The Interesting Life
Wrote memoir. Publisher: 'Your life isn't interesting enough.'
Became a hitman. Now it's interesting.
Kidding. Just a barista. But I think about it. While making your latte.
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Wrote memoir. Publisher: 'Your life isn't interesting enough.'
Became a hitman. Now it's interesting.
Kidding. Just a barista. But I think about it. While making your latte.
Ghostwriter needed. For actual ghost.
He died before finishing his memoir. Publisher still expects delivery.
Deadline firm.
I asked the ghost for notes. He left one: "Tell them the afterlife has better advances."
I added it to chapter 12. Editor flagged it as "implausible."
Wrote a memoir. Sent to publishers.
Response: "Beautifully written. Needs more trauma."
Me: "I had a happy childhood."
Publisher: "That's... unfortunate. Can you fix that?"
A philosopher decides to write his autobiography. After three years, he submits a manuscript of exactly one page. His editor is furious: 'Where's the rest? Your childhood? Your education? Your career?' The philosopher shrugs: 'I examined each memory and realized I couldn't verify any of them independently. My childhood might be a false memory. My degrees could be hallucinations. My career is just other people's opinions. The only thing I can confirm with certainty is this sentence: I am currently writing.' The editor pauses. 'And the title?' 'I Think, Therefore I Might Have Been.'
Wrote memoir. Publisher: 'Your life isn't interesting enough.' Became a hitman. Now it's interesting. Kidding. Just a barista. But I think about it. While making your latte.
Ghostwriter needed. For actual ghost. He died before finishing his memoir. Publisher still expects delivery. Deadline firm. I asked the ghost for notes. He left one: "Tell them the afterlife has better advances." I added it to chapter 12. Editor flagged it as "implausible."
Wrote a memoir. Sent to publishers. Response: "Beautifully written. Needs more trauma." Me: "I had a happy childhood." Publisher: "That's... unfortunate. Can you fix that?"
A philosopher decides to write his autobiography. After three years, he submits a manuscript of exactly one page. His editor is furious: 'Where's the rest? Your childhood? Your education? Your career?' The philosopher shrugs: 'I examined each memory and realized I couldn't verify any of them independently. My childhood might be a false memory. My degrees could be hallucinations. My career is just other people's opinions. The only thing I can confirm with certainty is this sentence: I am currently writing.' The editor pauses. 'And the title?' 'I Think, Therefore I Might Have Been.'
Nothing to read? Create your own book and read it! Like I do.
Create a book"All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." β Ernest Hemingway
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