Block Chop 62:

The test of my writerly fortitude is almost upon me.  Tomorrow morning I have a job interview which in all probability will lead to instant menial employment.  At that point this blog will become my worst enemy and greatest ally.  On some days I will return from work loath to the idea of writing; on others I will appreciate that the commitment has kept my mind alive, and my fingers tippy-tapping.

Must not allow a day job to take over my life; I am not a , I am a writer/illustrator/general creative type (who by the sound of this wittering is teetering on the brink of pretentious, “I am an artiste...”).

I need to get a trade under my belt.  I’ve even considered carpenter and glass-blower; both awesome things to be good at... but my thumbs hurt when I use a saw, and I can barely blow up a balloon let alone a searing hot orb of molten glass.  I’m thinking the best way forward is getting NCTJ accreditation.  That’s the National Council for the Training of Journalists.  A really good looking company News Associates runs an accredited course in Newspaper Journalism.  I’ve just missed the start of the current intensive 20 week course; the next full time doesn’t start until March 2011 (part time starts Jan 2011).  I might already have something great by then, but I’m going to start the application process anyway.

Newspaper Journalism training looks to be the best way into various other media, including broadcast.  With the technical craft skills to be gained from NCTJ accreditation, coupled with my creative writing, I will be a successful feature writer/script writer/novelist before you can say yeah right.  From then it’s on to making millions writing movies, or novels that get made into movies.  Huzzah.  But in between then and now is the whole going to sleep, getting up in the morning, going to a job interview, remembering to phone the job centre to let them know I will be signing on late, doing a dull job thing.

And all that means that, in essence, today’s blog is not going to be the best.  I have boring things on my mind, and even though I’m not tired I must force myself to go to sleep.  Now where did I put the chloroform?  Ah, here it is; right by the bed where I always keep it.  On the shelf next to my notebook, hacksaw, Vaseline, Toblerone, anti-venom, cycling helmet and small nodding statuette of the Pope (all the essentials).  Pull out the stopper, poor a little chloroform on the rag, apply rag to my face and as I pass out into a deep restless sleep, hope that the rag falls from my face before it kills me.  And so arrives a dark ending to a mundane blog post.  Don’t blame me, I didn’t write it.  It was my evil twin brother.