Trying to come up with writing ideas at the moment is a nightmare. The well appears to be dry. I would imagine that masturbating to an episode of the The Golden Girls is difficult. But writing at the moment is really difficult, and inspiration has abandoned me.
It feels like the same bout of writers block that left me bereft of ideas this time last year. When that happened I didn’t write again till late October, when my creative juices suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, started flowing again one Sunday afternoon. I felt like an elderly cripple jumping out of my wheelchair at Lourdes, before energetically performing the caterpillar in front of tearful crowds. Alive again!
But now, here I am again. To be honest, the lack of ideas and inspiration has led to increasing feelings of desperation. After all, I’ve only just started this blog. What to do?
In an effort to break this dry period, I started writing a blog post a few days ago about a mature student in my Creative Writing class at college called Arnold (a quiet man, who I can only describe as Joe Btfsplk in chinos). For some reason, I always expected him to break off from reciting a haiku one day to announce to the class that he’d just discovered his wife in bed with their pet Labrador, Toby, before pulling out a gun and blowing his brains out in front of us all.
Anyway, for his final exam piece (a 3,000-word short story), Arnold, who seemed to be on target for a good mark in the creative writing course, decided, for reasons unknown, to submit a piece of work entitled ‘A Wank on a Mountain’. He even had the balls to deliver it to my tutor, Sue, by hand (it can only be hoped he washed his hands first). Sue politely rejected the work, citing the glaringly inappropriate subject matter, at which point Arnold turned on his heels and left – never to be seen again.
Curiosity eventually got the better of Sue and she read the story, which was apparently very well written but excruciatingly descriptive (Arnold believed it was integral for the reader to envision how his semen glistened in the sun as it melted into the snow). For a man who largely mixed with the septuagenarians from Writers’ Circle, and who’d uttered only a few words all year, it was a spectacularly leftfield offering.
But Arnold’s story wasn’t really substantial enough to use for a single post. It was short on laughs (well, it had one laugh) and it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. In the haze of my writer’s block desperation, I dabbled with the idea of using the ‘wank on a mountain’ story as a ‘humorous’ and ultimately disparaging analogy of the BNP’s success in the European Elections…
Nick Griffin’s victory in the North West was a fleeting moment of eye-rolling ecstasy for his party. However, their hate and intolerance will soon disappear like warm spooge melting into snow.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, this political commentary didn’t even make it out of the initial development stage.
My desperation peaked when I stumbled across some old text books from my infant classes at Primary School, when I was seven and eight years old. I actually considered writing critiques of three pieces of my work: ‘The Century Machine’, ‘The Giant Octopus’ and a creature creation called the Typhoonigator (which comes from the planet Zing Zang and makes the noise “kibit-kibit”). I’ve kept this idea on the backburner, but only if my writer’s block persists.
So that’s it, I’m totally out of ideas for now. Any ideas or suggestions are welcome. Otherwise, I’ll see you all again in October.