Whether or not I ask for it, my 57-year-old scientist boss likes to give me advice. Here is a conversation we had about writing.
Boss: So, you want to be a writer?
Boss: You know what you have to do now, right?
Boss: You have to write erotica.
Me: I was thinking about going with humor, like funny short stories or something.
Boss: Make them sexy short stories. Sex sells.
Me: You’re a scientist, what do you know?
Boss: I wrote two erotic novels–introduce the virgin, virgin meets the guy, deflowering of the virgin, virgin faces crossroads and so on.
Me: What was your nom de plume, then?
Boss: I didn’t have one. I sold them to a publishing company.
Boss: I can give you the guidelines, you have to use certain words for body parts and stuff.
Me: Gross, no thanks, I think your sexy story advice would give me writer’s block for an eternity.
Boss: All a part of my plan to keep you here, editing my boring scientific papers.
Me: Get out.