Shouts From Down Under

Writing should be apreciated

There is a large lesson to be learnt, and I'm struggling to learn it gracefully!

Where ever you work, and whatever your lot in life, be careful not to look down on anyone.

Because you may end up having to patch up a burnt bridge, walk back over it, and work for the very person / people who you thought you were above, previously.

It's only a car accident away friends, and you could be that disabled person who you felt sorry for before.

Or, you could be a tradesman, retrenched, like me, and have had to return to a (for me) very humiliating position of cleaning the toilets for my previous colleagues. They are all very welcoming and stuff. But I'm finding it a lesson in being humble, and not feeling very humble about it!

So, these things are all part of why we are novelists or writers in the first place.

Why are you a writer? What happens when you write? What is the motivating factor? Is it escape? Is it the thought of future riches, fame, not having to work anymore and spending your sunny days on the beach, travelling, being all charitable with the poor and all that ego lifting stuff?

Do you enjoy the enjoyment of storytelling? Do you like to string people along? A bit of trickery? Sleight of hand and skulduggery, slip the old knife in between the ribs manipulation.

Do you like messing with people's heads, so that you feel better yourself?

Or is it none of those things?

You do it, you write stuff, pushing it from your mind, out into like a large porcelain S bend so that all the troubling thoughts, the angst, the anger, the sadness, the waste matter, the thoughts you shouldn't have, the frustration, the pride, the unfulfilled dreams, the dreams, the nightmares.

Everything that needs flushing out is gone onto paper as words. Letters people see the silhouette of on white background, processed and communicated to them and then they realise that your story or poem, even...blog entry, is really an attack on them. You hid somewhere, waiting.

Then you pounced and it wasn't like a gentle rising violence but a harsh unbending one. You weren't Hobbes doing the soft toy attack on Calvin when he came in the door home from school.

No. You attacked your reader with all that effluence(y) that you'd have been better off pouring into a 4 gallon tin, screwing the cap back on it and sticking it awayyyyy at the back of the unused junk, underneath your shed workbench, where all that other stuff is that nobody wanted at the garage sale again.

Or you can go ahead, release your inner demons onto the unsuspecting reviewer who pokes into your port, not realising there are mantraps there; huge sharp teeth just grinning in enjoyment of what's about to happen.



Like The President's did with the song writer's frustration that the girl wasn't at her house when he visited, so he ate the peaches on the tree and contemplated how gullible people are in life. I think I'm one of them sometimes, mostly.

Well, all this really has no bearing on me. Because I'm not that sad, frankly, loose screwed person who does that trippy stuff. I mean...that...that's just not honourable. Just not cricket, as the Poms say.

Next thing people wouldn't understand the quality of humour...my humour. That expression of comical joviality.

They'd even accuse me of being morbid or sour or tripping on something weird.

Before I sign off this blog, as Sparky I looked up the word.

Well, the definitions of Sparky in the Urban dictionary are humorous.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=sparky

If you've read all the way to here, you may be scratching your head wondering what the heck this blog is really about? Well, like that indefinable THING the presidents are looking around for, all sort of concerned and worried, that edge in writing when you aren't sure if the writer is pulling your leg or not, like those things, I'm wondering too if you noticed some tiny thing in this entry.

The title should have two P's in appreciate.

Writing should be appreciated