Satire

We Are Going To Need A Bigger Boat

When you find your crew — the hearties will follow

Marie T Smith
Dec 18, 2019 · 3 min read
Image: Austin Neill on Unsplash

I was a writer on an island. A desert island. I had friends. Friends who existed on other islands and, through the power of technology, read my stories. Heartfelt stories of charity imposed blisters, teaching children in Africa, my barren womb, my bleeding periods, my menopausal sweaty armpits. Some of them gave a thumbs up. Some said they loved it with all their heart. Some wept. And the ‘curtain twitchers’ didn’t want anyone else to know they read my stories at all, so they said nothing.

I wrote for free. For fun. For me and my buddies. I was satisfaction rich. But I was cash poor.

Then one day the clouds opened and a voice boomed.

Don’t write alone. Don’t write for nothing. Come join us. We have thousands of writers, just like you. We believe writers should be recompensed for their efforts. We pay you for your stories.

I dropped to my knees and I wept. My saviour had come. I just had to work daily and be recognised among great people. Writers of amazing talent, willing to share their knowledge with me and help me earn a few dollars to support me. I could finally get off this dessert island. I am going to paradise.

I started writing like crazy. I published my first story. And a second and a third. My mister never saw me for days. But that was fine because complete strangers laughed and applauded. Some even commented. I made new friends. Friends who wanted to help get me off this island too. I eagerly watched my numbers every single day. I willed them (all) to rise.

And then the reality struck home. There was no magic money tree. I was never getting off this island.

I was lying face down on the beach, wracked and heaving with sobs, when I heard a shout ‘Bring a spring upon ‘er we’ve another dejected wench on the shore’.

A ship!

I started jumping up and down, waving my hands above my head.

‘Hey, help, help me! I have stories aplenty, but they now appear to be worth nothing at all. I need to get off this island.’

Back came the reply

‘Aaaarrrrgghh, you fell for the bilge-sucking charms of the paradise dream giver did ya? Well, we always have space for a landlubber, haven’t we mateys?’

They waved their cutlasses. I took it as a friendly sign.

‘Take the Jacob’s ladder, wench and come aboard. And bring your pieces of eight stories. We will make a satirical buccaneer of you yet. Now let’s weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!’

That was a month ago. We sailed the waters, collecting more and more landlubbers and scallywags along the way. The seadogs started to board the ship too. All waving their tattered shirts above their heads shouting for rescue. All bringing more and more pieces of eight. And deciding to go on account.

And then we looked over our shoulders and found ourselves being followed by hundreds and hundreds of small and large vessels. Some new, some well established sea goers. Every day more latched on, following in peace, in the wake of our ship.

‘Yo ho ho, Captain Susan Brearley I think we are gonna need a bigger boat’.


©Marie T Smith (She Wordsmiths..) writes for a number of Medium publications. She has already been credited as a top writer in Food, Travel, Cooking and Satire. She is also a published writer in Travel Magazines and a keen photographer of wildlife. She Wordsmiths is where it all began and is where she manages her newsletter updates.

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A Humorous View | Making Medium FUN Again

Marie T Smith

Written by

English lass in Scot. Writer of humor, satire, food on a plate, travel, deeper stuff — & photographer. It’s about painting a picture I guess. shewordsmiths.com

MuddyUm

MuddyUm

A Humorous View | Making Medium FUN Again

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