Why is it whenever I have a fantastic idea, that the rest of Glasgow have it at the same time? Needless to say, ASDA at 10am was bloody well packed, and not as quiet as I would have hoped. I needed that flapjack by the end.
Writer's Block is dead, for now! Yay! I mean my own writer's block, in case anyone thinks I am being over-anarchistical about our Edinburgh counterparts. Today I have been writing about drunken teddy bears, murderous pigs, lost aliens, quick fixes, earls and characters in search of an author. Mad work. Think I managed about 500 words across several stories. Well, its a start! Compared to weeks of twiddling my thumbs, its much better. Call it sad, but I really have nothing much else to do but be a writer. Its one of the few things in my life I've ever gotten praise for, and that I enjoy. So when I get the dreaded block, well, it sort of screws up everything in life, because that which I live for, the words and their flow and play and resonance, swells up instead of floods in its normal vein. It feels unnatural, stilted and a mess, and so if anyone wonders why I have been a grumpy bastard for the last few weeks, now you know.
Well that, and I've been fecking depressed as well, but lets not go into great detail publically about that.
So Wednesday, exam. English Lit. Now its over, thank god. I think it went OK. Crosses fingers.
Wednesday, sleepy.
Wednesday, Word Dogs. Word Dogs was good. More than good, great. Having managed to get rid of the substandard writer from last time (ie, me) there was a massive improvement in the general standard of oral tale being divulged. Hal was in particularly good form with 4 efforts, each of them describing another fantastic city. Mandy kept giggling at me in particular after the line "And having recieved an English degree, which was of course no value.." I dont get what she meant though. RW Mosses, Mark Harding and Gavin Ingliss were all on usual good form.
Special notice to the American Martin and Phil for two wonderful witty and intelligent stories. And cheers to the gang for supplying everything once more! Although this time I had to pay....maybe I should just read in future.... (which apparently is going to happen at the next Word Dogs I've been told there is no getting out of this time!)
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"Call it sad, but I really have nothing much else to do but be a writer. Its one of the few things in my life I've ever gotten praise for, and that I enjoy."
It is, indeed, sad that Michael recalls praise only for his writing. I suppose that's part of being the angst-ridden, eccentric writerly type. The reality is that, like may children growing up, he was praised and encouraged almost continuously, except when he was naughty -- which was often. I can confirm, though, that with Michael, what you see is what you get. And what you get from this blog is pure 'Michael S. Collins'
Nice blog son. I'm pwoud. Vewy, vewy pwoud.
Chris (Michael's Dad)
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