I’m writing, though quite *what* I’m writing, I daren’t qualify. If you make it through to the end and discover some kind of point, let me know.
I just finished reading an absolute PIG of a post…no, really – Yvonne wrote it on purpose to suggest manners in which the (figuratively) bunged-up writer could unblock and begin to (literally) let the words flow again. Of course, a few tweets later and the whole thing had turned to crap (well, toilet humour at any rate, when autocorrect decided it wanted to play, too) and meanwhile I had a psycho twitter stalker to fend off, and a Facebook thread full of hysterical bloggers to entertain after someone said something about riding a skeleton, which rapidly disintegrated into ‘bone-r’ jokes (it was very humerus…)…where was I?
The point of Yvonne’s post was (possibly) that one should simply write, if one is a writer (or purporting to be) and in ownership of a blog. She did also say something about journals and pieces of paper and actual-for-reals pens and ink but I paid no attention to that, because actually the blank screen helps me. I can touch-type* and the thoughts can flow from brain to page with very little interruption (such as getting irritated with myself for my ridiculous handwriting). That being said, there’s no guarantee that the resultant writing will be any better formed than that which might have been on page, for the content is probably much the same. That is to say, circular, full of extraneous, overcomplicated wordyisms** and pretty much pointless.
Except – get this! – the *point* of the exercise is in the doing. Purely that.
The entire redeeming feature of putting nib to paper (or pixel to screen, as it so happens) is an end in itself and as such seems totally justifiable.
Apart from the publishing. That’s just cruelty, because it seems inevitable that there will be a number of unsuspecting folk lured over here expecting something well-thunk-out, ‘Considering-y’ and burnished gold around the edges with beauty and glitter – the kind of writing I like to flaunt when I’m in That Place of hyperdrives and mojo and goodness knows what else…alas – no burnish here – more an offering along the lines of…hmmm…those times when you *really* need a book to read, and from sheer desperation you resort to reading the backs of packaging because it’s the only thing within reach which has words, but the words themselves still manage to soothe you, and you croon yourself happy wrapping your mind around the honeyed syllables and crunchy consonant-clusters of things like “monosodium triglutenate”, “aqua pura” or “dihydrogen monoxide”.
To those disappointed unsuspecting amongst you, I have this to say – [comment removed by wordpress.com]
And to YOU (for I assume that you, reading this, right now, are not one of those disappointed unsuspecting, but rather one of the adaptable ones, whose expectations of my writing are flexible enough to adapt to something which may well be utter tripe masquerading as an experiment to see what smoke gets blown where, or whether it’s plausible to claim redemption for a post purely based off the number of circles in which it writes) I have this to say – thanks.
Thanks for sticking with this so far – goodness knows it’s been rather a trip inside (and outside – don’t forget these thoughts *weren’t* supposed to go anywhere, until my preference for pixels and my endless need for validation got in the way) my writer brain [and if I might take you on a parallel for a moment – my friend Salty posted her methodolinogical approach to writing
, and she almost said the n-word***, then called me brainy and said something about clouds (not all in the same place – that would be silly), but the point is this – I did that post in APRIL, yo! and as much as I’m a little astonished to see the meme continues, I’m also prepared to jump back in with this, as an adjunct or otherwise superfluous tangential, to suggest that on occasion, it’s possible to write something with so much BS, no-one will suspect it makes no sense, even when it does (mostly in the white areas, between sentences).] and I hope you appreciate it for that, if nothing else.
Thanks for coming over in the first place – was it the title which grabbed your attention? Or the fact that I’m super-famous for being such a gud riter? Either way, I’m glad you’re here****.
Thanks for being the reason I wrote – ancient wisdom passed down to me by your friendly, neighbourhood Dilettante
not so long ago consisted entirely of this: “Consider your audience” – I thought of you; YOU, there behind your screen, with your synapses firing all skew-whiff now you’ve spent valuable brainpower processing this. Perhaps those neural pathways needed a workout – sometimes there’s just not enough crazy in life and a frisson of added nutty-bunniness just rounds it off nicely.
And just thanks, whoever you are, for having gotten to this point. I’d turn the post into a hidden giveaway (and by ‘hidden’, I mean deeply-buried) but the last giveaway I did turned out to be a total bust. Or the one before did. One of them, where I hid it in plain sight and no-one joined in at all (“But ‘ow did zat make you feel?” the Dilettante intoned, earlier. Crappy, is how it made me feel, and as though I’d been writing into a black hole.) So I won’t. Unless, quite suddenly I do, and decide that the frist person to include something totally bonkers in their comment and make me laugh will win a heretofore undisclosed secret-surprize-prize.
So here I am. At the end of a piece of – can I call this ‘writing’? If you’re sure it’s not an insult to, yaknow, *actual* writing – whatever it was I wrote while I was all ‘#AmWriting’ and pretending, for a time, to be Da Bomb.
*Okay, I can mostly touch-type…sometimes I might try to italicise something and open a file instead, using some magical key-prompt I never knew existed and couldn’t possibly replicate because I wasn’t watching my damn fingers.
**It’s my blog and I’ll neologise if I want to.
***NOVEL, you dunce – what kind of person do you think she is? SHAME ON YOU if you thunk anything else! We’re just not actually *saying* the n-word because saying it makes it feel real, which also feels kinda silly when really this is only playing at writing and definitely, above all else (and particularly on the content of this post) Not Real.
***If you’re here because you know me and clicked over in the misguided notion that I had something sensible to say, or just because you like me, you’re excused.
Parting shot, for those interested parties…this made me feel less like a kid playing pretend (that was yesterday’s post, which I thoroughly enjoyed, for all the silly beauty of it) and more like I should have found the decency to write this in crayon. On craft paper. With glitter-glue. But there was over 1100 words, so CLEARLY I *wrote* and based on the original assumption, that’s still worthwhile. So the jury’s out until I see what kind of feedback I get (seriously – you could win a prize…be awesome (or is that cheating? (I could invalidate the validity of my search for validation at this rate! (shocking, I know (perhaps not-so-secretly I’d just rather be liked (and if that means being considered a bit bonkers (which I am – let’s face it (how many people do *you* know with this much passion for stacked parentheses?!)) then so be it))))))