The Cleverest Man In The Room

group‘This is without doubt the worst book I’ve ever read. Please don’t waste your time or money on it.’

This was how he pretty much spent his days now, writing his pithy, spiteful Tweets from a bedsit in Brighton. He felt it was his artistic duty to bring down those authors who thought they could write but obviously had ideas way above their station

He knew what good writing looked like and when he finally got around to putting his work into the world people would finally recognise his genius. He would give up the menial,minimum wage jobs to make ends meet and live a writer’s life, doing book signings and readings. He’d surround himself with other literary intellectuals who’d understand what he was talking about (always knowing however that he would still be the cleverest man in the room)

Today he’d get dressed in the tatty cardigan he wrote in and sit down at the laptop. Writing was in fact a daily struggle and time was mostly spent looking out of the window for an hour or two

Still, there was no need to mention it in his therapy sessions. This would just show weaknesses that he prefered to cover over with talk of writer’s block and hint at deep spiritual hurting that would take an age to cure

One day he would break through and start getting words down onto the page but for now he would have to bear this particular intellectual cross

Today though, there was always Twitter

 

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