blog – Page 3 – Captain's Log

Freewriting…

Free writing

The spontaneous and unfocused vomit of words upon a blank page. Sounds awesome! So how does it work?

Apparently I just stare out of the window or something and write whatever comes into my head. I’m not to think about it though. I am finding this a tad hard this morning as a there is a cat hopping all over my lap, kneading my legs and arms. Occasionally he’ll slip and drag his razor claws down my thigh. If I put him on the floor he sits under my legs. This is bad as I am only wearing a robe, which by the way is my name for a dressing gown. I worry he may look up and see something temptingly dangling and take a swipe. I can picture the blood dripping now, red and wet, warm perhaps and congealing quick. I’ll have to bandage it and clean it myself because there is no way on earth I’ll present myself at the local emergency department with a lacerated cock. I work there for Christ sake.

What the hell was that? Its not quite what I thought it would be, this free writing thing but I am surprised how quickly the words flooded out. I may do this again, without the cat. Tomorrow perhaps. The point is, I have only been up for maybe twenty minutes, and here I am tap tapping away at 7am. Usually I would be up for at least two hours before finding the strength(?) to sit down in front of my computer and start writing.

One of the things new writers will struggle with is the fear that what they write will be utter shite and that any effort is only ever going to be a waste of time and energy. This is a daemon of your own psyche and needs to be shot in the face the moment it rears its ugly head. The dreaded white page of emptiness, writers block, call it what you will, there are treatments for these maladies. Free writing is one such treatment, and although it might not allow you to keep going with that story you’ve been struggling with for weeks, it will begin to free your mind and let the words tumble out. I cannot describe how good it feels to pour words out onto a bank page and watch it fill. Think of it as a kind of therapy whereby the physical act of pumping out words helps you get back into that zone in your mind, you know the one. It’s the one that makes you feel like a real writer. Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what crap is coming out but I don’t let that bother me. I know there could be some hidden gems within that mound of raw material, and I’ll dig them out when I come to re-write.

DiamondInTheRoughBusiness — I am the Aladdin of the blank page!

Freewriting is worth having a pop at. Try it for just two minutes – you’ll be surprised how much you can put down in just 120 seconds and even more surprised to learn a bit more about how your mind actually works. Don’t think about what it is your writing, just stare out of a window, into a guttering flame, at the bubbles sending you morse code in your coke, it doesn’t matter. Let them out however they come and you’ll be amazed at what happens.

The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Dog…

Fox — That damn fox makes it look so easy…

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

Will this work? Will getting up at the crack of dawn and beginning the tap tap tapedy tap regime stimulate my creative juices? Or will I sit here and stare at the dreaded white page for half the morning before doing all or a combination of the following…

Must get a 1000 words done/need a cup of tea first/just check my email/what’s up on Facebook?/click on that YouTube link/hmm its lunchtime/the muse is not with me… I’ll watch a movie to inspire me/perhaps going to the gym will help/I’ll never be a writer/I’m giving up for the day.

I suppose the fact that I am up and I am getting words down is worth something. I notice a hell of a difference in my ability to get those words down if I have so much as a few days off. Perhaps habit does feed the craft?

Well, I have a lot to do today. Today’s target is a meagre 2000 words but if I achieve that it will be double what I achieved yesterday.

Right then, I suppose the only thing left for me to do now is to crack on and get to work.

Is that grass over there greener?

Danny threw the response bag down and slumped heavily into the attendant’s chair. He looked bitter and thoroughly pissed off as he swung his booted feet up onto the stretcher. I sat down in another chair and waited. I could sense a rant coming on and knew Danny well enough to know it was imminent. A long sigh cut the silence like a knife as Danny finally lost his rag.

‘Dude, I’m so sick of this job. Today is the first day in two weeks that I’ve actually been put on a shift with a paramedic. I’ve had nothing but drivers for eight shifts!’

‘Really? That sucks.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s just shit at the moment. We get sent to crap all day long, then I have to do everything because my driver is just so useless its offensive, and when I get a sick patient and I ask for paramedic backup I get told there aren’t any available.’

I nodded without saying anything. I knew there was more to come.

