Some of you reading this will have suffered from the same thing. I don’t like using the term ‘Writer’s Block’. Mostly because I’m not blocked, I’m just a bit lazy. I sit down every so often to write, only to find a thousand other things to do instead. Many people cleverer than me have told their versions of procrastinating, checking emails, updating your facebook status, tidying your desk, deleting stuff from the hard drive, all that stuff.
I’m not suffering from any kind of brain freeze, it is just that some of the things I want to write about don’t work quite so well on paper as they do out loud. I started a post for this blog telling an old story, but about ¾ of the way through it I realised it just doesn’t have the same impact on paper. So I stopped.
I have a couple of great ideas circulating, but that is all they are doing at the moment. I’m struggling to motivate myself. I’m even struggling with my novel, which I have never struggled with. I went back to re-edit it, and I realised there is quite a lot I don’t like. Which sucks.
So next up on my writing slate are, in no particular order:
Nunja’s
Untitled Queen’s Fantasy Script
Captain Hellbeard’s World Of Wonder
More blogging
Untitled family drama in the ‘hood/ghetto
A Certain Little Smile (my novel)
So, if anyone feels the urge to help, or prod me in the right direction, pick a project and feel free.
In the meantime, I’ll go back to watching the Wire, which is my procrastination of choice at the moment. Expect some influence to show, certainly in my slowly formulating family drama. It may feature an Omar or a Bubbles, but either way it will be dark and gritty! Go me…
Until next time….
Tuesday 25 August 2009
Tuesday 4 August 2009
Stories
There are stories you can tell, and stories you can’t. I have stories that I love to tell, but I can only tell them to certain people. There will be stories which are never told to my girlfriend for example, and some stories never told to my mum. There is some crossover in these stories as you might expect! They are the stories that will one day be stag night stories, or tall tales told in the pub among old men.
There are stories it is safe to tell most people, like the time we went to see Kid Rock and slept in the station managers office at King’s Cross. I love telling that story. Or the time Kerry and I broke the rock bench and almost died laughing at breakfast. Stories it is safe to tell most people.
There are stories you can only tell to the people in them, because they make fuck all sense to anyone else. You could ask maybe 3 people about Julian’s loafers and socks and have them understand. But those 3 people will always smile at the memory.
I share some great memories with a couple of people who probably take as much delight in sharing them as I do. Tales of driving across America in a van with one gear, freewheeling down hills to cool off the engine. Tales of lifting fridges, of staying up all night to stop the kids sneaking out, tales of random underwear runs onto sleeping peoples beds. These are some of my favourite memories; maybe sometime they will be shared.
There are stories you can tell work colleagues, and stories you can tell a certain group of friends. Some of the best stories will remain untold until they are forgotten, or finally find an audience. For me most of that audience may never exist, relegated to people who read the odd story I write, or those who read this blog.
I will hopefully filter these stories into versions suitable for reading; those that I think may be of interest to more than the people in them, or that work generally as anecdotes.
Like many people I have some great memories which are destined to stay memories and never be told to anyone, for whatever reason…
There are stories it is safe to tell most people, like the time we went to see Kid Rock and slept in the station managers office at King’s Cross. I love telling that story. Or the time Kerry and I broke the rock bench and almost died laughing at breakfast. Stories it is safe to tell most people.
There are stories you can only tell to the people in them, because they make fuck all sense to anyone else. You could ask maybe 3 people about Julian’s loafers and socks and have them understand. But those 3 people will always smile at the memory.
I share some great memories with a couple of people who probably take as much delight in sharing them as I do. Tales of driving across America in a van with one gear, freewheeling down hills to cool off the engine. Tales of lifting fridges, of staying up all night to stop the kids sneaking out, tales of random underwear runs onto sleeping peoples beds. These are some of my favourite memories; maybe sometime they will be shared.
There are stories you can tell work colleagues, and stories you can tell a certain group of friends. Some of the best stories will remain untold until they are forgotten, or finally find an audience. For me most of that audience may never exist, relegated to people who read the odd story I write, or those who read this blog.
I will hopefully filter these stories into versions suitable for reading; those that I think may be of interest to more than the people in them, or that work generally as anecdotes.
Like many people I have some great memories which are destined to stay memories and never be told to anyone, for whatever reason…
Sunday 2 August 2009
Here's To The Night..
After a request from one of my readers, more tales from camp.
This one comes from the summer of 2002. For those following at home, that is the second year I went out to Philly.
This one comes from the summer of 2002. For those following at home, that is the second year I went out to Philly.
