Dear Mr Denning and the Other Parasitic Worms

I'm sick of hearing your shite

I don’t follow Tim Denning or any of those bastards who just fucking go on and on about how to make money as a writer by writing about how to make money as a writer by writing about how to make money as a fucking writer. 

For some reason, though, this fucker keeps appearing in my feed. And look, I tolerated it for a while until I read this shite:

And I was like,

Would ya listen to this entitled prick?

So I wrote back:

Of course, Tim didn’t reply to me. Why the fuck would he? Sure, he would have read it because it was the first response. But I am below his station, and replying to me wouldn’t make him a dollar, so he isn’t interested.

Tim Denning isn’t a great writer.

He isn’t even good. He is bang-average at best, and yet there he is, apparently making millions and writing for Business Insider and all that turd. And I'm sure he knows he has so much money because his entire customer base is desperate, broke writers who want to make money from writing. He knows it’s their weakness, so he keeps banging on the weakness and banging on it, day after day, writing cruel shit like the above or delusional turd like this:

What the fuck would one delusional human know about what ‘most people’ are?

Denning and the other parasitic worms can fuck right off. It takes so much to keep writing what you want to write.

Any fucking one of us, at any moment, could get the dark mark tattooed on our forearms and start writing about how to make money writing. But we don’t. And why?

Because we aint fucking parasitic worms.

We write what we want, stubbornly banging our heads against the loose, rusty nail of society, sweating blood at our chafing stations to write ridiculous stories about getting sucked off by horses with deeper spiritual meanings that we know damn well will never make us any money.

We’ll probably never become as rich and famous as Denning and his doppelgangers, all out to exploit humans for their own ends.

We’ll probably die broke, drunk and in a brothel from syphilis. Why?

Because we are fucking writers.

So many of our forefathers, foremothers and fore-others got nothing during their lifetimes. They lived the miserable, agony-drenched life of an artist and died without recognition. And if we are serious, we should aim to do the same. Because if you are producing art to make money, the making of money becomes the subject of the art, and you can fucking sniff that kind of crap a mile off.

There’s nothing embarrassing about being broke because you insist on doing things your way and writing what has meaning to you.

On the other hand, writing about how to make money writing, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year— especially when the only money you have made is from writing about how to make money writing— is about as embarrassing as it gets.

I would go as far as to say that you barely have a right to call yourself a writer. Sure, you can put words on a page, but if that’s what a writer is, then every scam artist trying to get money out of pensioners via email is a writer and should be afforded the same respect.

I want you to listen to me carefully.

If you are a writer that is constantly writing different things to see what people react to, or if you have studied the profitable niches that you should be writing in, or if you write about how to make money writing when you haven't made a fucking dollar by writing about anything except how to make money writing, then you are a fucking fraud.

You should go and fuck a goat because that would be more valuable to the human race and the world than what you are doing.

It’s not too late for you.

Pull your head out of your arse, drink some Yerba Mate, delete all of that shite instructional crap which nobody fucking needs. And, most of all—

Stop preying on desperate people.

I repeat, stop preying on desperate people, you fuck.

Now pick up yer fucking fountain pen or laptop or whatever the fuck, and write a thousand-word essay about your desperation to make money. Then, take a deep, purple breath, and think hard about what you would write about if you were the wealthiest person in the world.

If you wouldn't write anything, you aren't a writer; you are a parasite because you are writing simply for money.

My hope is that you find something to write about that is truly authentic and truly useful—not useful for capitalist pursuits but useful for the development of peace and intelligence in a world utterly lacking those things.

Be Authentic, you Bastards

I want to mention my friend

Reuben Salsa

who is a good example of someone writing from his heart with courage, regardless of the barrage of shit he gets as a result.

It doesn’t matter what the fuck your delusional opinion of world politics is. You need to take him as an example and write what is inside your heart and take whatever flak comes to you as a result.

Otherwise, you might end up one day, sitting there, like Denning, making money from writing about how to make money from writing about how to make money from writing.

And Tim will probably tell you that he is so happy to keep writing about this shite every damn day of his precious life.

He has to say that. It's MO for anyone projecting a false idea of success to make money.

But, you can feel a bitterness creeping through in his writing. His latest post is called,

Hard Work is a Bullsh*t lie, that won’t make you successful.

And yeah, he even starred out the word bullshit because he is so afraid of offending his audience.

Why did he write this, though?

Well, only Tim can tell you that, but for me, it’s because every bastard is going on about hard work.

It’s Gary V’s fault. He invented this thing called the sandpaper wank.

They call it struggle porn now—the idea that you have to work like a bastard.

But the hard work market is a saturated market.

So Tim’s going after the opposite.

Anti-struggle porn.

It’s an empty, bullshit, research-based post that will make some of his desperate followers think,

‘Thank fuck for that. Tim says we don't have to work hard.’

And now they’ll be genuinely fucked, but they’ll never blame Tim for his shonky advice. They’ll keep putting dimes into the coin slot of their own subconscious self-loathing.

And Tim won’t give a fuck, cos they’ll keep buying his shite courses.

And look, TD isn’t the only one. He’s one of many. But for me, he symbolises this whole movement.

I look at his picture and see a good bloke. Denning doesn’t have eyes of evil. He’s just found himself down this goddamn rabbit hole of a niche, and now he is so terrified of losing everything that he’ll never take the chance of changing direction and writing the loose sci-fi flash fiction that he has always wanted to write.

And look, I ain't just some prick out to get another prick either if that’s what yer thinking. I don't subscribe to dog-eat-dog weekly.

Sometimes, things need to be pointed out.

I'm sure Denning is a sweet guy (I mean, he looks sweet, and the bastard has never replied to me, so all I have is his picture to go off). But he and those like him need to be whipped a little since they turn every damn writing platform into a shit farm of self-help turds.

And since everyone is so damn desperate, it becomes the most popular turd.

Then, it's not long before the once-great platform starts rewarding that turd ahead of actual writing. 

And then the rest of us who are real writers are fucked.

And if you don't believe me, go check out Medium, where the slick turd transformation is complete, which is why everyone's coming over here. 

And while the parasitic worms continue to invade the platform's guts, Substack won't be far behind, I'm telling you.  

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