Because I have only one obvious skill (my other skills are hidden behind a veneer of sarcasm), there is only one kind of help people ask from me. They ask me to write. I’ve written reports, assignments, love letters, resignation letters and fake excuses all in the name of kinship. People apparently think that, just because I know my letters better than my numbers, I can sit in front of a keyboard blindfolded and write a thousand page philosophical exposition on mice and men.
As every writer would know though, writing is never easy. Since I’ve had to write so much lately, every extra piece I have to do is as appealing as a pail of vomit. Every time I write it feels like a brain cell just expanded and went “pop.” If I had to lose my brain cells with such certainty, I’d really rather get paid in cash or in ego credits.
Do you want to know how to write so you can spare that poor crippled bastard whose been doing your reports for you for free? I have one piece of advice: READ like a rabid reader and then you will learn how to write and then maybe you’ll understand too what it feels like to be asked to die slowly for free.
By the way, I’m not as unfriendly and as unaccommodating as I sound. I happily help people who can help themselves to some extent first.