From the "why?" to the "what?"

Last week I was prattling on about trying to find a motivation for writing. After digesting my thoughts, I have come to the pretty obvious conclusion that the ideal solution is a comfortable balance of effort and fulfilment. Revelation, I know. Still, the mind does tend to wander, and now I’m admitting to myself that writing is the way to go, I have now found something new to beat myself up about.

That something is knowing exactly what I want to write. Not the specific content, but something David O’Doherty said last week was particularly poignant. He plays on his self-diagnosed low self-esteem, and at one point he remarked how he felt he had no area of expertise. Why exactly would someone choose you for their phone-a-friend? [Go and see Slumdog by the way, it is as good as the hype.]

So what am I to write? Copy is a good place to start, but I don’t want to get bogged down in the construction industry. Just because this is my experience, it doesn’t have to prevail. Not every supposed historical novel has to be written by a historian (see that bestselling travesty The Da Vinci Code). Science fiction is as the genre suggests - it doesn’t require a scientist. So I’ll stick to my mantra of the challenge/gratification balance and just write.

To this end, I have entered a competition in Writing Magazine (I told you I was a writer). The prize is a copy of Fred White’s The Daily Writer, which I think I’d like to own anyway. All I have to do is describe my kitchen in 200 words. It caused unadulterated satisfaction:

Forty years prior, someone stands here and sees the potential of ultramarine. They see the beauty and energy in modern design. Louver doors are all the rage and polystyrene ceiling tiles really make a statement about the owner. The kitchen is the hub of the home and that hub is ready to receive a family.

Fast-forward four decades and I stand here and see the vomit-inducing ultramarine. Faded and conspicuously discoloured by years of fried food, the colours hang as heavy as the redecoration apprehension. I see the beauty and energy in modern design. Shaker doors are all the rage and clean white lines really make a statement about the owner. The kitchen is the hub of the home and that hub is ready to receive a family.

Forty years hence, someone will stand here and see the vomit-inducing white lines and shaker cabinets. They see the beauty in energy and modern design. Who knows what will be all the rage and what might make a statement about the owner. The kitchen is the hub of the home and that hub is ready to receive a family.

I really must sort out that ultramarine.

It has been pretty quiet on the vocational front this week. That elusive $25 will be mine.

Quick afterthought – The Times Online has just published a story with this title – “Judges award Abu Qatada £2,500 compensation for 'unfair' detention”. May I ask exactly why they have used quotation marks? Are they disputing the ruling of the courts? What is strangley missing from the media dialogue on this issue is that no one is questioning the legitimacy and implementation of the 2006 Terrorism Act. The same act that was used against the poor Icelanders. Come back, our North Atlantic friends! Some of us still love you!

New Beginnings

Hello World.

By typing these two words I have taken the first monumental step toward the pursuit of passion in my life. Lord Byron once said: “Passion is the element in which we live; without it, we hardly vegetate.” I must ask this question, albeit rhetorically – could you find joy in the promotion of products for a construction materials corporation?

No. Me neither. Firstly I have a house to build. Next, it’s the question as to whether we can afford to shake off my accidental security blanket and continue to live in this astonishing and inspirational place, or if it’s back to the bottom rung to try and begin to steer life in a more fulfilling direction. Either way I intend to document it right here. This is my self-flagellation, the whip in which to lash some sense of motivation out of this otherwise apathetic being.

It seems like everyone is able to push their life in some sort of reasonable direction by either having known from an early age exactly what they wanted, or simply having the confidence to not only pursue their dreams, but to know that they are genuinely good at what they do. I am slowly willing myself toward changing my mindset. When someone asks me what I do, I’m no longer a marketing manager for construction materials, I am a writer. I am a writer.

So if it interests or pleases anyone to witness how I attempt to release myself from this unintentional detritus, please join me on this journey to launch myself as a freelance copywriter. I will document new works as well as my learning along the way. Top this off with a light dusting of fun and brain-sick and you get me. I’m currently terrified, but I am a writer. I’m going to get there.