Calling occupants of writing craft

THE WRITER’S LIFE

While my offline self continues to deal with real-life situations I needn’t trouble the world with, the one who’d like to tell everyone everything was suffering writer’s block. And I’ve been revisiting my favourite science fiction universe in Firefly, the demise of which I mourn daily, just like Sheldon Cooper.

Serenity_Pierre_Drolet_06-1This sci-fi geek modeller is my favourite person right now: He’s made a model of an aircraft carrier and parked Serenity on the deck (Pierre Drolet Sci-Fi Museum)

I read an article recently on hobbies to help with anxiety and depression, and writing wasn’t one of them, which was strange, because it’s been writing that’s helped me most over time. In the beginning, it was all I had.

That was five years ago, when I begged money on the streets to buy exercise books from Poundland (and white cider), and stole some bookies pens. When I used to sit in various warm, dry and light places, I planned to turn my story into a book. Then I got over myself and realised no-one would be interested in a Charles Bukowski fan boy (although I’ve been compared to him since, and many others in fact: some of the greats in the genres I write). In any case, The Paradoxicon was a fair stab at a semi-autobiographical flash fiction novel, allowing me to move on, and I’ve written four other books since.

Much has changed since then, and life has got easier in many respects (somewhere to live helps), but without the constant distraction of life keeping you on your feet, there’s a tendency to get stuck. I’ve never lapsed back to drinking, but I know why I did, when I’d sometimes rather blank something from my mind which won’t sleep. But I’m a writer.

Unless you’re writing for a mass market, it’s a very internal affair, and prevented from writing about much in my real life (the privacy of others), my solitary offline life gave me little else to think about. Well therein lies the paradox I’d created for myself: As a writer, I can write anything. And as a blogger, that can just be a diary entry.

Right now I’m perched on a cushion on my chair, not just because I’m short but because the air canister has emptied itself, so it’s lost its power of levitation. Nevertheless, the dead chair is full of memories that I’ve written while I sat at this desk on many other late nights. I’ll keep my old seat, because I can’t afford another one anyway, but most importantly, it’s where I am now.

I’m aware of the weight distribution in my arse on the cushion, and because I think different to most, I feel speed. Because what I can feel below me – the weight of my backside on the seat – is the feeling of my own gravity in relation to that of the Earth. So in another way of thinking, the pressure I feel is not me bearing down, but the entire planet pushing up beneath me. Like this world and everyone else on it, I’m spinning at 1000 mph and hurtling through space at around fifty times that. These are the things which keep me awake at night, sometimes joyfully.

If I get it right, I can sometimes lucid dream, and within my mind I can explore the universe (there are articles dotted about this blog). It’s getting to sleep that’s the problem, but writing is good for insomnia.

I’ve got sufficient followers to guarantee at least one will be interested in what’s on my mind, because they’ve chosen to follow me and be a part of another virtual life. And in a life cut off from most human contact, for someone like me, that’s a comforting thought.

So even if I am rambling, I know that someone besides me will be reading, then I feel less alone.

This blog was originally that of a writer with depression, like so many others, and yet it was the illness which prevented me dealing with it. Such is the power of the mind when it’s cracked. But other times, living with a Kintsukorai mind (one which is more beautiful for having been broken) is one long lucid dream.

Whenever I question what’s in my head existentially, I’m reminded of a documentary Stephen Fry made about his own brand of depression. At the end, he posed a question: If there were a big red button, and hitting it would just restore you to “Normal”, would you? Same as him, I don’t have to think for long: No.

Paul Auster once said he’s happy with a day’s work if he has 500 words of perfect prose at the end. I’m happier when I’ve pumped out 850 words of pulp thoughts in an hour and cleared my mind for others to read. A problem shared, is one divided or multiplied.

Suffer in silence

Now Serenity awaits, somewhere in the universe. If I can just dream, I can hitch a ride, with friends, the captain, a shepherd, a doctor, and a companion or more.

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Dr Koothrappali’s Fun With Ropes

THE WRITER’S LIFE

The title refers to an episode of The Big Bang Theory, where Sheldon Cooper found himself sharing an office with Raj Koothrappali, and hid a snake (a corn snake, as it happens) in Raj’s desk drawer. I myself have been fascinated by serpents since I was a teenager, and lately I’ve been revisiting that world, where I dreamed of all I have now.

Sheldon staples

When my family got our first VCR, WarGames and Electric Dreams became two of my favourite films, and remain so today: I can quote both from start to finish with the sound turned down, so it’s useful for guests that they both have good soundtracks.

But anyway, those two films were the worlds I wanted to occupy in a future life. And now, I sit at a desk, connected to the world, and surrounded by music and film. Sometimes as I sit here in the present, I see myself as a retrospective visitor from the future.

I arrived here through 25 years in print. From Linotype, hand-engraving, and letterpress; through corporate finance, security and government printing; via the transition of an art into technology; and finally to Kinko’s and my own print management companies…

I’ve witnessed the evolution of the printed word, and still argue that the Gutenberg Press was one of mankind’s greatest inventions. I have my children’s names on my arms in Helvetica, and print is in my blood.

I’m a beneficiary of the democratisation of the written word through digital publishing, and continue to wonder at the power of design and advertising, even admiring its ability to subvert in a world of fake news, where trust in journalism is rare. I have things to write about. Loneliness is in the head, and my head is not a lonely place. Stephen Hawking became a cyborg, and I’m just a virtual life on screen, in which I can do anything I like.

