Tag Archives: I

I, Writer … #26

I, Writer … #26

Things are going fairly swimmingly over here in Fulltimeness  at present, although I did have a slight problem earlier this morning.  It came in the form of these jibbering idiots …

There is nothing quite so annoying as a group of skeletons dancing around your bed at 4 am.

They duly informed me that their names were Winterbones, SleepybonesLazybones and … Dave.  And collectively they were known as The Four Skeletons of Writerly Suffering. More like the Drab Four if you ask me.

And, as they danced, they absolutely insisted on speaking their truths. Their truths at 4 am. 

Winterbones said … Come on you chaps. Keep dancing and let’s try going a bit faster. Try and work up a bit of a sweat.

Sleepybones said ...  I could just lie down right here and fall into the arms of Morpheus. Dream the dreamless sleep and all that sort of thing.

Lazybones said ... I think we should stop right now. Let’s go somewhere quiet and practice our dance-steps. Ah, but first we should go down the library and read books about the history of armchairs and their place in the natural order of things. Then we could go for a nice leisurely game of billiards in … Istanbul.

Dave said … Look. I was just flat out on the pavement, minding my own business, when these three jokers came along, picked me up and made me dance.

And I said … nothing actually. I just rolled over, pulled the blankets up over my head and went back to sleep. In the morning they were gone. Well almost. I found Dave in the kitchen helping himself to yesterday’s leftovers …

 

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I, Writer …. # 25

I, Writer …. # 25

Hello

I seem to remember telling you that I now have a new cat.
Her name is Kitty. She is almost 4 months old and her favourite food is Felix tuna flavour. She sleeps just about anywhere and has recently taken quite a fancy to the wooden fruit crate in which I keep some of my old writing files.

I also have a new desk. It is quite small and fits in nicely by the window. Try as I might it is stubbornly refusing to eat. I asked in the pet-shop if they had any tasty desk nibbles. This was just before they threw me out.

 

I, Writer … # 24

A couple of days ago I reblogged a post from Kate over at 4AM Writer. She’s called 4AM Writer because she does precisely that. Highly recommended.

Anyway, I woke up really early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I looked at the clock. It was a little after 4.AM.
Freaky or what. I lay awake and got to thinking – 4AM Writer lives in America and is 5 hours behind British time which means she’s 9AM Writer as far as I’m concerned, me being over in Scotland and all. So I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Back to my dream about drinking beer on the Moon. Time-zones are for wimps.

I, Writer … # 23

I, Writer … # 23

TOSSED SALAD

A short dialogue I overheard when my ear was pressed close to a bowl of salad at a friend’s birthday party.

Your eyes are like limpid pools of starlight. Your skin is as soft as a kitten’s fur.

What about my hair. Do you like my hair ?

You’re a cucumber. You don’t have any hair.

And you’re a tomato. You’re not exactly hairy yourself.

Well no, but …

You’re just jealous.

Jealous ?

Yes. You’re jealous of me and salmon.

No I’m not.

Yes you are!

Look … what you two get up to in a sandwich is non of my business.

Anyway, lettuce told me that you were getting very friendly with a courgette.

Yes. We were at Eton together.

You mean you were eaten together ?

No. We were at Eton together. He was in the year above me.

 

HAPPY CREEPY HALLOWEEN!

HAPPY CREEPY HALLOWEEN!

In order to keep in with the spooky spirit of Halloween, I have dug up an I,Writer post from 2016 …

https://awritersden.wordpress.com/2016/11/22/i-writer-15/

I, Writer … #22

I, Writer … #22

I, Writer has a new furry addition to the family …

KITTY

 

I, Writer … #18

I, Writer … #18

Total Global Nuclear War in a Waste-Paper Basket …

Many years ago, before Twitter was an egg and trolls were just annoying creatures with nothing better to do than scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting travellers, I wrote to several well-known British daily newspapers. I was trying to sell them articles about all manner of things from the price of fish to the likely consequences of total global nuclear war. I didn’t hold out too much hope of getting anything published but these things must always be attempted in any event.

Anyway, just in case my efforts weren’t accepted (and believe you me, they weren’t) I had adopted a face-saving ploy. This ploy was absurdly simple and centred on the subject of waste disposal.

I told them – “If, in the unlikely event you choose not to snap this article up and prefer instead to dispose of it in the time honoured fashion, then the very least you can do is to tell me what colour waste paper bins you have in your editorial offices.”

I thought this to be a perfectly reasonable request.
Did they take me up on this ? Did they hell!  No replies. Nothing. 

Well, except the dear old Daily Telegraph. They actually wrote back to me. “Thank you for your article. Unfortunately we are unable to accept non-commissioned pieces at this time. As to your request. The waste bins in our offices are a nice shiny blue. We have also recently acquired several new paper shredders. We wish you every success for the future.”

Well at least they bothered.