“Essentially trying to hone what might be 100,000 word novels into 50 word epigrams, trying different genres, playing with form , conceit, experimenting with…are we connecting here?…you seem to have glazed over somewhat.”
“I’m afraid, if you haven’t found a genuine job within a fortnight we’re suspending your benefits.”
“They’re stories…tales…they don’t define well…Poems?…Well, not as such…. Anything from slapstick comedy to horror to introspection to sci-fi…As far as the imagination goes…Quite far, actually…Fifty words….No, fifty…Yes…Well…No real reason…Oh I see…Well what about a Mussolini screenplay?”
The kids hated it. They gave it back. If they’re the future of this country, what hope have we? I told them it was simple, fifty words: one story. They said they’d tell me a great story in one word. I never even knew that word when I was nine.
Publishers be damned. Who needs publishers when you can self-publish on the internet? Ha! Cut out the middle man. I’m going to blog all my stories online just to give them a chance to be read. By anyone. Anyone? Modern technology thou set art free. Fly my children, fly verily.
I’ve decided these stories are perfect for children. Perhaps the content can be a little on the disturbing side but I can sort that. Imagine it; kids up and down the country excitedly hitting on this wacky new fifty word craze. I’m hip, I’m street, and I’m giving something back.
In the small dark hours of morning, an incongruous cold March wind whistling eerily through the vents, I forget about this project. I forget about fifty words. I remember the important things in life that matter more as you grow uncomfortably older.
Then daybreak comes and I remember to forget.
What makes a story? It must comprise a beginning, middle and an end. But surely, in this shortened form I’m allowed to omit one? Can’t I just have a beginning and a middle? But then how do I know when I’ve reached the middle? And wait, without an ending it’s
So how to break writer’s block? Well, you write anything, however trite, just to keep those fingers moving. You just expunge the negativity with action. You drive onwards, upwards, follow through, keep the flow Joe, do your talking while you’re walking. The trouble is, you are actually left with trite.
I’m stuck. I’ve run out of ideas. I sit staring at a luminescent screen and see nothing but a cursor flicking on and off, flicking on and off. It’s got so bad I’ve taken to repetition. I can’t even fill fifty pathetic words. Fifty pathetic words. Is this the end?
This project panders to my tiny attention span. My mind wanders like an amnesiac puppy. So, what better than MTV on paper and in words? It’s the new rock and roll, without music………………………………………I like music. I’m going to buy a pizza and listen to David Bowie. Mushroom and sweetcorn.