The Interview I Want to Give When I’m a Rich and Famous Author

Reporter: We’re here today with Steven T. Chapman, author of…

Me: That’s Ste-van.

Reporter: I’m sorry?

Me: My name.  It’s pronounced Ste-van.

Reporter: We spoke to your mother in preparation for this piece, and she pronounced it Steven.

Me: She’s mistaken.

Reporter: The woman who gave birth to you is mistaken on how to pronounce the name she gave you?

Me: If she is my mother. One can never be certain of such things.

Reporter. What’s the T stand for?

Me: Terribly annoyed.

Reporter: Could I call you Mr. Chapman?

Me: You seem quite capable of such an action.

Reporter:  Mr. Chapman, how would you describe your style of writing?

Me: Cat herder.

Reporter: Cat herder?

Me: Yes.  I start off chasing one idea, but inevitably three or four others emerge.  Then I spend all of my time attempting to push them in the same direction.

Reporter: But you eventually get them organized, do you not?

Me:  No, I simply become exhausted and quit.

Reporter: Are you saying your books are incomplete?

Me: Oh, quite.  Any author who says they truly complete a book is a liar.

Reporter: All authors are liars?

Me: And thieves.

Reporter: I don’t understand.

Me: There hasn’t been an original work since the first cave scribblings, and I believe even those were derivative.  Authors are prolific thieves.

Reporter: Why do you write if not to express original ideas and concepts?

Me: Groupies.

Reporter: Sir?

Me: Groupies.  You know, the screaming hordes of libidinous women desperate to become naked and perform outrageous acts of carnality solely to be in my presence.

Reporter: Mr. Chapman, I think you’re speaking about rock-n-roll stars.  Singers are the artists who have groupies.

Me: What do writers get?

Reporter: Book clubs?

Me: That sounds dreadful.  Are you positive?

Reporter: Pretty sure.

Me: You mean those groups where women sit around getting drunk on cheap wine while attempting to convince one another they actually read and understood the assigned book?

Reporter: Yes.

Me: Who wants that?

Reporter: Apparently, authors.

Me: Where does the sex come in?

Reporter: Again, I think you’re referring to musicians and their fans.

Me: So, no screaming hordes of half-naked females?

Reporter: Correct.

Me: No casual sex with anonymous women?

Reporter: Not that any writer has ever discussed.

Me: Now I understand why Hemingway killed himself.  The media should do a better job of reporting such things.  No wonder your profession isn’t trusted.

Reporter: Let’s discuss your latest book.

Me: Screw the book.  I’m taking my royalty check and signing up for guitar lessons.  Later.

 

 

 

 

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