About The Author Doc Binge

Box sets and binge watching, are so 2019 for me. My latest indulgence has been a diet of 'author' documentaries and interviews. A few film director docs thrown in satisfies my day to evening viewing. The lions share of output that inspires my palate are from BBC, BBC4, Sky Arts and of course Netflix. I feel positively spoiled having this kind of access at my fingertips. 

I do not read as much fiction as is expected from a writer, blame a hateful A Level English teacher for that. I haven't studied Creative Writing at Masters level where reading is essential. Not sure my online course in Masters of Classic Literature at Harvard qualifies? Did I mention...

I always had this fear of subconsciously 'borrowing' ideas from what I'd read. I can usually count on the free flow of the mind during dull chores or walking a familiar route to fire up my imagination. Innovation drives me. A flattering homage is admirable, but I dream of coining a phrase or a movement. There are no excuses, especially with all the influencing experiences at my disposal. Five minutes on the internet, however is an abrupt reality reminder that I am not capable of an original thought after all. Idea 1,262 gone, done, said before. 

My obsession with originality probably came from my time in music, when it meant everything. I never consciously learned the lyrics of successful artists or even when I sang in bands, or dare I say, the words of my own work. I treat them much like conversations, what you have said is left dangling in the atmosphere of a room, swirling around subjectively echoing in the listener's ear. More often, instantly dismissed or forgotten, into debatable oblivion. As it should be. Social media has butchered our natural evolved communications from human to human, repercussions yet to unfold. Least said soonest mended is a favourite idiom of mine. A hard lesson I still grapple with. I can't rule out this blog, or any micro comment, from ever haunting me like cyber reflux.

<script data-ad-client="ca-pub-3345771020474655" async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script>

Absorbing the life and times and techniques of successful authors, is fascinating stuff. The thrill of discovering writing patterns in common with a best seller, reassures me I am on the right path. With every idiosyncrasy they divulge, I vow to hit the laptop like a demon and write until my fingers bleed. However, somewhere between the rolling end credits and ordering their books online, I procrastinate and lose momentum. This is the space to capitalise on these fresh revelations, the inspired magic to kneed into a narrative, cultivate a character, propel the plot, rhythmically ride the adjective roundabout. I have since come to accept this as an arbitrary occurrence. A phone call, a Whatsapp, a delivery at the door and puff! The energy lost. 

I re-settle, a hot beverage to my right, I rub away light debris from my rose gold, brushed metal finish keyboard in a bid to summons the laptop genie. Barely two terribly clever words in, I search for a definition on Google before disappearing down the rabbit hole of open tabs beckoning me in. A poets award event and reading on Zoom, tonight? 

<script data-ad-client="ca-pub-3345771020474655" async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script>

Post a Comment

Copyright © PORTOBELLO NOVELLA. Designed by OddThemes