A Writer's Life

Like A Cold You Came In...An illusion

Your Voice, Your Memory...All Inside My Head

Melting Into You...Destiny So Cruel

Story is ticking along nicely. Things falling into place slowly. Not the whole thing. Never the whole thing. Where’s the fun in that? Just enough to know what the next few scenes are about. So far, only an hour of TV a day and no radio outside of the bathroom. Even though I may only sit down to write for an hour throughout the whole day, that hour will have been thought about a lot. It’s far-fetched to think that after watching Graham Norton, or listening to Pete Price, or being brainwashed by trashy but excellently done music videos, I can expect to sit down and flow straight into an uninterrupted page of fluent script. Not happening.

To anyone who has ever spent a day or two in police cells, they will know that you only have your own mind for entertainment. Imagine how much ‘deep thinking’ Charles Bronson has done. I’ve never freely meditated this much before, out of choice. It’s because I don’t want to write any old bollocks. I want to know what’s coming next. I want to figure it out. And that requires thought. Typing this blog passage with some tunes on is bliss, all of a sudden! I am rich. If you have access to a tap, so are you. Figuratively speaking.

I’m writing bits n bobs on a table squeezed in the kitchen, in the library, in the cafe, and the pub’s next (although I better be careful because it’s 53 days without a tipple). This’ll be done within a few months. I’m living this one. Knowing it’s coming, later, even if only a couple of paragraphs, is comforting. I’d rather be doing something else, to be honest, but this is the way it is. I’m not too distant from a police cell, in a sense. I can’t do what I want, anyway, so I’m far from free. Not in the truest meaning of the word. Who is though?

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Enough. Did you hear about that 10 year old boy in the news who hung himself? They’re blaming the anti-depressants he was on. Even I know not to prescribe drugs to a boy of that age! That G.P takes the expression ‘Dr Feelgood’ to a whole new sinister level! What a tragedy. I didn’t know I was BORN, aged 10. Seriously. My consciousness hadn’t kicked in yet. To not only want to die, but go ahead and swing, at that age? WOW.

And what about the 18 year old who stabbed the 14 year old girl? See the picture of her? Who in their right mind would want to repeatedly stab a pretty young thing like that? I bet it was over something stupid.

"To all my niggas and my boys, my hoes and my tricks and my pimps, I bid you a jolly Sabbath."