‘It’s just not fair. How am I supposed to develop as a clinician in my own right when the only two people on this bloody ambulance are the driver and me? Who do I learn from? Or am I just supposed to make it up as I go and learn from my mistakes, because I’ll tell you this… patients don’t like mistakes.’

I smiled. ‘You’re right there mate.’

‘Yeah! I know!’

‘So why are you so upset now? You’ve got me today.’

He sat and thought, a confused look etched on his face. ‘I don’t know really. I guess it’s because even though you’re here and you can deal with the sick patients, it’s still going to be me doing everything, all the dog’s work I mean.’

‘I see. Well, I don’t mind doing everything mate. Seriously, pop your feet up. Actually, you just drive me around and I’ll sort the shit out as it comes.’

He sighed again. ‘Thanks mate, but you know me. I won’t let anyone shoulder my workload. That’s not me.’

‘Things aren’t going to get any better you know, what with the cuts coming.’

‘Easy for you to say mate. You could drop out of here anytime you want and go and work on your farm instead. I’ll be here till I retire.’

‘Bollocks mate. What did you do before this?’

‘I was a pharmacist. Well, I worked in a pharmacy, as a pharmacist’s technician.’

‘So you could go and do that again. You’re not trapped mate.’

He started to pack things back into the response bag. Where things were date stamped, he’d check it. I couldn’t remember checking a date on any consumable in over five years. He found a number of cannulas and needles that were out of date, and I’m guessing, no longer sterile. He threw them away and went back to his systematic check, pack, check, pack routine. Danny was good like that, dependable. You knew if you took over an ambulance from him it would be spotless. Nothing would be missing. No patient would suffer because a piece of equipment wasn’t available or it wasn’t cleaned properly. Nothing got past Danny. His movements slowed and he stared off into the distance as he spoke again.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘you forget the reasons you left in the first place. I feel like it would be taking a step backward if I was to go back to working there.’

I thought about that for moment and then, with a smile I said, ‘Not unless you’d taken a step forward into a hole. It would only be right to extricate yourself in that case wouldn’t it?’

He laughed. I laughed.

‘I see what you’re saying. Thing is though, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’ He looked sad again. ‘For me though, it’s a case of old grass or no grass.’

If I had the power…

Today, whilst being chauffeured about in an ambulance by my ‘driver’ I took in the sights as we drove through my local town centre. Some of the highlights included:

A queue of people waiting outside the job centre, not looking for a job, but collecting their dole money.
A queue of people (well, more of a disordered rabble really. Well, actually they looked more like swaying zombies to be truthful) waiting outside a premises to get their methadone fix.

Does this look fun to you?

Several groups of eastern Europeans dancing in the street, chugging on bottles of cider and whiskey. Note: this observation is not specific to eastern Europeans. The English are just as bad, only they tend to only come out at night or else they stay behind closed doors and drink themselves stupid.

A typical ‘Benefit’ party.

Now, I may be about to get controversial and so let me state that these are only observations of a few people, and do not reflect my views on entire cultures, ethnic groups, race etc. That is to say, I am not intending to tar a group of people with a large brush, only a minority who for all intents are shit bags.

So, I got to thinking about how I ‘if I had the POWER’, would deal with these problems. This is what I would do:

I would make every single person claiming dole, benefits, job seekers allowance… whatever, provide a urine sample on the premises. If you’re drunk, or under the influence of drugs, you can bugger off until your clean. There are people who work certain kinds of jobs (on oil rigs for example) who cannot work and therefore cannot get paid and thereby pay taxes unless they provide a clean sample of urine. If they have to be clean to earn it, so should every other fucker be.
Ah, the heroin addicts. What to do with them? I say, let them have their drugs. But… add a little something to it. Something that will give them, I don’t know, a severe groin itch that lasts a week. They take these drugs because of the hit it gives them. Trying to block drugs entering the country won’t work. A real addict will only turn to crime or seek his drugs from dubious sources. In my view, the only way to combat this is to make the drugs undesirable, and I think an itchy groin will make a few think twice.

