Please.You have to admit its worth seven for effort alone (See previous piece of writing). All those nights sat down with a virgin writing mind staring at the screen with memories of all those famous authors running through my mind of their books stories challenges overcome halting starts small successes then eventual world domination! And I couldn’t even write my name without getting stage fright. But. So. A writer. Someone who writes for a living. Those six words would sit like a drill on a shelf in the garage just waiting for someone or something to light the touchpaper of the firework ‘aspirations and dreams’ then it would scream like drilling into masonry. Then it would all go quiet and I would see that I had managed to gather those essential writing paraphernalia of a pen, notebook and a full packet of fags (I was still a dirty smoker then) Its was like being in some personal drama where all it took for the worlds of my imagination to come to life was to take the pen in hand (left or right) and gently apply pressure. After all the words I had assiduously read weren’t clever or difficult just flowing conversations narrative and what not. How difficult could it be? Stories from the recesses of my mind would be transported via the magical sensory part of my brain into cognitive sensationalism which i would naturally transcribe patiently knowing that there was a never ending supply. I suppose I believed in fate too. One thing leads to another and ….

…serpent words like Chinese dragons would come a dancing trailing words like mystical dust that contained the magic ingredient- narrative. What do dragons eat? Villagers? So I could expect some skulls and the like in it. Skulls. Very gothic and evocative. Funny I never let onto myself that one thing did lead to another or I would have been writing progressive sentences earlier. I remember I just set myself the goal of writing. It did not matter what I wrote so long as the ink got eaten up along the papyrus (lined paper) road by a Bic or Steadtler Dodge Van Or pickup truck (Its OK, Its just the way I think). Sometimes I even wrote the line with no words .e.g. ————– and draw pyramids, eyes and cubes.

I have no idea of how I am going to end this. Will it be on a message of hope, a cadged piece of humour, some chicken wisdom? Yes, I like the sound of the last one. Cluck! cluck, cluck, cluck. Cluck cluck cluck cluck cluck. cluck cluck. cluck cluck cluck.

Thank you for reading.

Nowadays I still get stage fright or it’s writing equivalent which is like having a bad trip ( I have heard of those) with the words you choose. It’s funny but every word is chosen even when you are going fast. It’s incredible really the capacity of the human brain for a fear of the written word.


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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