Well, well, well..

What do I have to say in defence of not having written any stories lately?

Boredom, stress, hunger... I don't know... Let's call it Life.

Evil orcas mocking skiving blogger

Life has an uncanny ability to sneak up on you when you least expect it, and it always brings with it issues ranging from lack of self esteem to homesickness. And everything in between. Such as:

-- finding the most gorgeous flat in Edinburgh, only to realise you are competing with TEN others for it. 

-- Or having the weird feeling that a fever is just about to break out.  

-- Or realising you forgot about the electron donating effects of a phenyl substituent on a porphyrin (It happens to us all) 

-- Or forgetting to clear out the plug in the shower for ages and ending up having to fish out a blob of black gunk with a knife. (seriously, what IS that??!!) 

-- Or arguing with lovely people over insane issues such as the correct use of ones clothing to show appreciation for others

-- Or falling flat on your face (twice)

-- Or running out of money to eat anything but penne pasta and mince

-- Or getting offered to do something lovely for free, that you know your friends payed loads to do, and feeling so horrible you can't enjoy the experience. 

Anyways. We'll just have to deal with it, brush ourselves off, and move on.





So, till Teetime!

//  Tee

Mind Movement

Oh my freaking God, it moved!
I am sure it did!
Or did it?

He blinked a few times. Closed his eyes. No. Surely not. Impossible.
He opened his eyes and looked over at the bookcase. His favourite green mug, the one with the ridiculous pattern of gnomes on it, stood on the top shelf. Vapour ringlets rising from the still hot coffee. He was sitting in the sofa, propped up on all the pillows he owned. In accordance with the Law of Sod he had just found the perfect position in amongst the pillows, put his headphones on and had just started the movie before realising his brew was left on the shelf on the other side of the room. So close, and yet so far.
In frustration he had instantly stared angrily at the mug and willed it to move, like some badass jedi. Ridiculous. But it had moved! Hadn't it?..

For a moment he thought that he might be going crazy. He was sure he remembered reading about some weird branch of schizophrenia where your mind is convinced it had super powers or something like that.. But no. It was a hell of a lot more likely that yesterdays monster session of Skyrim had something to do with it. Messing up his mind.

He sighed and smiled to himself at his ridiculous ideas. Perhaps he should lay off the energy drinks next time he had a longer gaming session? Or perhaps he should lay off the gaming completely...

He laid his he'd back and closed his eyes. Maybe the feeling of dread would go away quickly this time?
It was only 6 months since the end of high school. He had hated every minute of every year he had been forced to go to school. But now the fog created by happiness and beer from all graduation parties, the joy of final freedom after a lifetime of studies, was lifting and left behind was a harsh reality of unemployment. The finality of it all left him with feelings of panic - a slowly growing tumour, sprouting from somewhere behind his belly button, sending out slimy cold arms of anxiety, blocking his throat. He closed his eyes when they started to burn. People around him kept giving him advice. Everywhere he went, everyone he met and every website he visited seamed to scream out to him that he should DO something with his life. NOW!! Get a job! Live your dream! You can do it! Come on! Get a grip!

At the start it had been so easy to justify. Of course he should find out what he REALLY wanted to do with his life, but not yet! Surely he deserved a month or two of complete freedom after all these years of school? Wasn't he an adult after all? Could he not do what he wanted?
He was incredibly grateful to his parents. To let him stay in the flat rent free, in exchange for some menial duties. Mowing the lawn. Washing the car. He knew they would let him stay for as long as he wanted. The chores were only given to him to make him feel like he did something to deserve it. He knew he didn't. Knew he should get a job, any job. The tumour sent out a slimy hand, grabbing his lungs. He couldn't breathe. Recognising the start of a panic attack, he tried to think of something else - anything but the blackness of the future - and breathe slowly. It worked.

He took a deep breath. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would sit down and write a proper CV. Yes. That was it. He would sort himself out. Tomorrow.

He got up off the sofa and went over to the book case. When he was about a meter from the shelf, with his arm stretched out in front of him, the coffee cup shot off the shelf and into his hand. The force of it splashed the hot coffee all over his wrist and lower arm and the reflex made him drop the mug instantly. He looked down on the floor. Onto the broken bits of his favourite green mug in a pool of coffee. No. Freaking. Way. 

He stretched out his arm and faced the desk by the opposite wall. When his mobile phone hit his palm after zooming through the air, he smiled. Oh yeah. 

Two hours later he was sitting by the desk, feverishly writing a list. A long list of all the jobs he had ever wanted. All the places he had ever wanted to see. All the things he had ever wanted to do. Nothing can stop a man with superpowers!

A GOOD blog post (I promise!)

Make sure that you are good at writing



That was the main advice I found in an article on the Guardians blog for writers.
The article was entitled something like 'How to increase your blog traffic'. And, yes, I get it. No one will tell their friends about a shit blog they're reading. Unless its REALLY shit. Haha, have a look at this looser!

But still. Isn't that the very WORST advice you could possibly give a writer? Or is that just me? Am I the only one who looked at the words on the top of this page and, after scrunching up my eyebrows, went through three thoughts in quick succession:

1. But of course you have to be GOOD at writing. Who is this idiot!??
2. Actually, he is a REAL writer. An ACTUAL journalist. He has probably seen a lot of shit in his time. He KNOWS.
3. Damn it. I hope he never sees my blog! I just write for the fun of it, and of course there are heaps of shit lying around amongst the pages of my blog! I need to become a GOOD writer. Now.


So, here I am. A thursday night just like any. This is when I normally sit down in my ugly wicker chair with its owl-shaped pillow. I normally choose the simplest text editor, and maximise it to cover the whole laptop screen. Pretend I've got a typewriter. This is when the excitement starts! When I might brows through my folder of stories, ideas and thoughts. Will I pick an old one, and perhaps touch it up a bit? Or will I sit down with the blank page, and just see where the story takes me? It is normally the latter. For a simple reason - For the indescribable joy of loosing myself into a story. A story I don't know yet. Eagerly awaiting the characters take form in front of me. I love it.

But not today.

Like an experienced hunter my mind brutally shoots down every idea that surfaces from the dense under growth of the subconscious. Too pretentious. Too dull. Too intricate. Clay pigeon shards fall to the ground.

Thank you, reverend Guardian Expert™, for your excellent recommendations. For not only pointing out the bleeding obvious, but doing so in a manner that ruins dreams.
Because you are WRONG.
First of all; To say that you have found an especially good story, is just about as useful as saying you have found an extra tasty piece of pickled herring - only valid if you happen to like pickled herring.
You do not need to be good at all. In fact, most of the blogs I follow have, what I consider, quite poor writing style. But they are all passionate. They all convey ideas. They all inspire.

Dear Guardian Expert™, gone are the day when only the GOOD things were published, as decided by the people who KNOW. I welcome you to the Information Era, where everyone gets the chance they take for themselves. Where everyone can do what they love, and GIVE IT A GO.

Now I am going to pull myself together, stop ranting, and go out into the mossy grounds of a very dark, yet beautiful, pine forest and rummage around the undergrowth. Perhaps I will cut myself on broken bits of clay. But I will keep looking for a shard of inspiration, passion, and perhaps even joy.

I'll let you know.