How to tell if you're a Famous Writer....

Passchaendale 100 years

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Paul Whybrow

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Jun 20, 2015
Cornwall, UK
First of all, forget becoming a bestseller: who cares about your sales and vast wealth? Your novel was turned into an inferior film by Hollywood, and more people watched it than have ever read your books. The publicity surrounding the movie caused a brief blip in your sales figures, as a few discerning readers sought out your back catalogue, but it didn't last.

You're not a household name and those that are often write inferior fiction that briefly satisfies some squalid urge. How many authors could the average dunce-in-the-street name anyway? And, most of those would be dead—classical authors they were made to read at school—putting them off reading for life.

No, what you need to happen to be really famous is to have journalists write about your sex life love life...they'll gussy it up by pretending it's about how your romances affected your writing, but what they really want to do is puncture your reputation as an intellectual to show you up as a lascivious beast or a repressed misanthrope or even kinky beyond imagination!

Most of these saucy tales won't come out until you've been dead for a while—after all, there are libel laws—and some editors might have enough conscience left to avoid destroying a marriage or literary reputation.

Still, years later (or even as soon as you're dead), your horizontal jogging exploits will be revealed. Books such as The Intimate Sex Lives of Famous People will include a few writers' sexual shenanigans.

www.amazon.co.uk/Intimate-Sex-Lives-Famous-People/dp/1932595295

Readers will be amazed to learn that F. Scott Fitzgerald had a fetish for feet and that he agonised about the size of his penis, once whipping it out in a restroom to ask Ernest Hemingway what he thought. H.G. Wells was a satyr, rarely without a woman and many were young enough to be his daughter; he was shagging into his last year, dying at 80. James Boswell, famed as the chronicler of Dr Johnson, was always at it, often with prostitutes where he probably caught the gonorrhoea which killed him at 54. Before losing his virginity he used trees as sexual partners!

If thinking about this future exposure bothers you, remain chaste and preferably lead a reclusive lifestyle. That way, you could end up as a symbol for your country when they use your image on banknotes. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare have all adorned British banknotes. Robert Louis Stevenson appeared on a Scottish £1 note, while James Joyce was on an Irish tenner. Denmark chose Hans Christian Anderson for its 10 Kroner note.

Jane-Austen-new-bank-note-c-600x400.jpg


I wonder how long it will be before J.K. Rowling appears on a British banknote...perhaps in the next century. As for her sex life, for the moment, we can only ponder who slytherined into her gryffindor and expelliarmussed! :confused:
 
It's true what you're saying. Media do that. Even if you're not famous, they dig for the dirt, aka hidden story. There is a poet I Know. Living. Published. Over and over, any publicity feature, 'the' story is trotted out. Married a man MUCH older, and other things too specific for me to mention here, in fairness to her, or you could Google it in an instant.

PERSONA

A darn good poet but you know...that ancient husband...and the rest of it....
 
Sex sells, no doubt about it - and we have several succsexful writers in Litopia who specialise - and very good luck to them too! It's like journalism - the problems start when the journalist himself/herself becomes the news. I'll stick to tech thrillers and leave the wood out of the trees, and the trees in the wood.

Did you ever read Raj Persaud's books? Very entertaining and illuminating about the human condition(s). He's a psychiatrist and relates tales of people who made out with furniture, and even one who came home from work and got off on the refrigerator. I don't recall if it was an Electrolux. But I digress...and stop there.
 
Raj Persaud...no, but there's a blast from the past. He's always cheered me up, the mere sight of his face on the box :)
 
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Passchaendale 100 years

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