I find myself trying to end a run of radio silence, not that I'm using the medium of radio here, but with nothing in fact to say. I have been to quite a few events and celebrated notable milestones of age (the horrible age of 21) since I last posted yet none of these have stimulated anything other than happiness which, given its lack of debate, is itself not that interesting. Personal events, some of which I have no recollection of, probably don't translate too well to discourse.
This further leaves me trouble in so far as aside from those events I have done nothing productive with my time. I tried to start getting into a regular regime of cycling but screwed my knee. My Aunt has a new puppy which was quite fun, but then when left to play with it the bugger went nuts and tried to relieve me of the service of some of my toes, which was at best unfortunate, at worst quite painful. Still, the thing was bloody cute, even if it decided I wasn't fun to play with after a few hours because I didn't once give him a treat. No, my inactivity and lack of any direction seems to have lapsed into some form of creative drought. I can sense my soul draining away, bit by bit turning into a less interesting person, every day more suited to some form of banal office work. This depresses me. when I start to take pride in writing cryptic comments on Facebook because it is simply uninteresting to actually say what I mean, I know it has become a desperate case.
This led me to ponder the question, that if having nothing to do and being able to relax more or less to my hearts content seems to drain me of having anything interesting to say, why is a general perception of many that authors require such conditions to write their spiel. I fully accept that some impressive people have such a wonderful imagination in writing books and that such conditions lend themselves to being able to lose yourself in your own fictional world for the duration of said, but for others they write about things taking inspiration from real life events, the things that happen to them every day (often with the result, at least in my opinion, in an equally uninteresting result) to the point at which to remove oneself from the regular environment would be to remove the source of such inspiration and thus reduce the quality of the writing.
Here the travel writer seems to have it down to a tee, yes it is impractical to write everything as it happens, but taking notes and then writing up later in the day for example, a technique reported by leading lights of such trades as Paul Theroux (Great Railway Bazaar, Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, etc) seems an ideal way to go about it. And in my own inimitable way, as I realise at this juncture I am traditionally supposed to draw to a conclusion yet really have none, I shall just finish with the enlightening, if decidedly obvious revelation: boredom is really fucking shit.
PS I feel it of worth to note for the few that might appreciate a thing, watching the Comedy Prom night on BBC 2 today, Tim Minchin hosting opened sat in the audience, behind him sat a young man in a Willow t shirt, something which, along with the rest of the show rather amused me. Repin' York 2k11 4eva
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