Also, cigarettes… I’d add something that makes their head glow fluorescent green. (Oh, I used to be a smoker, but now I am cured. I’ve seen the light.) I think many would give up immediately if they had go round looking like a Martian for the day. Thinking about it, I’d add this head glow thing to all drugs. I know drug addicts are fairly easy to spot anyway but I say shame them. Make them glow. Make doing drugs so un-cool that its cooler to avoid them altogether.

Well, I think we can all agree that none of these things will ever happen. There’s probably some mad law that would mean this sort of thing violates Human Rights or something. Almost as mad as say, paying these people benefits and handouts so that they can go out and buy more drugs.

What a crazy world.

M J

And the winner is… Me!

I found this post in draft form on my hard drive today whilst wondering what on Earth to write about today. It goes like that sometimes doesn’t it? You have to write just to get the words out but know that you might write utter shite in that same effort. Me’h, I don’t care. The fact I’m sitting here pumping the words out and not playing with my urethra tells me I have chosen the more productive of options.

So, what have I won? Well, it would appear I am in possession of a golden ticket for the upcoming Black Library Weekender…

Black Library (Click Me!) — Clicky clicky…

… to be held in Nottingham later this year. I think there were only eighteen of these bad boys on offer and so I feel justified in my glee. Having been a fairly big fan of the Games Workshop and more specifically its publishing arm, the Black Library, for many a year now this event to me is a big deal. Seriously, when I knew I had won a ticket I was as happy as this guy…

Baby. — The fart decimated the area around him for twenty yards and blew a hole straight through his underwear, but everyone agreed it was worth looking this pleased about.

The weekend promises to be crazy fun and I know I’ll enjoy it but there’s two main reasons why I want to go:

I get to meet the authors, poke them and see if they really are human.
I get to have a twenty-minute chat with an editor. This is the big one for me. You spend your whole writing life trying to get your shit in front of editors and so this is just too good to pass up. The total expense of buying the ticket, booking the hotel and estimating the amount of booze I’m likely to get through is going to be a tad on the heavy side but I’m hoping it’s going to be worth it. If nothing else, maybe they’ll take a look at my stuff and tell me to try origami instead. I could argue that I’m pretty good at the ‘paper ball’ already but doubtless they’ll show me how to make an even more aerodynamic one using my own manuscript. Awesome.

I made a total arse of myself the other day when I called to book the hotel. You know those moments where subconsciously you’re saying to yourself, nay, shouting to yourself ‘DON’T BE AN ARROGANT ARSE’, but you just can’t help it? I had a moment.

‘Hello. Is that the Belfry Hotel?’

‘Yes sir, it certainly is, what can I do for you today?’

‘I’d like to book a room please. I arrive on the Friday and would like to stay for three nights, leaving on the Monday.’

‘Okay, let me see what we have available.’

‘Oh, I should mention that it’s for the Black Library Weekender.’

‘Oh right? Do they have a corporate rate here at the Belfry?’

‘Err, yes. Did I mention my golden ticket?’

‘No sir. What ticket is that?’

‘I have a golden ticket. There was only eighteen. I have one.’

‘Okay sir, I’m not seeing any concessions for a golden ticket.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. I was just saying, you know, that I have one… a golden one.’

‘Okay sir…’

‘There was only eighteen and I have one.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

I’ve no idea why I felt the need to apologise to the girl but I don’t know, I sounded like an arse in my head. Hopefully, she won’t be working the day I check in and I won’t have to pretend I’m blind again. Pretending to be blind by the way, although morally ambiguous is bloody good laugh. I used to work as a life guard in a swimming pool and as you do, I wore shades just about all day. My colleague was in on the joke too. Every so often, especially during busy periods one of would get up from our ‘chair of sexiness’, pick up a white stick which we kept next to the chair and walk up and down the poolside sweeping the stick back and forth. Whoever’s turn it was not to be waving the stick would watch the reaction on parents face as they pointed and gasped. A blind lifeguard eh? Priceless.
Oh one last thing. Whilst running a spell checker in WordPress, I was a little dismayed to have it come up with this alternative:

Sexless — There’s no fooling this computer is there?

Is scary how accurate this actually is. I don’t believe either of us got any action through sitting on that chair.

M 🙂

Iron Man faints at the gym!

