On Writing


Yes, I know, that’s the title of Stephen King’s autobiography. No, I’m not going to review it. I’m not worthy. That book is just too good to be reviewed by a lesser mortal like me. So why the title?

Some realizations:

a) Some time ago, I visited the blog of someone and her readership on a yearly basis so floored/impressed me. And she wasn’t chuvaness whose readership tops astounding in sheer number. So I rued: should I write to gain more readership? TO begin with, I don’t really relish my not so close friends’ reading this blog because they’ll find out how inane/insane I can be, silly even. So I don’t share my posts on FB and have chosen to be as anonymous as possible in wordpress. I just want to be myself when I write here.

b) Some time back, even farther back, someone suggested I write for the broadsheet. That someone is the friend of a relative. Then I thought what would I write about? I cannot write about something I don’t know. So scrap the idea. Well, I could write about something I did/do know but I didn’t want the whole world to read it, though it doesn’t follow that when one writes for the broadsheet, anyone reads what one writes.

c) A few weeks back, someone suggested I write a book about my life. Whaaat? And my love story. Whaaaaaaat? No way. Who’d read it anyway, much less buy it. She said she would. Oh that’s even worse. I know when I read, my mind speculates and creates sub-plots unwittingly. Fodder for intrigues of my own making? No way.

d) Okay here’s the reason, the main one for this post. I hope no one involved reads this.

Someone I know attended a book launch present to which were family and close friends, which was why I was not invited. I’m neither. By osmosis, I should be/could be but as I wasn’t explicitly invited, I didn’t push it.

The attendee brought home a copy of the book. OMG.

First the cover – it had the attendee’s picture, not solo, but he was in the picture.

Then he said one of the other attendees said he was mentioned in the book. So of course I set about reading the book.

Guffaws galore, how unladylike, I know. I snorted also. I went into laughing fits, bursts of glee, occasional expressions of disgust, etc. It was comedic. See, while it was tagged a novel, it may be an autobiography so I knew some of the characters alluded to.

OMG. It was bordering on the hilarious as he described the girls he liked (Some of whom I knew), his sexual proclivities, etc. So uncharacteristic of the person I thought I knew.

Attendee was so amused at my reaction and was teasing me for enjoying the book so much. I clarified that if my interest in it was shrouded with a desire to read something prurient, that was the last book I’d read. If that was the intention of the writer, it failed miserably with me.

I’m glad attendee wasn’t mentioned in the book, I don’t think he was even alluded to.

I’m glad the writer and my friend didn’t end up together otherwise, OMG.

It was bizarre/funny.

A best-seller? Attendee asked me. Whaaaat? I asked him.

I just hope the writer will not get into trouble for his work.

Personally, I couldn’t do what he did, write the words he used, much less ….

OH never mind.

I told son to read the book, even just a portion. When I told him how amusing it was, he said “I might not be able to sleep.”

He also knows the writer.

Uncanny.

 

 

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