A Working Class Writer

Feeling grumpy over my currently impoverished state, I wrote a parody of an old John Lennon song. If you want the inside scoop on the day to day glamor of writing for a living, hum along.

Here’s the original:

And here’s my parody:

A WORKING CLASS WRITER
to the tune of ‘A Working Class Hero’
with deepest apologies to John Lennon

You think when you’re published, you’ve got it made
After so many tries, you’ve at last made the grade
Then you bankrupt yourself while you wait to get paid

A working class writer is something to be
A working class writer is something to be

At first it’s a thrill to see your name on the page
And you write in cafes, think you’re free of the cage
But when you add up the hours it’s not minimum wage

A working class writer is something to be
A working class writer is something to be

Your fans think you’re rich and they want stuff for free
Your family thinks you’re a celebrity
But you still schlep your clothes to the coin laundry

A working class writer is something to be
A working class writer is something to be

At conventions you sign your books like a star
And you buy drinks for agents you meet at the bar
But you don’t have the money to fix up your car

A working class writer is something to be
A working class writer is something to be

There’s room at the top they’re telling you still
But first you must learn how to be your own shill
If you want to steal money from the kindle-nook till

A working class writer is something to be
If you want to be a writer, well just follow me

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Date: Friday, 24. June 2011 11:44
Trackback: Trackback-URL Category: Life, Rock, Writing

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4 comments

  1. 1

    As a dude who strives to go full time as a writer this is super, super depressing… Clever, but depressing ;)

  2. 2

    Sorry, Jordan. Don’t mean to depress anyone. Just feeling cranky at the moment.

  3. 3

    Good thing you weren’t harboring any illusions of Easy Street. Sigh.

  4. 4

    Don’t give the poor lad the wrong impression, Nathan, we all know you’re swimming in asses milk, quaffing champers and have nubile LA gliterati hanging around your doorstep night after night. You can’t fool us!

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