"Oh, yes and I guess you need a pic. It's me smooching with Kylie." |
Up For It
I was in a rut. A writing rut. I had a full-blown case of the blogger's blues. It had been a good few days since I'd had anything I really wanted to write about.
When I really enjoy writing (well, typing really, if ya wanna get technical) is when I have something really interesting to write about - something I saw on the news, some hot topic that's in the public eye or something that just gets my goat and makes me want to have a good rant. Sometimes, though, it can be something simple, like writing about writing. Or writer's block. Or Rubik's Cubes. Or food.
Well, it was obvious what I needed. A challenge. This is where fortune, and Clark, stepped in.
Clark sent out a message that he was taking a month off from The Trickle (as we in the inner circle refer to this hallowed institution) to take part in NaNoWriMo, as confusing and hard to say a monicker as you'll ever find. He's challenged himself to write a novel in a month. Well, good luck with that, buddy. I've been trying to write a novel for 15 years, and I'm still struggling with that difficult third chapter. When it all goes tits-up, don't say I didn't warn ya. Oh, and go for a nice snappy title. Something along the lines of "My Buddy Jeff", "King Jeff", or even "The World Of Jeff!". Say, that last one has a nice ring to it.
Anyway, where was I? That's right, he sent out a desperate plea for assistance.
"My friends," quoth Mr. Brooks (for it was he), "I'm taking a month off to write The Great American Novel, and all that jazz (I'm paraphrasing here) and I need a bunch of mugs, I mean volunteers to write it for me, and all that. Word."
So there it was. The Golden Opportunity. The Shining Moment. Destiny was calling. I had a chance, a real chance, to become a "guest blogger" on a popular, well-known, stupendously awesome blog by a writer of high esteem and sagacity (No need to thank me, Mr. Brooks, no need!) I would do it. I would write a piece for Da Trickle (to give it its street name) and become an instant success! An overnight sensation! A-number-One! Cream of the crop! Staaart spreadin' the newwws...
What would my family and friends think about this newfound stardom? What would me mum say?
I know exactly what she'd say, actually. "You're getting too big for your boots, Jeffrey!"
And then there's the problem of fans, isn't there? Adoring masses outside my house at all hours of the day and night. Paparazzi. Stalkers. I'd go into hiding, like J.D. Salinger and never write again. Or like Sean Connery in 'Finding Forrester'. I can actually do a passable Connery impression. Absholutely, Mish Moneypenny. I found the cure for the plague of the 20th Shentury and now I've losht it! I am a man of a thousand voices.
Anything is possible. I might spiral into a dizzying, er, spiral of booze, women and Geritol. And more booze. It'd be all over the tabloids. "I HAD JEFF'S ALIEN DINGO HAMSTER BABY, SAYS LOHAN", "JEFF ATE MY LASAGNA", "WHY ARE YOU READING THIS NONSENSE", "JEFF WORKING ON REWRITE OF EIGHT IS ENOUGH", the headlines would scream.
So here I am on The Conch (to give it its Waikikian name). It is indeed an honour and a privilege.
But what to write about? What? Hmmm. I have much thinkage about this tricky one.
I'll figure it out at some point.
5 comments:
Having been a former co-worker (and miss bossy britches) of Jeff's, I can attest to his brilliant, no, BLOODY brilliant Sean Connery impression. He can also moonwalk. His charm oozes more greatly than that of all 4 IL DIVO dudes, but he uses far less hair gel.
HickmoTT, with two 'T's!
*applause* Great to read you Mr HickmoTT. :o)
Why, thank you :-)
Jeff-fa-fa Hickmott-ta-ta
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