You’ve written umpteen best sellers. Some even made into blockbuster films. Your advance, nestles nicely in your account. Yet here you sit. Staring blankly at a blank piece of paper. Or a blank screen. No ideas. No fresh thoughts. Devoid of inspiration. A deadline looming. The loneliest place in the world, with only your empty coffee cup for company. A daunting prospect for any author.
My ‘gratis’ Blog comes with a different type of advance. It’s composed of expectation and an inner commitment to continue. Come what may. It’s born of hope too. That inspiration, coupled with clever and amusing witticisms will trip off the tongue and metaphorically dance across the pages of our travels. Acting as a conduit. Bringing three nomadic jesters to life as they move freely from town to city to country. Keeping the reader and sometimes readers (I am an optimistic realist) informed, amused, or appalled. I’m not comparing my Blog to anything the likes of Ken Follet or Robert Harris might pen, but the task of word-finding and placing them in just the right order, can in itself become daunting. Even overwhelming. I exaggerate for dramatic effect of course (he doth pretend).
Words, like notes on a staff, can create music too. An orchestra of soundless characters. Horizontally aligned and arranged like a never ending theatrical performance. A concerto of collaboration, when written with panache, can create every type of conceivable sound. “Crash!”, “Bang!”, “Wallop!” – there! – told you so!
On the subject of a crash – today’s lunchtime stop had one of its own. The three ring gas hob, upon which Mrs S conjures all manner of culinary delights, when not in use, has a hinged & handy toughened glass cover. At times, it provides a little more working space. My lunch (we always eat different lunches) was to be yesterday’s tasty leftover. I’d usually have it cold – for ease and quickness. Mrs S decided to treat me and warm it up. Before preparing her own. A good loving turn. She didn’t need to. Bloke that I am, I’d have happily wolfed it down frozen.
By the time I had wolfed mine down and Mary-Ann had just taken her first bite of lunch, that glass cover exploded with a mighty crack. As if shot at close range by Dirty Harry wielding his .44 Magnum. The effect was literally ear shattering. Thousands of glass fragments clouded our thoughts as to the cause. A once in a lifetime lapse. One gas ring left on. Not visible in the bright sunlight.
No harm done to Mrs S, or her lunch!
Sun drenched culprit – top left
Writer’s block? Me? Never! I needn’t have worried. Every trip has its own can of worms, or box of candies, lying in wait. I just need to be patient.
So to any ‘blocked’ authors out there. A few words of wisdom . . . with your next advance, go buy yourself a motorhome!