Thursday, April 07, 2005

Brace yourselves.

I've always wanted to be a writer. Even as a foetus, I yearned to put pen to paper. Even though I consisted of only a handful of cells, I dreamed of having fingers with which to grasp a biro and enough neurons to comprehend the concept of language. Honest.

Okay. Maybe that isn't true. But I used to love the times at school when you got to write anything you wanted to. Usually this meant that the teacher had a lot of marking to do, or wanted to finish off the gin. I'd write thrilling adventure stories filled with dinosaurs, pyramids, mummies, spaceships, and aliens. Generally, they'd involve me being the leader of some expedition with my school friends filling out the parts of lackeys, minions, cannon fodder, and dinosaur chow. Sometimes they'd be illustrated in great detail and crayon.

As school went on, the opportunities for writing things I wanted to write got fewer, and the need to write essays about sewage processing, Laurie Lee's memoirs, and what Romeo really meant increased.

Then came university and maths replaced English as my main method of expressing creativity. Or at least, my main method of displaying my incompetence. I started work, and my mediocrity shone in the medium of Java.

I turned thirty, and wanted to do something I enjoyed instead of churning out dodgy websites that no-one uses. I decided to become a writer. I read every website and book available that gave advice on writing everything from comics to science fiction to literary novels to erotica to sitcoms. I can summarise that advice here: "To be a writer, you need to write."

So, two years later and I still haven't quite understood that advice. Sitting on my arse for a long time doesn't seem to have produced any fabulous works of fiction, apart from a few emails. Hence, this blog. I'm going to write between 500 and 1000 words every day. 500 words of utter nonsense most likely, but my literary muscles need the exercise.

That's it for today. Go away, now.

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