Sometimes You have to break your own rules and Just Write

First published on Medium.com on 28/8/2023

Before the muse takes you on your journey and before the demons of doubt grab at your fingers and squeeze them till they are frozen, you just write. 

No planning, no thoughts lingering on ideas. You just type away. At the cell keyboard, thumbs pressing away, or the pad, or the laptop. I use all three. The mobile phone during the day when I am away from home. The tablet when I just cannot be bothered to pick up my laptop.  

Sometimes you just do it. Like this piece, I had absolutely no idea of what to write. I was looking through the scrawling land of my cloud looking through for something to finish or edit. Just something to post on Medium. I looked through a poetry folder. My poetry is anarchistic. It follows no form, starts without an idea. One line triggers the next, till the poem feels finished. Reading some, the demon got me. Perhaps he is right. My poetry is fucking awful. A few years ago, I had a burst of writing poetry, if I were waiting, I would draft a poem. After being hospitalised, you have a lot of follow up appointments. I was also banned from driving because of the illness, and I had to get around on public transport. Waiting for trains, buses, taxis, and appointments you have a lot of time to waste. Looking at the poetry I honestly cannot remember anything that triggered most of them.  

You can sit and watch TV. And by TV, I mean Netflix, Amazon, and all those other streaming sites but they are a distraction. They all have entertaining shows that you can binge watch. But most of the content they put out I find fucking boring if I am honest.  

I grew up on TV. That sounds like I was a child star, but it just was not that glamorous. As a child I got home from school and either the TV was on, or I would put it on. My siblings would argue about what show to watch. We had three channels and all they did was numb the mind. Aside from time spent with mates the TV was the object of fascination for my family. We have no collective memories other than TV.  

So much so there was shock and horror when I moved into an apartment on my own. I could not afford to buy a TV and refused all offers of one. For me it was a release. Instead of having an evening where I stared at a screen not enjoying it but leaving it on, I had to find something to amuse. Something different. Something people did before that box in the corner became the focal point of life. I read and I listened to the radio.  

Can you feel intelligence grow?  

For me, it is Sunday morning. I had a lie in this morning, I got up at eight o’clock. Like every morning I catch up on the news on the BBC news and NBC news app, reading whatever sparks my interest, after that comes the BBC Sport app. The Vuelta started yesterday so I went straight to read who won the first stage and then read a little about football. The lye in means I will not do any laundry today. I had checked the weather for today – and tomorrow – on Saturday and knew I had to start the washing early to get it dry on the line. But tomorrow is bank holiday and a dry day so I will do the laundry tomorrow. A brew and a light snack to start the day. Such is the life of a quickly aging man. 

And I am back round to the start. Waiting for the muse.  

Talking crap till the muse finds me. Sometimes I think my muse must go on months long benders with the other imaginary spirits. Some Valhalla where they all gather in some drug and alcohol fuelled orgy and laugh at the humans waiting on them. My muse must really hate me or be in league with my assigned demon to suppress me. They may even be lovers my muse and demon. Conspiring to make me write something just to convince me it is worthless boring shite.  

Well fuck the muse and fuck the demon. I am just going to write anyway.