International Writers Magazine:
my age if I can start the day by not falling over when pulling on
my y fronts, I reckon its a good omen. If, when
approaching my computer I find that I've remembered to put the mouse
on charge overnight, and not left it languishing on the desk, dead,
thats even better.
if theres a vestige of memory left re the wonderful idea that
blossomed into a fantastic story line, just before utter stupefaction
enveloped me in bed last night, its bloody fantastic.
Getting the caffeine
and nicotine intake up to the required levels, for the most exciting
bit of authoring to explode into the literary world, since Ernie Hemingway
pounded the keys, can be accomplished whilst waiting for the computer
to start up.
Now the battle commences. Shall we just have a quick look at the e-mails,
or leave it until later. Tuning into a decent radio station, playing
non-thought preventing music is OK, but what about a quick look at the
news headlines, but then who wants to start the day in an air of mortal
At this stage of the proceedings, Ive found the hardest temptation
is succumbing to the irresistible force of just having a quick game
of Spider or Free Cell, just to get the brain moving.
This must be resisted at all costs. Just go to the statistics on the
game panel and see how many hours, days and even weeks have been spent
over the last year, getting the brain moving
you know Im
No. Let me at least get the essence of the idea down in print. Microsoft
Word is summoned up, and you try and rattle the fast fading memory banks
while the computer goes through its
well whatever it has to go
through, for a blank document.
About this time, you can hear movement around the home. Before youve
finished flexing your fingers, ready for the undoubted blockbuster that
is about to burst onto your screen, the nostrils are assailed with family
members brewing real coffee and slightly burnt toast ejaculating from
the toaster. Then the saliva inducing smell of grilling bacon invades
your senses and the sound of eggs sizzling away in the frying pan adds
its attack on the taste buds.. Its almost more than the body can
bear. You summon up the last trace of self-control and return to the
Right, all temptation has been overcome. The mind is set. The fingers
poised. Then a tinkling piano reverberates through the speakers. This
starts a train of sub conscious thought, which manifests itself directly
into the bladder. No amount of mental blocking procedures can overcome
this sensation. A quick squirm and well chose expletives help, not at
all. Give in, but heres the rub. The road to relief is by way
of the kitchen, and coffee and bacon and hot buttered toast and eggs
Again, as you rush past the open kitchen door, the temptation to succumb
is overcome with help from the aforementioned bladder, and you make
the bathroom still determined to resist all enticement.
An hour later, replenished with bacon, toast, four eggs and two cups
of freshly ground coffee, you again sit down at the computer, look up
and see a blank page. Which just about reflects your memory banks
recollection of the most fantastic story line in history.
Of course the way back to idea regurgitation is a game or two of Solitaire.
That always gets the brain back into gear
Vaguely, the thought that a story concerning falling over whilst dressing,
flutters though the mists of fluttering card induced anaesthesia
But soon fades.
(600 words for the record)
© CHRIS CHAPMAN
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