Picture the scene, had a great time the first summer at JK, decided to come back for a second. This time bringing my closest friend from Uni with me, Alix. So we sent all our papers off to the embassy, just waiting for the return of our passports, newly printed with J-1 visas. This is slap in the middle of the World Cup. I’m up at 7am to watch England vs. Nigeria from Japan I think, the postman comes pretty early, game still going on, brings me my passport. Game on! I call Alix, we buy plane tickets, last minute so not cheap but fuck it, let’s just get there? So we get flights for the next morning, I recall maybe 11am, or somewhere around there from Gatwick. Now, I’m in Selby as usual, a fair way from Gatwick, and I’m online checking for buses and trains to get me to Gatwick. It is either going to be ridiculously expensive or I’m going to get a bus at 11pm and arrive at Gatwick at around 9am, after changing buses 3 times.
So I give in a call my dad. Long story regarding the background there so I’ll leave it, but we have not been particularly close at this point. I need to be at Gatwick for maybe 8am the next morning and a lift would be great. He is working the night shift that night. So I say no worries, I’ll just get the bus, long public transport journeys don’t bother me. He calls me back 20 minutes later and has the night shift covered, can take me but we will need to be leaving around 11pm because he needs to get there and back by first thing. Again, not a problem. So we drive to Gatwick, arriving some time around 3 if memory serves me correctly. I’ve arranged to meet Alix there at 8am, her coming up from Portsmouth and all. So I go to sleep at Gatwick, big rucksack under my seat, feet rested on it so no one can steal it, hugging my hand luggage! I know, attractive huh?
I’ll jump forward a bit but by the time we get on the plane I have been awake for 28 hours roughly. I decide to watch Lord Of The Rings on the little screen in front of me. Big mistake, phenomenally dull and quite hard to stay awake to; after all, it’s just a load of walking. Alix is not well, so she is whining most of the way there. I don’t really get ill so I’m not a sympathetic care giver.
Anyway, we finally land at Philadelphia Airport, to find they have lost Alix’s bag. Great. We spent ages sorting that out, I call camp and see if anyone is around to come pick us up. They tell me someone will be there soon. So we loiter.
A little white car pulls up, and a fucking humungous grin cracks my face, when Alyssa and Heather get out of the car. I love these two people and I was in a pretty cranky mood by this point. Cheered me up no end!
We drive back to Haverford, me spotting loads of beloved landmarks on the way, the Barnes & Noble, the dirty fleapit cinema I used on my days off, things like that.
So the hours count is up around 35 hours awake at this point, pretty much demented and delirious by the time we hit those dorms. A quick hug for the familiar and much loved faces, followed by a massive intro to loads of people with names I remember now, but then, no chance. I do distinctly remember seeing Mark, and getting a big hug, told I have a big room to myself then a big blur of faces. All I wanted was a shower and a kip! The other thing that does stick in my memory is meeting BJ. I know that sounds wrong, but I had heard stories of this really cool guy the year before, named BJ. I met him and he told me to go to bed and say hi properly in the morning.
I took a quick shower and then of course, could not get to sleep, so spent the night helping Mark and Wiaan make up room allocations. Back up 6 hours later…welcome back to Enrichment!
Anyway, we finally land at Philadelphia Airport, to find they have lost Alix’s bag. Great. We spent ages sorting that out, I call camp and see if anyone is around to come pick us up. They tell me someone will be there soon. So we loiter.
A little white car pulls up, and a fucking humungous grin cracks my face, when Alyssa and Heather get out of the car. I love these two people and I was in a pretty cranky mood by this point. Cheered me up no end!
We drive back to Haverford, me spotting loads of beloved landmarks on the way, the Barnes & Noble, the dirty fleapit cinema I used on my days off, things like that.
So the hours count is up around 35 hours awake at this point, pretty much demented and delirious by the time we hit those dorms. A quick hug for the familiar and much loved faces, followed by a massive intro to loads of people with names I remember now, but then, no chance. I do distinctly remember seeing Mark, and getting a big hug, told I have a big room to myself then a big blur of faces. All I wanted was a shower and a kip! The other thing that does stick in my memory is meeting BJ. I know that sounds wrong, but I had heard stories of this really cool guy the year before, named BJ. I met him and he told me to go to bed and say hi properly in the morning.
I took a quick shower and then of course, could not get to sleep, so spent the night helping Mark and Wiaan make up room allocations. Back up 6 hours later…welcome back to Enrichment!
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