You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet Baby

“Hello.”

“Hello, sir.”

“I’ve come about the author’s job.”

“I’m afraid that position is filled.”

“But you still have a vacancy sign in the window.”

“That is correct. It’s there to inspire.”

“So there’s no author’s position available?”

“Afraid not. Far too many to begin with.”

“Is there anything available? I’m quite devilish with a fork.”

“Well, we do have a position in accounting.”

“I’m terrible with numbers.”

“So is the accountant.”

“Would it help to say I’ve got a book?”

“Afraid not, sir. They all say that.”

“I have a pretty face? Lovely locks of hair?”

“That would be a lie, sir.”

“Sorry. How about I’m young?”

“That would be stretching the truth a little, sir.”

“How about I’m good friends with Patrick McCabe.”

“The butcher’s boy? Sorry, his favours have expired. Had you said Stieg Larsson, you might have got somewhere.”

“But he’s dead.”

“Indeed.”

“Can I level with you? I’m desperate. My family is starving and the penguin needs a new igloo and I want to be published like everyone else and make a living.”

“Are your family really starving, sir?”

“No, but, please, don’t you have something, anything?”

“Well there is something. There’s a position for a maid-in-waiting for Gillian Flynn. Or a butler for James Patterson. Or I might be able to squeeze you in as a nanny for EL James.”

“Does she have kids?”

“Does it matter?”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but couldn’t I just get a job covering some artist’s songbird at night, say for some writer who’s not so glossy, so perfect, so judicious, so stable, so secure, such a safety box of words and degrees and honors and titles and an armada of marketing experts?”

“An artist? Oh, dear me, sir, you are all muddled up. Maybe you’d better try the hedged-in place down the road. They’re always in need of an idiot.”

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