|This is me flossing... I'm not a dentist, so for legal reasons I can't show you the rest of my face|
Okay, you got me, I was joking about the sunbathing. The sun and I are not on good terms. That 14% is instead dedicated to accent comedy. With myself . Everything ends up sounding Indian and I have no idea why.
In all honesty, a stupid amount of time is entirely dedicated to generating ideas. An even stupider amount of time is put into discovering that an idea is crap (common indications an idea is crap: “and it was all a dream”, “and so they all die” and “it’s a solemn ode to the desolate nature of the desert humanity has become at this juncture in our cultural development”). Of course I’m not stumbling across the lost city of Atlantis here, I’m just head-butting the most common foe of all aspiring writers (the 2nd most common foe being ‘crippling self-doubt’, and the 6th most common foe being ‘certainty of one’s own overwhelming genius’).
None of this is of any comfort to poor housemate Layla. As far as she’s concerned she returns home each evening from a hard day’s work to discover me sipping tea in leisure wear.
Leisure Wear in this case is specially formulated to withstand sub-zero conditions in our heater-less lounge room, commonly referred to in winter as The Fridge. Suitable Fridge Leisure Wear involves (among other layers), double socking, ugg boots, a knitted poncho, a scarf and fingerless gloves. All we need is a ferris wheel and I’m a carnie.
It takes quite a bit of explaining to get her around the idea that I too have been working. I’ve been thinking. Really hard. To the uninitiated it might look like I’m gazing creepily across to our neighbour’s balcony, but Yelling Mum and Dour Dad don’t really get interesting until 6pm most nights. No, instead I’ve been trying to come up with a story idea so stupefyingly clever it will single-handedly lower the price of oil (how will it do this? I don’t know, but it seems like a decent indication of success). No joy so far.
So what’s a girl to do when an epiphany doesn’t simply arrive on demand? I’ve tried everything – magazines, red wine, Shakespeare plagiarism, and even briefly considered watching The Shire – all in the name of inspiration. But Inspiration can be a fickle douche – rarely shows up on time, and always double-booked (poor Deep Impact, you never saw Armageddon coming). I mean if Speed 2: Cruise Control has already been made, what stories are really left to tell?
I guess I could always write a story about a struggling writer desperately trying to find his/her voice in a world of blah blah blah. Because nothing screams thrilling quite like watching a struggling artist brood, does it? It’s like status updates about exercise – I think everyone would be better off if you just stunned us with the final product.
Hello Square One. I’ve missed you old friend, it’s been five whole minutes.