More Thoughts about Working for Nothing - oh and a not quite gratuitous mention of David Tennant.

Just back from a week in South of France, staying with inlaws in their little flat in a holiday village on the Mediterranean coast. Weather windy and warm, then just warm. Scarcely an English accent to be heard, which gave us all the chance to try out our French. Reassured by how much came flooding back, mostly because I used to have to speak French to my Polish relatives, that being our only common language.
Came back to a week's worth of emails as well as
A phone message about The Physic Garden - will I call back? Yes, but I only get the answering machine.
Another phone message from a pleasant sounding lady who says she has met me. She edits a small literary magazine, and wonders if I would like to do a big interview with a famous writer for them.
Switch on the PC to be met by hundreds of emails, most of which are garbage. Check them however, since Norton has a habit of dumping the odd goodie in the spam box.There is one from the same nice lady. They would like me to do the interview in June, which suits the famous writer, and then write the piece (2000 words) before autumn. The snag is that the magazine is so small that there is no money for fees. She hopes that it won't put me off because she is sure I would make a good job of it. Too right.
I have some questions.
Foremost among which is
Who among us can honestly say that they would really love to do a week's hard slog on behalf of somebody else, for no payment whatsoever? I mean I do it all the time, of course, just about whenever I write, but then I'm doing it for me, and I'm doing it because my agent has a certain amount of faith in me, and I'm doing it because - really - I can't stop myself. Plays or fiction, I love it all.
Also, why does nobody ever ring me and ask me if I will - for example - do a good long interview with David Tennant. I might stretch a point. Particularly since I could ask him if he would like to be in my next play.
I would make a good job of that kind of interview as well
I stare at the email and the phone rings. It is the nice lady. I tell her, apologetically, that I can't do the piece. Besides, I have a book review and an article to write, both of which will result in a small payment: real money of the kind much encouraged by Tesco in exchange for food.
And then, oh then, I'm resuming work on the new novel. Of which more, much more, later.

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