Friday, 24 January 2014

Where I whinge

Writing is hard.

Or, to express it more phonetically:  Writing is reeeeeally haaaard, you guuuuys...

It isn't physically difficult; I have a keyboard and a desk, and a relatively comfy chair; I'm not the Diving Bell and the Butterfly chap, and nor do I have to chip each letter from granite, or carve it into a block of wax with a style.

And law alone knows, I'm not in any danger of running out of things to say ["Shame!" drifts down from the peanut gallery].

But it takes so much time, that I could spend...making up excuses not to clean, watching wrestling PPVs, petting the cat, eating biscuits, reading Take a Break...

Yes, I'm lazy and undisciplined, and bad at the actual arse-in-chair fingers-on-keys grab words from my brain and turn the hot air from my mouth into permanent marks on the page bit.

I'm going to fail this 500-films-in-50-weeks project, I suspect.  I'm more certain of that than I am that Cena and Orton will spend 2014 playing swapses with the WWE title; more certain than Ric Flair turning up at a live event arseholed drunk and disgracing himself again; more certain than Tom Cruise spending the entirety of his next film being smug.

BUT; the discipline is good for me, and my ambition is to fail at it in a better and more spectacular way than I've ever failed before.


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