A bizarre title you might say but it was a bizarre series of events if I’m honest.

I’ll make this a quick one as I have already blogged today, but this made me laugh so here you go.

I have a suit of armour in my front lounge. I say front lounge as though I have more than one but I don’t. I have a tiny lounge, and my knight stands in the corner glaring at people as they enter the room. I’m seriously thinking of fitting a little microphone thing inside his helm and saying ‘NONE SHALL PASS’ to whoever comes to visit me.

He was almost menacing. Almost… until you spot the rubber gloves.

That would be cool right? But I digress.

A friend and his autistic son came and visited me today to drop off some goat food (Yes, I have goats.) and the young lad was in awe of my suit of armour. He kept poking it which causes my eye to twitch in what I presume is irritation and barely restrained gorilla rage. He keeps poking until it starts to sway at which point I feel the need to ask them both to leave. The father was somewhat embarrassed and I kind of feel bad, but hey… nobody pokes my knight in the groin.

A little while later I receive a text message from the father, firstly apologising and secondly telling me that his son thinks I am Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Now I found this to be hugely cool. I have never been a hero before, even in my dreams. (Yes, I have been a Jedi.) To make things even cooler, my wife also bumped into them and the son asked her if I was a superhero. Ever up for a practical joke she simply replied, ‘Oh I wouldn’t be allowed to answer that. Superhero’s need to have a disguise, don’t they?’

She said his face lit up as though he were the only one in the world to know my secret. Priceless.

So, I am now a superhero in the eyes of an autistic child. Now, superhero’s need to look pretty super. They have to look all muscular and strong so that the baddies know they’ve picked on the wrong guy, and so I went down the gym. Now it’s important to remember a few facts here.

I am now an approved superhero.
I have not been to the gym in at least six months.
The Olympics is on and they play it on huge screens in the gym, egging you on to greater feats of endurance and godliness.

I only did half an hour and boy did I feel as though I’d run for a week and lifted every rock and stone of Hadrian’s Wall. I left the gym and I have to say I was feeling pretty good until I stepped outside. My wife met me (as she had been swimming) and said that my lips were grey and that I had less colour than paper. I have to admit to feeling rather ill. We drove home as quickly as possible where upon getting in the house I promptly collapsed. My wife tells me I had no pulse at my wrist at this time and had it not been for my pitiful cries I could have been dead. Not a good look. Thank god the autistic kid didn’t see that.

Right, that’s it for today. I need my rest. Hopefully my dignity will grow back as I sleep.

M J

A Tower of Tampons

I hate shopping. No, that’s no fair. I am bored by shopping. So very bored.

Yawn…. We’ve heard all of this before… Why should I read any further?

Well you don’t have to, but if you stay I’ll share with you how it is that I get through a shopping trip with the wife.

Many men hate/loath/fear being dragged around Tesco or where ever for the weekly food shop. Me too, but secretly, I’m really starting to look forward to it. Now its an opportunity for me to come up with new and inventive ways to make a nuisance of myself and generally be as unhelpful and childish as possible.

It all started during a trip to a local DIY store. I was outstandingly bored to the point that I found myself staring in mock disgust at other men, other men who were nodding enthusiastically at their wives selection of lamp or curtain pole. On one occasion a chap caught me staring at him, my face a twisted sneer of loathing and he stood stock still. I imagine the awful realisation of what he had become was dawning upon him as his arms, outstretched as they were and clutching a carpet held up to catch the light from various angles, slowly lowered as he stared back at me. I could see the momentary change in his gaze as we shared a moment of understanding. What had we become? In my mind I wondered what a warrior Celt or roman soldier would have done when confronted with a choice of fabric to put on his humble homes floor. I imagine he would have back handed the woman to the floor, roared like an enraged god and then charged out into the ice wind to seek enemies to smite. He would return speckled with blood and carrying the bloody corpse of a slain lion – actually, two lions, one in each hand. The woman would then gratefully show her respect by prancing about naked and making ‘cute’ gasps of delight as our hero describes the lions final moments. Needless to say she would then except her reward for being a good and dutiful wife through the medium of a proper deep throating.

Er…. I digress.

