I’m going to be a FAMOUS WRITER

Currently reading: The End of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas
Current obsession: Christina Hendricks from Mad Men (phwoar!)
Recurring dream theme: packing, trains and travelling overseas

Edgar Allan Poe: alcoholic, opium addict, married his 13-year-old cousin, unable to negotiate waistcoat buttons, moustachioed

As most of you will know by this belated stage, I have been pondering of late what to do with my life. And by “pondering” I mean endlessly whinging and moaning and metaphorically bashing my head against the wall (except for the time I did bash my head against the wall, but that was an accident because I was thinking about puppies and not looking where I was going). The only thing I have always known for certain is that it’s my greatest fear (other than falling headlong down a flight of stairs and shattering all my teeth) to wake up in 10 years time and discover I’m still working in customer service. I’ve seen those belligerent 50-something-year-old matrons in Woolworths or Coles with whiskers on their chins and chips on their shoulders, spreading bad cheer and squashing my perishables, and I’ve instructed my friends to never allow me to reach that point. It’s just that retail has always been a means to an end, and once you’re in, much like the Mafia and almost as terrifying, it’s almost impossible to get out.

William Faulkner: lifelong alcoholic, adulterer, moustachioed, pipe-smoker

So. I started thinking about what it is that I’m passionate about. I mean, really passionate about. It seems so simple really. It’s such a pleasure to watch people talk about something they’re really passionate about. Be it astrophysics, late-Medieval armoury, lepidoptery, or the versatility of bamboo as a textile (shout-out to mah flattie, yo) it is wonderful to see people discuss that which makes them most happy. Unless of course they tend to go on a bit, and then generally I want to see if I can fit my entire shoe in their mouth.

Ernest Hemingway: alcoholic, bipolar, KGB spy, adulterer, bearded

So what is it that I’m really passionate about? Well, considering I’m unlikely to make a career out of Matt Berry, that leaves one thing- BOOKS. Like, I mean, DUH. I know books, I know literature, I know WRITING. I always wanted to become a writer, but school, as it did with so many of my childhood interests, effectively destroyed my love of writing stories with all it’s rules and guidelines and markings out of 10. My creative writing may have since become a little rusty, but in one way or another I have continued to write, in either letters, blogs, on forums or Twitter (and a little more of that later).

J.D. Salinger: recluse, loony, predilection for teenage girls

This past week I started a creative writing course through the Sydney Writing Center. It’s once a week for 5 weeks. It’s just an introductory course, which I hoped would kick-start my story writing and provide some encouragement and inspiration. And, by jingo, it worked! From the very beginning, when Jeni Mawter started speaking, I immediately understood and related to every point. I sat there nodding like a bobblehead toy on a dashboard. For the first time whilst doing a course I felt like it all made sense. The film course I did last year, within the first few minutes, sailed straight over my head, and never became any clearer for me. And the resulting short film that we made I really didn’t feel represented me in any way. Despite having a role within the film itself, I didn’t feel as though I had anything to do with it. But with this writing course, I’ve realised I just naturally have an affinity with words. It just makes sense. The more I consider it, the more I realise that I have all the habits of a writer- except for a drinking problem, which I swear I’m working on. However, as any writer can tell you, it’s the writing that’s the hard part. And, honey, if you haven’t written anything, you ain’t no writer. It’s like that episode of Sex and the City with Charlotte and the lesbians, when she’s told by a Power-Dyke “If you don’t eat pussy, you’re not a lesbian”. See, same thing for writers. Except without the pussy. (Hi Nan, if you’re reading this!)

Dorothy Parker: alcoholic, wisecracker, Communist, clinically depressed, suicidal, pen-chewer

My first order of business as a FAMOUS WRITER (for those of you familiar with the Mighty Boosh, that is to be said in the style of Hamilton Cork) is to make a belated return to this blog. It’s far too easy for me to neglect Dear Flossblog in favour of playing Plants Vs Zombies or something equally as important. Over the next few weeks I’m going to make a concerted effort to practice writing and set time aside without distractions. I already have the habit of writing down observations and random thoughts I have, albeit on Twitter. I for one would like to champion Twitter as a great tool for writers. For one thing, the character limit forces you to be economical with your words until you get down to the bare necessities of what you’re trying to portray. Also, it allows you to follow and communicate with other writers, artists, generally interesting people and creative types. And whenever I have an amusing thought I can send it out onto the netherwebs for a distant, anonymous people to pick apart and judge…

Hunter S. Thompson: alcoholic, substance abuser, gun-toter, Gonzo, pipe-smoker

There you have it- I am going to (try) to be a writer… *ahem*, I mean, a FAMOUS WRITER. I want to write the story that is clamouring quite loudly to be told. I’m sick of it bouncing around in my mind. Perhaps one day it will become a published work. In that eventuality, anyone who writes a comment on my blog gets an acknowledgment in the afterword, promise.