Thursday 00:48 p.m.
I once thought that what you had to do was hypnotise people so that they couldn't stop reading; so that their thoughts would co-mingle with the words that they read to such an extent that they would lose themselves and be in the transparency of what you were trying to say.
Then once I thought that I would have to be able to write far, far better than anyone else because I was not connected with the people and places where you just got the shoo-in. I imagined there was a shoo-in. I don't think there is. Anyway, that didn't work.
I think I've just had a stupid attitude for most of the time. Also, nobody is interested in the bliss.
I decided today that I should start writing again, after a lay off of about six months. Then I thought: why bother? Nobody else tries to write. But I like writing. I think I'll write a book about falling in love with a schoolgirl. This will be someone of seventeen years old.
We've already got the first act. The emails, the schoolgirls bouncing off the glass box, the punishment, the public embarrassment. The second act is basically about the commencement of the funging. It turns into Carmen. Can you see the chickita arising from this? And the third act is the end of the matter, which could be any of many ways. The sack. The sack as the other novel rakes in the cash, the Domestic Bliss cursing me to hell, suicide, grief, sorrow, lamentations ... delusions, disappointments and despair ... suffering in this life. In fact, the usual from wanting the wrong things. However, if you were going to write a book, that might be the one to write.
So you think it might be a good idea to write a book about shagging schoolgirls, Hotboy? Well, Jack, hold me. You make me feel all warm inside. Love me tender, love me sweet, and never let me go! Elvis has just left the building!
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5 comments:
Nobody else tries to write, huh? Except for when I'm on monastic retreat, I've written every single day since November 1997.
I write on novel a year, get it out of my system.
But to me writing is just a silly challenge. I don't take it seriously.
Do what makes you happy, just because it does that.
Doggy! I wasn't counting you!!
Marie: I wasn't counting you either! Of course, everybody tries to write! Hotboy p.s. I came to this post this morning wondering ... but even after four pints of home brew, it kind of made sense. How's that?
Just goes to show that your auto pilot works well.
No matter what you write, it's better out than in. Is there a market for books about cricket? You might enjoy that.
PS this book plot has legs, as they say. Let me know if you want me to do the illustrations.
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