So this guy sees my sneer of disgust and knows instantly that I think he’s a thumb crushed wimp of a man, but what’s this? His look of shock and recent dejection changes. It warps before my very eyes into one of a wry smile, grows into something more before finally, he beams in abject triumph. I follow his gaze and turn to see my own wife. She is holding a curtain rail in each hand and waiting for my judgement.

Sigh.

She sees me squeeze my eyes closed and assumes I am thinking really hard about which rail to choose but I’m not. I’m trying to hold on to the memory of me as a heroic Celt warrior being noshed silly by a grateful nymph and yet the dream drifts away – mere smoke through my grasping spastic fingers. In its place I see a pathetic looking man, naked and limp. He is sad as he looks at me and points where his beautiful naked nymph once stood. There stands a cackling witch and in her hand she holds a curtain rail shaped wand.

Sigh.

And so I grow angry, and then mischievous. We walk to another isle where a row of plungers catches my eye. I walk along the row pushing each and every plunger down so that it suctions to its shelf. Then I retire a little further up the isle and await some poor fool to walk into my trap. Behold! My first victim arrives and assuming nothing is amiss he tries to pluck up a plunger without even breaking stride. His stroll is suddenly arrested as the plunger refuses to move and he almost pulls himself off his own feet. As anyone would, he looks around quickly to see if anyone has noticed and sees me sniggering to myself. He shakes his head at me and reaches for another only to be thwarted a second time. I continue to snigger, only a little louder and my obvious mirth appears to challenge him. He places one foot on the shelf and for some reason unknown heaves with all of his might. I’m not sure how much suction he thought was holding those plungers down but the amount of effort he applied was probably a tad too much. The plunger, obviously, relinquishes its grip and the man, plunger in hand stumbles backward into the opposite isle.

I can barely stand, such is my amusement.

After that episode I spent many hours considering other schemes to amuse myself.

Hiding with the trolly is always a good one. I usually do this after my wife has just been down the pet food aisle and so carrying two cases of cat food. Watching her struggle to carry them around the shop and red with rage is priceless.

My best one so far though has go to be this. My wife has a fear of tampons. I don’t know if it’s the word ‘tampon’ or if it’s actually the thought that anyone who sees them will know she’s on her period but it still makes her bury them in the shopping trolly. This always amuses me. One day, I feigned interest and walked around the shop with her. I didn’t do any of my usual tricks or jokes and she assumed I’d finally grown up. When we got to the checkout she went to the packing bit and started to pack the bags while I proceeded to construct my masterpiece. I was getting some strange looks from the woman in the queue behind me as instead of laying all my shopping out nicely I proceeded to build a tower of food and other bits and pieces. And yes, you’ve guessed it, I placed her tampons at the top of this tower. I knew I would pay for it a soon as I got home but right there and then I was glowing with pride. The till girl saw what I had done as my massive tampon tower slowly moved toward her. At least she had a sense of humour as she laughed out loud. My wife then noticed and turned a brilliant red. It was awesome.

So you see, shopping doesn’t have to be hell on earth. There are a million and one different ways to make it more interesting, if not a little dangerous, but you get the meaning.

I wish you luck in your endeavours and hope you find as much enjoyment as I have an still do.

Share the Love

I want to say thank you to a fellow blogger. As is the life of those who aspire to write, its only natural you’ll take the odd knock and feel as though your not getting anywhere.

Most will persevere, keep going, and rise above it, content in the knowledge that its all just part of the process.

Yet it helps to have others who are in the same boat as you, perhaps on a similar journey offer a helping hand and some friendly encouragement.

I want to extend a thank you to the author of a blog called The Good Twin. Although it was likely only a passing comment left on my page, it made my day. Incidentally it was also for a post that received the most views I have ever had.

So thank you, Josh.

As a result of this kindly chap stopping by my site, I have returned to blogging with a renewed vigour. Long may it last.

In way of payment I am going to make an effort to read more blogs in my area of interest and try and share the love a bit. I feel good and I’d like to spark that same feeling in others. Especially those who diligently tap away at a cold keyboard, a ghost to the world but for their fleeting bursts of creative output.

I feel for those people, and I’m going to find them.

Share the love people.

M;-)

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