Mrs G is currently writing a book, and I think it’s going well but it’s all about feelings and adjectives and I prefer my literature with a few more maps illustrating strange locations and pop-up flaps.
She is looking forward to being a published author (as am I, I plan to be a trophy husband dedicated home keeper) but the act of writing a book is a long and laborious process and if life has taught me anything it’s that instant gratification is great and if a job takes ages to do then outsource it.
In the meantime I keep telling her that she has a great source of inspiration for a book, the nonsense I constantly come out with.
I would like to add the caveat that I don’t think I necessarily come out with weird ideas. What goes on in my head now are the same things that have been rattling round for 30 odd years. It’s as foreign a concept as telling fish they live in water (unless they are one of the fish that can live on land…like hippos).
It’s not just Mrs G who says I’m weird, it seems the general consensus amongst family, friends and colleagues that I veer to the eccentric. Last week I was declared to be “the weirdest person I have ever worked with” by a fellow colleague (aka my sidekick) which is not the first (and probably not the last) time I have heard this.
I suggested to Mrs G that she could collect my snippets of wisdom and insight and either start a twitter feed or collect them to publish in the kind of book that you end up getting at Christmas because the buyer has no idea about you, but hey you like funny stuff don’t you.
I mean how else would the world know about my patent pending shoulder Morse code system (and the corresponding snake impressions)? Where would my comparison of marriage and EULAs be printed? How else would she document extenuating circumstances for future use?
Yet despite being given a good chapter of material every week she refuses to be my ‘secretary’. I don’t like to think of her as an admin assistant but more of a chronicler, a bit like a female Sammy Pepys. I even setup a Twitter account for her.
She did suggest that I wrote the book myself, but like Jon Snow she kno’s nothin’.
How can I write a book about the things that I say, people will assume that I only said them to say that I said them as opposed to actually saying them and someone else saying that I said it. My GCSE history taught me about unreliable sources and I’m pretty certain that I am pretty biased .
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Your Life, the Book.”
From a famous writer or celebrity, to a WordPress.com blogger or someone close to you — who would you like to be your biographer?