I don’t know what to say, here. I mean–I had a bunch of ideas for posts today, but I’ve managed to forget all of them in getting here tonight. I’m just going to speak, at length, about nothing at all and hope it re-primes whatever writing pump I have. Perhaps that’s something to write about. Most people who aren’t writers, like myself, see writing as some thing you do when you’re inspired and only then. This is the problem that almost every person approaching NaNoWriMo faces, but it’s not the one I faced. See, the non-writer thinks of writing as something mystical–something that only happens to special people on special days and at special times. But the writers I take my best writing advice from–being Stephen King, Harlan Ellison and Alan Moore–all agree that writing is just something you do as a job. You write like you unclog toilets, like you chop wood for fire, like you do anything. Stephen King’s advice on becoming a good writer from a competent one? Read four hours a day, write four hours a day. That’s it. That is what it takes.
Now, in addition to working our day jobs, not all of us have that kind of free time–but if you’re serious, says King, you’ll find the time. You won’t know where it is when you start looking for it, but you’ll find it in your day to use. Sleep eight hours, work eight hours, work eight more hours, that your family will think is not work. But in truth, this article idea isn’t working either. I’m crushing my balls between my legs, I can’t sit right, I’ve got a splitting headache and had to
listen today to my mother telling me that someone else in my orchestra seemed terribly sad. Thanks, mum. Not me, of course, someone else who was also more talented got all of your pity and understanding. Thanks. It’s just ridiculous. It’s so utterly entirely ridiculous that I could even be thought capable fo writing a thing today. You know how some people can’t work under certain conditions? This is a set of those conditions for me, here. My brother’s over, I can’t watch the only movie I want to review, I just–rrr. My throat hurts, my head hurts, everything hurts, I have to pee, I can’t get the toilet to flush clean.
And there’s a mod in Minecraft that puts another person in your lonely-ass world with you, but they’re really, really badly progr–excuse me, Hannah, are you custom skinned as Jessica Rabbit? Sorry, I’m watching the Yogscast LP of Minecraft at the moment, which may be one of the creepiest things I have ever seen. See, it starts off as this perfectly normal, two guys on a multi-player server let’s play, then something really weird happens. There turns out to be a prankster on their server named Israphel. And it’s just some anonymous dude who’s going around building things in their front yard, digging under their house and booby-trapping their back door. And it’s just weird. Well–there we go, five hundred words today. That’s a bit further than I got yesterday. Let’s try for a full thousand tomorrow, shall we?