A conversation at the gym

There's this guy at my gym who is literally my opposite in every way. I am a Cubs fan; he's a Cardinals fan. I am a Bears fan'; he is a Packers fan. I'm a Democrat; he's a Tea Party follower.

I have hair; well, you know ....

This guy also thinks people who write novels are namby-pambies who ought to go out and work like real people. He's told me this before. In fact, our long-running "discussion" has always centered around his view that "any schmuck" can write a novel. He claims he got an A on an essay in high school English class and the teacher wrote on it that he should "seriously consider writing."

Instead, he became a plumber because, he says, he wanted "a real job."

Now being a plumber is not only lucrative and qualifies as a "real job," it's one of those things I cannot do -- like mechanics and algebra and golf.

But his views on writing, especially on fiction writing, always rub me the wrong way. Big time.

And this morning, he was waiting for me. What follows is a somewhat comical, exaggerated version of our real conversation. (I exaggerated it to make a point and, well, because this is MY blog. I mean no disrespect to viewers of Fox News, although I can't say the same about Packers and Cardinal fans.)

"Hey, it's the wimpy little writer guy," he said, snapping me with his wet towel.

"In the flesh," I said, peeling off my sweaty tee-shirt. "How about them Bears?"

"They got lucky," he snarled. "So guess what I heard on Fox News this morning?"

"Gee. I dunno. That Obama and Pelosi were the brains behind the 9-11 terror attacks?"

"Well, other than that."

I sighed. "Okay. I'll bite. What?"

He grinned. "That little fireplug chick from The Jersey Shore is writing a novel."

"Who?"

"You know, what's her name. The stubby one with the fake red tan and that hairy pillbox on her head."

"Ah. Nicole "Snooki" Polizzzi from MTV?"

"Yeah. That mouthy chick who's always getting carried out of nightclubs. You know, the one not named Lindsay or Paris."

"Yeah. I know who she is. A book huh? Must be a memoir. I mean, if Justin Beiber can write one, anyone can."

"No. No. A novel. I think it's gonna be called A Shore Thing or something like that."

I laughed. "Yeah, well good luck getting it published."

He smiled. "She's already got a book deal."

I froze. "Really?"

"Yep. I wonder who her agent is? I wonder how her whatchamacallit, query, got to the top of the shit pile?"

"Slush pile," I corrected. "And to be honest, I'm ... not really sure."

He grinned smugly. "I bet that really pisses you off, doesn't it? After all the work you and your little Internet writer buddies do. Goes to show I was right all along. Ha."

"I suppose she could be an idiot-savant or something like that," I said, stammering.

"I don't know what a savant is, but you got the idiot part right."

I managed to get out of there and rushed home. I Googled Snooki and there it was, right above an article headlined, "Snooki fined $500 for being a drunken nuisance."

Here is the nutgraph:

"Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi of Jersey Shore will write a novel. Yep, you read right—a novel. By Snooki. The same Snooki who told New York Times writer Cathy Horyn that she’s only read two books in her life: Twilight and Dear John. (Not that I have anything against Stephenie Meyer and Nicholas Sparks. But two books in her life?) Snooki’s novel will be titled A Shore Thing, and according to Publishers Marketplace it’s about “a girl looking for love on the boardwalk (one full of big hair, dark tans, and fights galore).” Simon & Schuster’s Gallery will publish the novel in January 2011."

I spent the next several minutes trying to find out which agent plucked her from the shit pile, er, slush pile. No luck.

I wonder if it's the same one who rejected my query and first 50 pages in less than four minutes?

Sigh. I think I'm going to spend the next few days looking into plumbing school.