Things Never To Say To A Writer, Especially THIS Writer

“Oh, you are a writer?! I hope you won’t write about me.”

If I hear this statement from one more person my ears will literally bleed. No i will not write about you. You know why? Because I know for a fact that you DO want me to write about you if you are making such (dumb) remarks, you just don’t know how to directly ask me to do it. Two, you are probably not interesting enough to be written about, and I will not subject my loyal readers to your boring self. You are the type that cannot color outside the margins. The kind that asks for ketchup dip for your fries instead of splashing the damn thing all over your plate like a fun person. The type that eats pizza with a fork  and knife. The type that is too conventional to do anything random and fun and worth writing about. So no, I will not write about you. Not now, not ever. You can unclench your sphincter muscles now.

Person X: What do you do?
Me: I am a Stay-at-home aunt that writes/blogs.
Person X: Yeah,but that’s not a real job. Is that even well-paying? Don’t you potentially have a B.Com degree?
Me: (Rolls eyes like Tony Stark above) Don’t you have business of your own to mind? You and that real job and degree of yours, do you own a Bugatti? Can you even pronounce Hyundai correctly? Do you bathe in pure milk everyday like Cleopatra? Do you wipe yourself with dollar bills when you poop? Don’t you have enough to buy yourself a working un-stereotyping brain? Degree ndio dawa gani?(What type of medicine is Degree?) Abeg, commot my sight.

Yes, it is very rewarding and satisfying, utterly priceless to be covered in my nephew’s mashed avocado and pawpaw when I’m feeding him, to play with him and see him laugh and to watch him fall asleep in my arms everyday. Other than that I earn enough to buy all the junk I want to eat, do all the impulse buying on shoes and clothes I want and enough for me to steer clear of M-shwari and Okoa Jahazi. I enjoy my work.

“Bloggers are crappy people with no life. Case in point, Cyprian Nyakundi. Why does he write such trash?”

All humans are supposed to be equal, but I think some people (unfortunately) skipped the brain booth. Case in point, You. Why do you ask such trash?
That is like me asking you to tell me what Mugabe had for breakfast. Do you know? No? But you are just as African as he is. 😟😟😟

“You don’t look like a writer.”

Oh really? Should I walk around with pens and pencils stuck all over my hair? Should I use ink as lipstick? Will me wearing a dress made of pure paper look more writer-ish? Should I use a typewriter as headgear? Should I walk with a piece of paper labelled, ‘Evidence of Writing Capability Present’ pinned to my chest? If I talked to myself in public twitching my eyelids, frantically scratching my palms and cracking my knuckles from all the typing I do, would that be writer enough for you? You don’t look like a smart person.

“You probably know Bikozulu personally…”

But of course! We go to sewing classes together. The guy can crotchet up a storm! Sometimes, we sit in our matching Mickey Mouse pajamas  and he braids my hair as I oil his forehead. On good weekend nights, Danielle Steel and J.K Rowling join us and we dress up like zombies and scare the shit out of people on the dark alleys. Squad.

“I have a great idea that you should write about then we can split the profit from it 50-50”

Hell No. Fuck No. I won’t spend long days and have sleepless nights, wearing my brain out, getting high on caffeine doing all the hard work and then let you breeze in like you just came from a trip in the Maldives and eat my sweat. Fuck No. Eat your idea.

“Where do you get the time? I wish I had as much time to write.”

All Hail the King/Queen of Importantsville!!You obviously have way more better things to do than to just sit around writing things that are of very little value or none at all. Me? I will just be here wasting my time, and consequently my life typing and playing around with words. So don’t worry your busy significant self about me and my writing time.  Get back to your important Obama-rated life.

“I have something that needs to be written/edited. You are a writer, you can do it for me.”

I also have a craving for the entire aisle of Potato Crisps that needs to be satisfied but you don’t see me asking the cashiers to let me walk out of the store with them for free.

“Everyone nowadays is a writer/blogger. It is pretty easy.”

Everyone nowadays is a musician. Everyone nowadays is an artist. Everyone nowadays has a white/blue-collar job. Everyone nowadays is a politician. Everyone nowadays is famous on Facebook and Twitter. Everyone nowadays can play the piano and the guitar. Oh it is as easy as eating cake. Like blinking. In that case I presume you can pretty easily play the violin? No? Shut up.

At the end of the day, it is all about respect. Respect what other people do as you expect them to respect what you do. In Birdman’s words, when my name come up, you better put some respek on it.

Now, excuse me while I go reload my gun.