I’ve always loved the cinema. It started with the first movie I ever went to see. My dad took me to the grand old, art deco Odeon that used to sit in central Leicester to watch the newly re-issued Jungle Book. It blew me away. The deep reaching perspective of Kipling’s jungle in the credits. The moody atmosphere that seemed to lurk in the opening few scenes and the sheer, wild delight that took its place until a certain tiger cornered a boy amongst dying trees, the flames spread and I was made to believe a heroic slob of a bear had died.
Read MoreSit down. The show’s about to start.
What’s that? How am I?
We probably don’t have time for that. I’m still rewriting the new novel. Taking it apart. Clearing out the problems and the pretentious ideas. Rebuilding it into something that will hopefully attract more readers and sell better.
I mean, you’ve got to get your kicks somewhere, right?
Last week the rewrite behaved itself. Motivation was up. Momentum was on my side. Things went well. This week, almost predictably, not so much. The rewrite has turned on me. Causing the Unwelcome Catholic in my head to say that’s what I get for feeling good about myself. It’s been a week of steeper slopes and stupid problems.
So long motivation and momentum. Hello, frustration, my old friend.
Step right up, Ladies and Gentlemen. Here it is, hot off the press (depending on when you're reading this). This is the second ever story sketch on The Blank Page. Instead of a long and rambling blog, Long Words proudly presents a short piece of strange fiction for your delectation. We hope you enjoy it. If only because there will be more.
Read MoreThere’s about to be a change on The Blank Page. Don’t worry, it’s nothing major. I’m not about to start blogging only in Wingdings or turn this whole thing into a either raging diatribe on why I should run the world or why old Thomas the Tank Engine will always be superior to its modern incarnation. Although, for the record, I think I’d make a pretty good world leader. But don’t we all, right?
Read MoreAs I got older, my comedy compass shifted. Sometimes through the influence of friends, sometimes through late night TV surfing. I got into the uncomfortable pleasure of watching Alan Partridge fail and fail again. I saw Chris Morris skewer the world around him whilst he kept a sharp, straight face. Seinfeld and Sanders showed me how America was warping the formula its past masters had perfected. Whilst here Father Ted, Darkplace and Spaced were all merrily making up their own rules, breaking ground for an incoming flood of new comedy.
Read MoreOkay, I want to talk about something in particular this week. Only, in order to do that, I need to make confession before we go any further. Are you ready? This isn’t going to be easy for me.
Here goes nothing…
There really is no surface quite as slippery as the blank page. Which is not great when you consider we’re completely surrounded by them at this time of year. There are blank calendars wherever we look, showing all those unwritten days we’re going to fill, whether we like it or not. I hate any new calendar or diary for that. They always seem to offer undiscovered territory. Yours to claim. They’re a map of potential, in that moment you open them, at least. Of course, once you finally start using them, all you really mark down are trips to the dentist and occasional family gatherings.
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