Today should be my brother, Will’s birthday, but he’s not here to congratulate. So, instead, here is a song for him. It’s Nina Simone singing Here Comes the Sun, just because he was a fan, and even met her once. Apparently, she was very taken with his dog, Lady – a scary beast he’d almost literally stolen from a man who was using her for fighting. Odd behaviour I admit, but pretty much what I expected from my little brother, and he was rewarded with a lifetime of love and loyalty from a very grateful dog.
He wasn’t the most conventional of people – his exploits would probably outrage Daily Mail reading Middle England – but he was never cruel or malicious, quite the opposite; he was intelligent, kind, brave, very talented, and most important of all, very much loved.
I was very touched to see how many people attended his funeral. Hundreds of people from all walks of life and from all over Europe came to say goodbye to him. The establishment rubbed shoulders with New Age travellers, all got along remarkably well, and all had an anecdote to share. My brother was remembered very fondly, which I think is a sign that, although his life was short, it was worthwhile; not only will he be deeply missed by many, many people, but in time they will remember him and smile.
Anyhoo – Bilbo, I hope you, Lady and Nina Simone are having a bunfight, replete with lots of blancmange, and JD. Keep an eye on Barnie for me … and tell Pater to stop trying to redesign the afterlife; I’m sure that if it needed built-in wardrobes it would already have them x
Today’s song was chosen simply because the title contains the word ‘sleep’, something I haven’t been doing much recently. I’m not really a big Metallica fan, the singer is so off-putting with all his crotch thrusting and posing. Saying that, the video is cool, I do like that.
Any tips for getting to sleep would be appreciated because I’ve never had this problem before. I know it’s mostly due to stuff that’s going on in my life, but I also know I’d find that stuff a lot easier to deal with if I wasn’t so incredibly tired. And I really am. I lie awake for hours worrying about my son’s alarming career choice, about all the decisions I have to make in the next few months – sorry if that is a bit obscure, I can’t be any more specific – and feel a little overwhelmed
Last night, I lay awake until 2.20 then got up, made a drink, tinkered with my blog for a bit and finally got back to bed just as the dawn chorus started (about 4am). I then got up at 8. I’m absolutely shattered. Any advice from more experienced insomniacs would be most welcome.
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I chose this week’s video mostly because the title ties in with the theme of the following post.
Browsing through a few writerly blogs earlier today, I noticed people talking about being commissioned to write up to 20 articles in one day* and found the idea quite incredible. How can someone do that? I don’t just mean in practical, time management terms, I mean, how can someone call themselves a writer when they are simply cranking out articles by the dozen? Surely they are little more than human word processors, and no more writers than someone who fries burgers in McDonalds is a chef.
Writing is a craft; it involves skills which must be practiced and developed. It is not about mass production. Of course any literate person can write an article, but that does not make them a writer. Anyone can write a book, that doesn’t make them a writer either. To use an example: Tennessee Williams was a writer, Barbara Cartland wrote books.
I admit, I am not the most prolific writer and I suppose my opposition to bulk writing could be simply subconscious envy, but I don’t think it is. I strongly believe that what these people are doing is devaluing real writing; they are making it an instant commodity, no different to those aforementioned burgers. They call themselves writers but they really aren’t. Real writers labour long and hard over a single piece of work; real writing can rarely be cranked out in 20 minutes (although that can happen on good days); real writers write because they need to, not because they want to! And trust me, most who merely want to give up because it can be a horrible, thankless occupation. At it’s worst, it isn’t something any sane person would choose to do. It means long hours alone, almost pathological self-criticism and constant rejection. It involves taking your deepest, often darkest thoughts and exposing them to public scrutiny and possible ridicule. There’s a reason so many writers are a little bit mad; it’s because they’re writers.
I read this a little while ago, and one of the comments struck a chord because it described mindset of a writer so aptly:
“An author wakes up with a story burning in their mind and it never goes away, it is an obsession, absolute torture and the only way to relieve the pressure is to get it out of your head. If you aren’t like that then you’re a crappy writer, simple as that. Without passion there is nothing but words on a page, dull, boring words on a page.”
It is an obsession, it can be very much like a form of torture and you do need to have a passion for what you’re writing. I find it very hard to believe anyone wakes up with a burning desire to write a dozen blog posts about cheese, or that those posts are going to be anything but filler.
If you happen to be someone who makes a living this way, you may feel disgruntled. That’s fair enough, but I’m not going to apologise because you are debasing what I and countless others do. In fact not just what we do, but what we are. You are a content provider not a writer, so please stop calling yourself one.
* If you visit certain freelancing sites you will find plenty of similar jobs usually providing content for blogs that border on spam.
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I was going to bring you Autumn Song by the Manic Street Preachers because, despite the title, it is the perfect song for such a beautiful sunny day (especially if you play it loudly and sing along within earshot of the neighbour who cuts his lawn at 7.30 in the morning). However, there wasn’t an embeddable version of that – I did find Suicide is Painless, but that’s not at all the same, and lawn mower man might have thought I was hinting.
Instead you get Blur and a song that reminds me of Scarborough’s Tunnel club back in the late ’90s when I wore ridiculously short skirts, and could stay up till really stupid-o-clock. Nowadays, that all looks far too tiring, and loud, and anyway I have to get up in the morning . . .
ps: Is it me, or does Damon Albarn look about 12 in the video?
@SpikeTheLobster Hi Spike :-) I've sent you DMs in response to yours. However, Twitter is being an arse so let me know if you don't get them 1 month ago
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