How Not to Write Your Novel: Piracy

The other day I had this feeling. And as I felt this feeling I said to myself, “Self? What IS this feeling?”

“That feeling is writing,” I said.

“Oh right! I remember,” I said to me. “It feels good! Maybe I should go and do some.”

“Ignore it. It’s a lie. The cake is a lie,” I said, confusing myself.

“I wasn’t talking about cake, I was talking about writing…”

“What?” I said. “I’m playing a game here.” And, “No, you don’t want to do that.”

“Why not? I kinda like writing and I have this book…”

“Writing books only leads to Bad Ends, much like the pursuit of false cake. Remember Hemingway? Dickinson? Hitler?”

“Did they chase cake?” But I had stopped listening. I still felt that feeling. “What if I baked a cake? Then the cake wouldn’t be a lie, it would be a cake. With frosting, maybe, and a delicious fruit filling.”

“Bad end!” I said. “Burroughs… Thompson… Stalin…”

“Then what should I do, self?”

Then my self chimed in (not the first self, the second one… no wait, the third one… it gets a little crowded in here), “What about piracy?”

“What about the RIAA? And really – how many copies of Waterloo and Painkiller do we need?”

“No, no. Buccaneering! High Seas! Shivering timbers and all that.”

“But we don’t have a boat,” I said, still feeling that feeling.

“We’ll commandeer one.”

“How do we steal a boat?”

“Commandeer. Nautical term.”

“You stole that.” But I was too busy imagining salt water and swashed buckles and cocked hats to correct myself again. “Can I be a writing pirate?”

“Bad end… King! Koontz! Grisham!”

“Hey wait – they’re not dead.”

I gave myself a sagely look. “Worse – they’re famous.”

“Ahhhh,” I said, beginning to see the wisdom. “Wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“We could sail to Fiji! They wear coconuts there. We like coconuts.”

“But what does piracy lead to if not a Bad End?”

I paused the game I was playing. “Increasingly improbable sequels and disgustingly large paychecks?”

I had to admit I had a point.

“…grass skirts. Roasted pig. Hula dancing…” I was losing me.

The feeling was beginning to fade at last. “Okay – why don’t we go commandeer a boat and see where it takes us.” I would need some new boots. And maybe a cutlass. And to think I might have finished my novel just then… dodged THAT bullet!

“Mmmmm – delicious poi.”

“I’ll be there just as soon as I finish this level, man.”

Batten down your hatches, my pretties. I’ll see you on the high seas! Until then though, whatever you do…

DON’T WRITE