Monday, 31 March 2008

Morning Pages... In The Evening... Re-written In The Afternoon.

This post contains two 'F-bombs'. Get over it.

I'm having trouble with a script at uni. I have to write a script, and as the days tick by I get more and more anxious about it.

Normally I would not be so freaked out over a script of all things. A script. A story. Simple right? Well I would normally be fine - except my lecturers for that subject intimidate the poo out of me. At the beginning of the semester one of them stood at the front of the lecture hall and declared:


After that it only got worse. In my tutorial creative people seemed to bloom around me - making characters and scenarios worthy of Booker Prizes.

I thought and realized creating characters only to fling them into perilous dramas seems cruel. Like I'm going to have the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Protagonists on my case for specifically creating a character so it can live a life of misery between the pages.

I know what my lecturers would say. It is the sinister and nebulous Censor getting the better of me. The great Satan of the creative mind which lurks, monitoring thoughts and says You don't have a story to tell. You're just a nobody. Ha!

My lecturers will tell me to say a big "fuck you" to the Censor. In fact, there's a good chance they will get me to draw my representation of the Censor on the board and will literally get me to say "fuck you" in front of the class. The rest of the students will gather around me and sway, burning incense while chanting anti-Censor liturgies.

I wonder what their reaction would be when they found out that my representation of my Censor is actually a picture of my lecturers?

I'm not helped by the fact that I'm not a native fiction writer. I write editorial-style, Francis Whiting-esque pieces. Yesterday I tentatively decided I would write about a bookstore. I even went so far as to call it a "comedic detective story about a shoplifter". And reading that back, it doesn't sound too bad. Down with the Censors!

Anyway, the idea must expand. Who is the main character? It will be based on someone kind of like me, but not actually me. Like a simple me. His name will be... Acton? I'd love to use a Brontë pseudonym.

Oh! Wouldn't this be cool! Currer, Ellis and Acton - crime fighting trio. That shoplifter hasn't got a chance. They can leap around spouting literary references on par with Thursday Next; inspecting babies' prams and looking in old ladies' handbags for illicitly concealed paperbacks. And who would be the actual culprit? A destitute lady with an uncontrollable desire for Mills & Boon, who has a ragamuffin son who reads historical novels and books about where words come from and that sort of thing. At the end Currer, Ellis and Acton will not press charges because the crimes were committed in the name of love for reading. Instead it will end with a close-up of Currer as he monologues to no one in particular about the virtues of public libraries.


This needs work I think.

1 comment:

  1. Having read this, I feel compelled to ask... Have you read "The Artist's Way" or just your lecturers? lol

    And furthermore, I find myself getting frustrated with people writing for the sake of writing lately. Does nobody wake up anymore with a desire to communicate an idea or to explore an issue?!