Oh, when it takes you, it takes you!
I’m talking about a sudden realization. That fey thing that kicks you in the balls. And you wonder, how the hell did that happen from such an inconsequential nothingness?
Where am I going with this? To the plexus, to the nexus, to the yellow-brick road?
Right, here’s the smack, cornbread, Double Decker on ice.
As a writer, I get that emu feeling from time to time: the proverbial head in the sand. All the usual demons, the most horned one always being: lack of things published.
But then PC 99 pops into my head:
“What’s all this then?”
“Was I speeding officer?”
“No, but you were whingeing. And this the autobahn of self expression.”
Oh, yes, right, the writer thing. Don’t take it so damn seriously until you have to: in front of the keyboard. And even then, allow for unknown pleasures, exquisite corpses.
It’s like this. I write even when there’s no reason to. No money, no readership, no agent, no publisher, no marketer, no fife and drum.
Here endeth the lesson.
The lesson: I’ve got mine, don’t worry about his.