Writers are by nature optimists, but have little or no business sense. We know we could be more financially secure by going into public relations or plumbing or bankruptcy law, yet we persist in writing. So how, in today’s market, can we parlay our vast talent for gathering minutiae, reasonably accurate gossip and unlimited factoids into making a decent living? By doing the one thing, after writing, that we do best: talk. Endlessly. There is a market for it. If there weren’t, why is it that those not in the profession flock to newspaper, magazine and bookpublishing watering holes? The answer is simple: it’s because they are dying to hear the witty banter and “inside stories” they know only writers can provide.
Since much publishing originates on the Eastern Seaboard, we writers tend to take our woes for granted. I’m aware, of course, that there’s a lot of money in places outside New York City-places where people have lovely homes, two cars in the garage and where the cost of living is a lot lower. These people may live better, but are they capable of the kind of bright, angst-ridden conversation that out-of-work writers can pull off? I doubt it. Therein lies my idea.
Writers are versatile, able to converse on any subject, at least up to a depth of a few inches. This is more than sufficient for an evening … an evening which those who have money (i.e., nonwriters living outside the East Coast corridor) would love to pay for. Think of it-scriveners with expertise on foreign policy, domestic woes, the loves of Hollywood celebrities … plus a couple of floaters who serve as conversational utility hitters. For a handsome fee we’ll be delighted to come to your house and chat up a storm. Impress your friends! Not only can we converse on the state of the world but we can also read from novels in progress or from nonfiction books orphaned by a publishing merger. In addition, we can fill you in on what people really talk about at Elaine’s and at the Hamptons.
Since ambience is all, we’ll bring our own beverages in recyclable containers (writers, you may be interested to know, will drink almost anything alcoholic, as long as their publishers are buying). No need to worry about food either. Writers’ hangouts learned long ago that writers will eat whatever they’re served. As cheap wine and regular and diet sodas are dispensed, and chicken wings of indeterminate origin are passed around, we’ll read excerpts from novels in progress beginning “It was a dark and stormy night.” Or, if you prefer, you can sit in the catbird seat and eavesdrop on writers trashing their colleagues’ work. This, of course, is the piece de resistance.
Long after the writers have left, your ears will be ringing with such immortal phrases as: “Good God, I had that idea last week but didn’t think much of it”; “He would never have been published if he hadn’t had a good editor to straighten out his grammar”; “Believe it or not, she lifted that from my last book, which was ahead of its time but didn’t get nearly the distribution it deserved,” and “My agent no longer represents anyone over 23.”
If you have listened to writers make comments like these and haven’t the vaguest idea what they are talking about, not to worry. They probably have no idea either. Pretending to be in the know when you aren’t is our gift to you-and there’s no extra charge. But the fun really begins when patrons pick some of your phrases to repeat to their nonwriter friends. You, too, can learn to make, with a knowing nod, such stock statements as “Writer X is vastly overrated,” or “The reason I don’t go to Restaurant Y anymore is not because they’ve discontinued free hors d’oeuvres but because their clientele has become too predictable,” or “I hear they’re filing for Chapter 11.” The comment “I knew that ages ago,” even if you didn’t, will certainly boost your status. Trust me. This works. Both writers and their patrons can learn to play this game.
Transportation, like refreshments, won’t be a problem. We’ll just charter a bus like Loretta Lynn’s and take our act on the road. But it will be difficult deciding who will be on the bus, for New York has an overabundance of out-ofwork writers. However, with magazines folding right and left, there is a large talent pool, so just hire another bus or, better yet, a fleet of buses.
With government support and the reputation of writers being what it is, regrettably it won’t be long until someone of the federal persuasion will want to investigate our version of the all-American pyramid scheme. The nation will then be buzzing with conversation at premium prices (remember, writers have been rejected a lot). As a result, trials will be held, sentences imposed. Voila-Gabscam!
A problem? Yes, but also a solution. Whoever said there were no problems, only opportunities, must have had writers in mind. When unemployed Gabscam writers become convicted felons, those book-publishing houses still in existence will rush to offer hefty advances in order to get the inside scoop. After all, why should serial killers and junk-bond wizards get all the publishing contracts? Gabscam will put writers back where they belong-writing. They can then resume doing what writers do best: hanging out at Elaine’s, houseguesting in the Hamptons and, first and foremost, complaining about their agents and editors.
