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The International Writers Magazine:

Chris Chapman

At my age if I can start the day by not falling over when pulling on my ‘y’ fronts, I reckon it’s 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, that’s even better. And, if there’s 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, it’s 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 depression.

At this stage of the proceedings, I’ve 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 I’m right.

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 you’ve 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.. It’s almost more than the body can bear. You summon up the last trace of self-control and return to the keyboard.

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 here’s the rub. The road to relief is by way of the kitchen, and coffee and bacon and hot buttered toast and eggs and…

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 bank’s 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…doesn’t it?

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)


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