Here’s a humorous passage I just came across in an novel that I really enjoyed:
From The Heart’s Invisible Furies by John Boyne (copyright 2017, Bond Street Books):
“Do you enjoy being a writer, Mrs. Avery?” asked Julian.
“No, of course not,” she said. “It’s a hideous profession. Entered into by narcissists who think their pathetic little imaginations will be of interest to people they’ve never met.”
“But are you successful?”
“It depends on how you define the word success.”
“Well, do you have a lot of readers?”
“Oh no. Heaven forefend. There’s something terribly crude about a popular book, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Julian. “I’m afraid I don’t read very much.”
“Neither do I,” said Maude. “I can’t remember the last time I read a novel. They’re all so tedious and writers do go on at such length. Brevity is the key, if you ask me.”…
“Why don’t you want people to read your books, Maude?” I asked, a question that I had never put to her before.
“For the same reason that I don’t walk into strangers’ houses and tell them how many bowel movements I’ve enjoyed since breakfast,” she said. “It’s none of their business.”
“Then why do you publish them?”
“One has to do something with them, Cyril, doesn’t one?” she said with a shrug. “Otherwise what’s the point of writing them at all?”
