I Write a BookI'm writing a book
Every idiot can make a book. Nell Stevens.
You are looking for unreleased authors who have finished a novel. Every wk a novelist is deselected and sent home. Name of the show is Any Idiot Can Watch a World. Instead, I am writing a summary of a nothing happening but against the background of the glittering Himalayas and sending it to the folks behind Any Idiot Can Read a World.
When I suspected that the assumption behind Any Idiot Can World a Book was incorrect before I got there, it will be validated as soon as we begin shooting the show - which isn't actually a show at all, but a prototype that can be or can' be created and that we will be shooting in the course of a whole full working days.
Apart from me, there is only one other participant: a thin Liverpudlian named Jake, who has a shaky serpent tattoos in the form of a loop around his throat. We' re taking Jake and I to a big office shed. They tell us to go to the computer and start typing.
"Jake asks, "What do you typed?" Jake asks. Jake answers. As Jake looks at his keypad, he starts to hit it with his index fingers. I' m turning to mine and doing the best I can to work on the novel I already wrote, but beyond the frown on my monitor when I write rubbish in Word, it's not clear how exactly I should be drama.
What is it" asks a young woman with a mike. "What is it? " says the little lady. After lunch I am reading the opening part of my novel in a studio; my vocal plays over film material from my drama-tapping. Afterwards, I am sitting on a bank under an Umbrella and answer the question how much I want to become a novelist (very much) and what it would mean for me to get into the next round of Any Idiot Can World a Book (the longer the days, the less).
We are filming the judgement and knockout scenes just as it gets darkness. We are sitting at the counter opposite the critics, with our books in front of us. For the first meeting of the two lovebirds I was reading a sequence from my books in a Dharamsala sanctuary, encircled by flashing candle lights and straying cats.
Suddenly I look up at the movie maker to see if he wants me to go back to the beginning, but he whispers something to the mic maid and doesn't seem to have notice. Next Jake will read a section of his novel Bad Splatter, which follows the adventure of a fortunate drugs merchant named Rad the Fucker.
But Jake looks worried, but finally starts again and comes through his scenes in which the bastard drowned an opponent in fluid cement on a construction site. Let me reread it. But Jake looks a little confused, his eye's beginning to warp. You are a cheater" is screamed with a spittle that ends up on the desk between us.
Now Jake's on his legs. He turns around, knocks his seat behind him and stomps out of the canteen. Once everything is packed, the mike maid takes me to my cab. Is Jake okay? since he was wiped out at the cooking counter.