Writers are stupid because they do the most depressing job in the world.
Writers are stupid because they shorten their lives by sitting down all day and eating toast and smoking and writing depressing things.
Writers are stupid because they only get 0.1 per cent of royalties. Or something.
Writers are stupid because they write books when other people are out there inventing Instagram and stuff.
Writers are stupid because they will travel 300 miles to do an event for free, where twenty people will attend, eight of whom will buy their book.
Writers are stupid because they choose to write about life rather than choose to have a life.
Writers are stupid because they dream of getting invited to things and when they get invited to things they hide next to a pot-plant in the corner eating a disgusting canape made of frogspawn and getting paranoid that everyone frowns when they read their namebadge.
Writers are stupid because they write blogs expecting sympathy which they aren’t going to get.
Writers are stupid because they say they write for themselves and then go and get published and read every Goodreads review including that one star one from some bieber4eva who didn’t think the book was anywhere near as good as the sequel to *Derivative Paranormal Love Story*.
Writers are stupid because they have lunch meetings where they find it so hard to simultaneously talk and listen that they forget to eat and then have to ungraciously gobble the whole plate of Vietnamese whatever-it-is (they weren’t looking at the menu either) in five seconds at the end.
Writers are stupid because they have the best job in the world and whinge about it.
