... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Thursday, January 20, 2011

182: Structure. Timetables. Self-discipline. Ahh, Ma tidge.

Structure.  Timetables.  Self-discipline.  Often writers are portrayed as vicious self-destructive hell raisers, and many like to promote that idea, scribbling in barrooms on notebooks sodden with spilt whiskey, forgoing sleep, sanity and a stable life.  I think the reality is much different, and the hard-working prolific writers to be truly admired and emulated stick to tight regular routines.  Getting up at 8o’clock settling down to write by 9, and remaining concentrating and undisturbed until it’s time for a spot of lunch.  After lunch it’s back to the desk for more focussed and intelligent work.  This is something to strive for I think, because otherwise I may never achieve anything.  The effort and dedication to write a daily blog is only the first step in a long looooong process.  Just lean over there, into the future, and let me know what you see; is it worth it?

Blog complete by 9:30am covering any noteworthy events from the previous day, any thoughts worth discussing, or any short bits of creative writing I need to purge from my system.  Follow that up with a tightly choreographed day of brief intense work interspersed with breaks for tea and crumpets.  Perhaps a walk should be scheduled in.  Exercise keeps the mind alive, and helps prevent the body from blobbifying and the bum hole from haemorrhoiding.  Add to the schedule some paid work and a chance to socialise, and I think we could be onto a winner; a day well spent, ending in a satisfied feeling and a job well done.  Time for a cup of tea, and those sausages should be ready soon.  Better go and buy some lentils.

Any reference to lentils with regard to me is an in-joke so obscure and insular only a select group of my closest and oldest friends will understand or care.  And now I’ve mentioned lentils I can put them back in the box alongside Choco Flakes, Phil Ahh ma tidge!, Fiendish Feet, Foetus, and measuring the angles of this stupid shape.  Then it’s off to Morecambe to buy a teenth, then to Halton to smoke lungs out of the window and listen to Insane Clown Posse and N.W.A.  But that was then, this is now.  Now I’m all growed up and a big boy now.

Still the same easily distracted wastrel I always was though.  Even now I’m half writing a story, half cooking soup and half writing this blog.  How many halves is that?  I’m also half reading the day’s news on the BBC and half about to watch the lost Russell Brand episode of Never Mind the Buzzcocks which has just appeared on iPlayer.  Five halves?  Does that make a whole?  Sure, whatever.  I started the blog hours ago early this morning, yet because I’m not really saying anything interesting, I got bored of writing it probably even quicker than you got bored of reading it.

Today I pottered to the shops and back.  Yesterday I did the same thing.  What adventures will tomorrow hold?  I’d better consult the timetable.

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