During my 47 years, I’ve learned a lot about many things: about myself and the world around me. I can boss Pointless most days, but social anxiety will always prevent me doing so anywhere other than in front of my own TV.

Travelling back in time to pick up my teenage self, and placing us in a modern context we might once have imagined, we may find ourselves presenting something like Sheldon Cooper’s Fun With Flags.

We have our own title, using one of the many terms applied to snakes by those who don’t understand them: Fun With Nope Ropes (not a euphemism for a failed take on life). In this first broadcast, a video shared on my FriendFace news feed. The question which prompted this whole post was a comment someone made: “Why didn’t the camera man help out?”:

FUN WITH NOPE ROPES

Rattlers are some of the most democratic of the nope ropes (they’re not rude tubes, like black mambas, for example). They only use the rattle as a warning, to say stay away: they don’t want to be trodden on, or triggered by accident. They rarely bite anything they can’t swallow as food, as it’s a waste of venom and effort (snakes are cold-blooded, so they need to conserve and regulate energy, and they’re lazy), unless they’re threatened. It could almost be argued that they have the preservation of other species in mind, as they consider their needs of their environment.

Rattlesnakes are born with a small hook on their tail, and over time, as the snake grows, it moults its skin. With each slough, a small ring of skin will remain on the non-dangerous end, eventually drying out and collecting on top of the last ring to make the familiar rattle. Frankly, I’d have loved one as I was growing up.

In any case, the guy still alive in the video is absolutely right to stay still, and the cameraman too. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t see what we just did. To be honest, I envy them.

I’ve encountered many snakes in my offline life, but few venomous ones. All are equally beautiful and graceful, but the majority shy or nervous. Many non-venomous snakes are placid, and even some of the most potent pose no threat to humans.

In the next episode of Fun With Nope Ropes, we’ll look at the black mamba, that most infamous of snakes, and deservedly so. The black mamba is the rudest of tubes.

CM

This blog entry was part-sponsored by Captain Mamba, the lead ophidian in my sci-fi novel, Cyrus Song: “Danger Noodle”, “Nope Rope”, “Rude Tube”, “Shite Pipe”, “Feck Flute.” He goes by many names.

The bastard brain thing

THE WRITER’S LIFE

knock-penny
“Anyone, anyone, anyone…”

As Saturday transitions into Sunday, I often get attacks of insomnia, and this is one such. Having spent the day reading the news, thinking, researching and writing, I have a lot on my mind. Sometimes I write. Other times, I’ll have a DVD binge.

Given the size of my DVD library, I have a lot of choice. I can pretty much watch something whichever mood takes me. When my mind is really in need of a sedative, beyond Mirtazapine, I turn to a regular favourite. Because there’s one show which appeals to many of my senses and emotions. I know I’m not alone in being a fan, but I wonder sometimes if I may be being obsessive. But to me, that’s the appeal of this show.

I’m sure others have written in greater detail but I question whether I should look, for fear of becoming even more obsessive. For now, I suspect I’m alone, or in very minority company, in analysing The Big Bang Theory in such depth, way beyond these few thoughts:

Sci-fi series aside (I’m thinking Firefly), as a general entertainment show, TBBT is one of my favourites, because there’s so much beyond the surface.

Personally, I see “Friends”, as just “The one where only the one with any apparent brains (Ross Geller) was always shouted down as some sort of boring, intellectual elitist”, at the expense of Chandler’s “Wit”; Joey’s Harmless-but-slightly-sinister-misogynist-guy-acting-dumb-and-vulnerable-getting-away-with-it; Monica’s neediness and OCD; Pheobe’s hippy, floaty, histrionic personality; and Rachael’s poor rich kid. With all that potential, little was made of it by the writers. For a more in-depth comment on this, see David Hopkins’ article, How a TV Sitcom Triggered the Downfall of Western Civilization.

Which is why I like TBBT so much: Intelligent writers; scientific consultants; and cast members with academic qualifications themselves. Actors who are accomplished in artistic and scientific fields, away from this show.

And it stands up to repeated viewing, because behind the first act, there are so many layers: Deep personalities and back stories; humour intelligent enough to evoke a double-take; but above all, the ongoing, in-depth analysis of complex human emotions.

Again, I suspect I am alone or at least lonely, but anyone who appreciates the intricacies of Leonard Hofstadter, his relationship with Penny (never had a second name, before Hofstadter (this is how much of a geek I am)); Penny and Sheldon’s relationship; and Sheldon’s relationship with Amy, will know what I mean.

And this is before I analyse Raj, Bernadette and Howard. Even though the latter is generally repugnant, the acting portrays a deeply troubled and insecure character. The characters in Big Bang are very complex, which is what gives the show so much appeal to me.

But the greatest thing for the geek in me is the supporting cast: Stuart Bloom, Beverley Hofstadter, Mary Cooper…; And the sci-fi legends who are game enough to make cameos: Katee Sackhoff, George Takei, Leonard Nimoy. And Wesley Crusher, always game as he plays Wil Wheaton (If no-one else gets that gag, I am truly alone).

I can’t think of any instances in that other show where anything outside the trials and tribulations of a bunch of stereotypes were explored. Sure, it was “funny”, in an escapist way. And Big Bang is escapist too, but it makes me think more. It makes me think; not the thoughts which keep me awake, but those which allow me to go on exploring.

Do androids dream of electric sheep?