Of course I'm not doing anything important

Today I'm extremely fortunate to feature a guest post by the one and only Duncan Swallow.  Duncan, amongst other things, runs an excellent blog, nobodysreadingme.  His blog is, unfortunately, significantly better than mine.  I'm actually delaying the publishing of this post because I've just realised that his latest one is up on his blog and I haven't read it yet.

(Minutes go by...)

That was really good.  I'd recommend after you've been here that you head over to his blog and read it.

Okay - Mr Swallow, you have the floor!

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Mike is doing a guest post over on my blog http://nobodysreadingme.wordpress.com/ and he kindly allowed me a guest post here. I’m going to take the opportunity to have a rant.

I spend a lot of time writing. I blog every day, apart from Sunday. I’ve got a lot of short stories published on EtherBooks. I’m working on two separate versions of my memoir. I’m in the thick of my second novel, having given up on having the first one published. So I have quite a lot on my plate, or page as you might say.

For reasons we needn’t go into I work a lot in my local library. And for some reason I attract the lunatic fringe who seem to think that if I’m pounding the keys what I’d prefer to do is be interrupted by something more important. And what could be more important than their misguided and unwanted ramblings?

There’s the rather plummy voiced eccentric man. Maybe you’ve met him, or his ilk. He’ll ask ‘What are you writing?’ then proceed not to listen as he bangs on for five or ten or fifteen minutes about how what I should  be writing is similar to his amateurish and singularly unfunny satirical magazine. This has a circulation of three, including him and his mum.

There’s the plummy voiced Baroness. Really, she is. She doesn’t know one end of a computer from another, so frequently enlists my help. I’m fine with this, until she goes all Lady of the Manor on me. ‘It worked yesterday,’ to which I have to reply, ‘Well, that may be true but it’s not working today.’ ‘You don’t have to do that!’ ‘Oh yes I do, I miskeyed a command so I need to retype it, as soon as I can get my hands back from round your throat.’ She thinks she’s speaking to the bootboy or something.

An acquaintance who will insist, while I’m typing, on regaling me yet again what a bitch and a cow, and a moneygrubber, his ex-wife is. You married her pal. I really don’t want to hear this again, for the nth time in a year. I’m not interested in the fact you missed your bus this morning either, now I come to mention it.

Then there’s the man who reads the Guardian every day. No problem with that at all. It’s a fine newspaper. Generally it attracts people who can think, so it’s a surprise that he not only has to move his lips as he reads, he has to read aloud! He also feels honour bound to issue a running commentary, and ask himself questions that he then answers. Himself.

But hey, it doesn’t matter. I’m not doing anything important. I’m just writing, that’s all.