Must be literate

Do your thing A.R.


Sit down to catch it
flex fingers, light cigarette,
open document
Phone rings

No, thank you
I do not want your steam
cleaning or gym
membership

Paragraph waits, cursor
blinks. Page thinks
get some coffee
phone rings.

Hello caller yes
I know. I’ll see what I
can do of course.
Yes, OK.

Hatchling paragraph flails,
threatens suicide, last chance
catch me now
or else

Gate commotion
arrivals, departures, small
talk, strange weather
we’re having

Phone rings, sorry
she’s not in or wrong number
all day this way.
Sluice paragraph

People are just
doing their thing I’m sure
but because of it,
I can’t



Stephen King says that unless you’re brave enough to shut the door, you won’t. Along with a shut (and bolted, and lead-lined, and bulletproof, and sealed, and bricked up) door, I’m thinking that it might be an idea to build an underground bunker in the middle of a haunted forest. The kind with booby-traps and stuff, and a string sort of thing attached to a catty for pelting hollow-point haycorns at that deranged, lost, unwitting type of intruder who manages to make it through the asp moat by sheer luck. But then, you might spend so much time on defence and paranoia that you wouldn’t get any writing done anyway.

Mr King also said that being married is part of what helps him be so prolific. Yes, I can see how that might work for him. A wife is a useful thing. A good one will feed you, proofread, rescue manuscripts from the bin/laundry/dog, bring tea, keep the children quiet and away from that closed door, screen phone calls (“Dear, this is one you’ll want to take. It’s the publisher, he wants to know how you’d prefer your million buck advance – cheque or cash?”) and generally facilitate your entire career.

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Aspiring writer seeks good stay at home wife. Must be literate. Must be strict with children and dogs. Contact Audrey ASAP

In recovery... all apologies

I have survived another festive season and lived to tell the tale. Was mightily amused by so many people's shock-horror response to the fact that instead of Merry Christmas all over the place we now have Happy Holidays and Festive Greetings. They are feeling marginalised and unholy. They should be glad, instead, that the Silent Night version of Christmas is thus unhooked from commerce's global Santa Baby version.

Made New Year resolutions: Stop smoking, drink only 1 glass of wine per day, stop complaining. Stupid to make those kinds of resolutions anyhow. Scratch resolutions.
Revised resolution: listen to classical music properly. With headphones on. Stop insulting genius by turning it into background music. Buy proper CDs, and not compilations. Get to properly know at least three composers deeply this year. As opposed to sticking the compilation CD in the tray and thinking, well this is so nice, but never knowing what it is. I got a Grieg CD, and was amazed to find that I know all this music, I just didn't know it was him. That is terrible. Soundproof room if necessary, to block out ever-pervasive Greenday/nirvana/system-of-a-down/etc which is downside of having fifteen and seventeen-year-old kids and all their strange friends in house. Is this music good for them? I know, I know, if it's too loud you're too old but it's the content that bothers me more. Oh really? So Nine Inch Nails and White Zombie et al was all peace love and flowers back then or what? Resolution addendum: remember that you also listened to stuff that freaked people out and had them convinced you were turning into a sociopath. Resolution addendum addendum: Stop worrying about kids so much, they will be fine. Just hide the NIN and WZ where kids can't find them so can't copy them secretly. Mental Note: Secretly borrow Nirvana etc when kids are out, and copy.

I found this on my fridge:

I
wish
I
could
fly
with
a
little
music
and
go
mad

The magnetic poetry has been there since I can’t remember when – I don’t know how all those small blue words survived, with moving so many times; and small nephews; puppies; careless mops and such. It’s become part of the kitchen scenery, odd little conglomerations of words, which fall off and get slapped back on again to read things like, “friend by dream give dance summer”.
So when I read, “I wish I could fly with a little music and go mad” while getting the milk, I had a little leap of faith because someone has been consciously making poems on the fridge while getting the milk. This makes me happy. Besides, it’s a lovely poem. I get that poem, I really get it. In fact, that’s what led to my revised New Year’s resolution.

A happy belated new year to everyone, let’s see what comes.
Welcome Beeb (sis, is that you?) :-)