The Last Word

You sit in the same chair you picked up last year on garbage collection day at the same desk that constituted the full extent of the 'furnishings' of the bachelor's apartment you rented when the royalty cheques stopped coming and you write ... and wait.

It's not that you can't write. There's an endless supply of material in your head that only needs some coaxing and Voilà! you have a story, a stage play, a novella and during brain-recharging you can spin out no limit of web content in multiple languages—English and a host of Google languages.

The problem is that no one's responding to you any longer. But have you paid attention to your neighbourhood lately? Last year you were bumping into people on the sidewalk, breathing in the exhaust of other subway riders, struggling to find hours of the day or night when you could write without the distractions of city life. When's the last time you heard a siren? When's the last time you heard the heavy bass of a car stereo at full volume? When did you last hear anyone walking around or talking in your apartment building?

The people have disappeared and you didn't even see it happening. Only now do you notice the quiet that I've just pointed out. Remember how long it took to go through check-out at the supermarket? And now, the shelves that used to be full are mostly bare. And you can't have missed the fact that there are no more cashiers. It's just you and the self-serve kiosks. What do you think would happen if you walked out without paying? I'll tell you. Nothing. No one is there and no one has been there for weeks. Observant for a writer, eh?

Get out of your one-room apartment and walk the streets. You'll see what I'm getting at. You're alone, man. You're all alone. Where are the cars? What happened to the rush-hour traffic jams? Where are all those people who herded you along with them on the busy sidewalks. Look at the TVs in the store window displays. Nothing's from today. Look at the newspapers and magazines at the corner store. There's nothing with this month's date is there? Or even last month's date or the month before?

Now, put 2 and 2 together, and you'll understand why your writing has hit a dead-end. There's nobody left—no one to read and enjoy and pay for that beautiful prose you manufacture out of nothing, like a magician. You're the only reader left, and that never satisfied any writer I've ever met.

So, now that you know what the world's come to, what will you do? I suspect you will have to prove to yourself that what I've been telling you is true. Go ahead. You have all the time in the world.

Just take a walk in the neighbourhood and look for a car with the keys in the ignition. Millions of cars, and there's gotta be more than a few abandoned by careless drivers. Take a drive. Go to the airport. You haven't seen any planes lately, have you? See if there are any planes taking off or landing. Go to another city and see if it's any different there. Find a computer connected to the Internet and try all of your contacts. Call information. No, try 9-1-1. See if anyone answers.

When you're finally convinced that there's no one else on the planet, we'll think about what you should do next. I think we'll be able to keep you quite busy for the rest of your life which could be long or short, as you choose.