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| Dorothy |
I've been waiting for something to inspire me.
I can’t think of anything to write about even though I've only written one post this week which is unlike me.
The reason is, I've been using all my creative energy writing the manuscript of my book.
Sorry.
I know how boring it is when one of your fool friends suddenly thinks they’re Stephen King and carries on with silly statements like, ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe the character (who I made up in my lunatic head) just did what they did when I was writing my novel last night!’.
That sort of pretentious crap even annoys me.
I would never say that because since I’m the one writing the words, my characters aren’t getting any of the bloody credit. I would never pretend to be swept away by an invisible muse who takes over my keyboard and gains possession of my simple mind.
No. My muse is all blood sweat and tears. And Google.
But I'm going to tell you all this now to protect myself in case I get arrested.
Sorry.
I know how boring it is when one of your fool friends suddenly thinks they’re Stephen King and carries on with silly statements like, ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe the character (who I made up in my lunatic head) just did what they did when I was writing my novel last night!’.
That sort of pretentious crap even annoys me.
I would never say that because since I’m the one writing the words, my characters aren’t getting any of the bloody credit. I would never pretend to be swept away by an invisible muse who takes over my keyboard and gains possession of my simple mind.
No. My muse is all blood sweat and tears. And Google.
But I'm going to tell you all this now to protect myself in case I get arrested.
If Scotto is ever found bludgeoned to death on the kitchen floor, I’ll be the first suspect. But I didn't do it, okay?
The FBI (or whatever they’re called in Australia… AFP? Very boring sounding) will confiscate my laptop, have me handcuffed and be pushing my head down roughly into the back of a cop car, quicker than you can say ‘unsophisticated, waffling hack’.
Lately, I’ve been entering incriminating search terms into Google like these:
Ghosts: are they real and do they pull hair?
Paranormal psychics in Sydney and surrounding area
How do parents react when a very small child goes missing?
Sinister/evil/malevolent/scary stuff
Doppelgangers and their prevalence in Australia
What happens when you come out of an induced coma, do you remember being hit on the head?
End stage kidney disease and can you treat it at home?
Fraud and its penalties in NSW
Where can you buy bags of blood?
Crows and witch symbolism
How can I become a bikie?
What do people look like immediately after death?
How do you run someone off the road on a cliff?
What happens if you eat dirt from a grave?
How can you dissolve a body?
I could go on forever with the disturbing, creepy things I've searched for over the last two months but I don’t want to alert the authorities any further.
I’m of the writer's school of philosophy that subscribes to the, ‘Why do proper research when you can get all your information from the Internet’ way of thinking.
Some people say you should write what you know, but to be honest, I just don’t know very much.
If I wrote what I know, I’d start up a silly blog about five horrible teenagers who terrorise their mother with dangerous antics involving cars and only ever speak to her with savage derision, wouldn’t I?
Or I could write a blog about how a teacher almost has a nervous breakdown because her students run rings around her and her colleagues mock and torment her at every opportunity, couldn’t I?
But no. I’ve chosen to write a novel about things I’ve NEVER had any experience with.
A parent of one of my students, who happens to be a nurse, came in for a parent teacher interview a couple of months ago. Little did she know that she’d be inching towards the door attempting to escape my clutches as I relentlessly grilled her about ‘at home dialysis treatment’ after we’d talked about her son’s academic progress briefly.
She was a good sport about it but I had to make her promise not to tell my Deputy Principal I hijacked our meeting.
So anyway, I really don’t have anything to tell about this week except… I may be about to become a grandmother...
Lately, I’ve been entering incriminating search terms into Google like these:
Ghosts: are they real and do they pull hair?
Paranormal psychics in Sydney and surrounding area
How do parents react when a very small child goes missing?
Sinister/evil/malevolent/scary stuff
Doppelgangers and their prevalence in Australia
What happens when you come out of an induced coma, do you remember being hit on the head?
End stage kidney disease and can you treat it at home?
Fraud and its penalties in NSW
Where can you buy bags of blood?
Crows and witch symbolism
How can I become a bikie?
What do people look like immediately after death?
How do you run someone off the road on a cliff?
What happens if you eat dirt from a grave?
How can you dissolve a body?
I could go on forever with the disturbing, creepy things I've searched for over the last two months but I don’t want to alert the authorities any further.
I’m of the writer's school of philosophy that subscribes to the, ‘Why do proper research when you can get all your information from the Internet’ way of thinking.
Some people say you should write what you know, but to be honest, I just don’t know very much.
If I wrote what I know, I’d start up a silly blog about five horrible teenagers who terrorise their mother with dangerous antics involving cars and only ever speak to her with savage derision, wouldn’t I?
Or I could write a blog about how a teacher almost has a nervous breakdown because her students run rings around her and her colleagues mock and torment her at every opportunity, couldn’t I?
But no. I’ve chosen to write a novel about things I’ve NEVER had any experience with.
A parent of one of my students, who happens to be a nurse, came in for a parent teacher interview a couple of months ago. Little did she know that she’d be inching towards the door attempting to escape my clutches as I relentlessly grilled her about ‘at home dialysis treatment’ after we’d talked about her son’s academic progress briefly.
She was a good sport about it but I had to make her promise not to tell my Deputy Principal I hijacked our meeting.
So anyway, I really don’t have anything to tell about this week except… I may be about to become a grandmother...
Huzzah!
Hagar and Meggles are making noises about buying a Chihuahua.
And last night I ate some meat for the first time since Australia day 2014.
Hagar and Meggles are making noises about buying a Chihuahua.
And last night I ate some meat for the first time since Australia day 2014.
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| Cooked by Scotto, who may or may not need to watch his back in the kitchen. |
