. Makes me a better motivator I think. Releases inhibitions and whatnot.
“BANG!” Damn! So sorry dear friend, I guess I got a bit too loose with the sidearm here, forgot my lunatic, drunken, gun-toting, writer etiquette. Better you hang onto the piece amigo, you were a bit better with the responsibility. Steady as a rock you were. How ‘bout I just get Freddy to edit this one hey? He did a pretty good job on the last one. Yeah? Cool. Well... it’s been a real slice, and thanks a million for all the help.
I will keep the first copy for you, just come by whenever and pick it up. Come by for a drink sometime. Have one now if you like. Oh, yeah, I guess you better be getting home now. Been a while hasn’t it? Your face is in the papers and all over the news. I think some people are a bit worried, or does your mom always cry like that on TV?
Whew! If it weren’t for bizarre situations like that I would have nothing to write about. Keep ‘em comin’. I think I will have install a revolving door on the house, above will be a big plaque: ‘unhinged motivators entrance only, all others will be raped’. Something to weed out the phonies or part-time lunatics. The real test though will be getting past the knife wielding gorilla who happens to be ripped on bath salts, or whatever horrific drug of the day exists at that time. If they prevail here, they are clearly worthy of paying heed to.
I might just get guards and an electronic protection system. Not very ‘writer’ of me though, is it? I prefer the sense of adventure that opportunities for utter catastrophe provide. I am as of yet undecided; the issue will be re-addressed when necessary.
