Lately (you may have noticed) I've given up attempting to write fiction, at least in any of its recognisable forms, and by that I mean: do not classify these articles as non-fiction, for all they do is voice ideas – sometimes mine, sometimes others – as well as all those questions we cannot put to or ask each other. What I write, what you read is not necessarily an autobiographical me, although I'm not about to make it easier for you and tell you what is me and what isn't. Hell, I'm not sure I even know!
assume anything in this life for we're all one big bundle of
contradictions. We contradict ourselves sometimes without even
realising, until someone calls us out. Tries to make it into a big
deal. When it's not, really. You can change your stance on issues as
the years drift by. Principles don't always stay principles forever.
An experience might alter your outlook, widen or narrow your
perspective from what it was.
that last paragraph is not the point, it's beside the point,
particularly the last part because isn't that what fiction is all
about? Isn't that what invented characters or plots enable us to do?
Broaden our horizons if they're limited, and consider those horizons
from an angle that may not have occurred to us had we been left to
our own devices.
I've done it again! Strayed, like a bullet that wilfully misses its
target, which is why I'd be no good with a plot. And even more
hopeless devising believable three-dimensional characters that you
only read and rifle through as you might do someone's sock drawer. Do
people still have sock drawers? I do, but then I'm not a reliable
example when I'm down with the olds. In favour of any-old-thing
rather than new-modern. On principle or because I hate being forced?
More the latter, I think. I'll succumb when I absolutely have to and
not before, kicking and screaming probably as I used to do as a
toddler on supermarket floors. Bejam, I think it was. None of which
has anything to do with sock drawers.
can't I stick to the topic? And I thought I was square. A square
person would stick to cold hard facts and produce a tidy report. All
bases covered and no fluff. Or extra padding like those God-damn
awful insert-able, removable shoulder pads in the 80s, which having
been permanently removed can be found in brassieres to cushion and
provide enhancement to gals who are told they fall short in that
department. Next there'll be derrière pads (if I haven't missed the
advent of those already!) to give that coveted Beyonce butt, though
personally I think Kylie still has it.
in all, thank God a dry and to-the-point report wasn't a goal because
this would surely be marked with an F, or even, God forbid, a U.
who's this? Someone's just poked her head round the door and asked if
I want a cuppa. Nope, don't know her. She has a wipe-clean pinny on
and has come armed with a pink feather duster. Lethal she is with it
too as she dances it around the room and over picture frames. This is
going to be one Supergran clean where nothing is moved out of place,
just dabbed around, or poked as she's doing now to this keyboard,
swatting at it as if it were a fat, juicy fly, unmindful of the fact
that I'm having to both screen (for my own safety) and avert my eyes
as my article gets a new paragraph, primarily of gobbledygook,
inserted. Luckily, she somehow manages to end with a punctuated
flourish by hitting Delete successively like she's decided this isn't
the time or the place to air her linen; none of which I imagine is
grey and holey like some of mine. She looks like the type of woman
that might still scrub it by hand on wash day, unless she too has
caught on to the miracle that is Vanish! And just like that, said in
my best Tommy Cooper-ish voice, she's gone! Well, that didn't last
long, just long enough to have destroyed any hope of this being a
don't remember employing a char-woman...? What a distraction she
caused flouncing in when I thought I was finally getting somewhere,
not of course to where I'd intended to take you, but this writer
really can't afford to be too choosy. My advice: run with and not
against figments of the imagination, even if whatever it is seems
inappropriate, implausible or ridiculous for they may not wash up
ever again, or in quite the same workable form.
Picture credit: Wash Day, 1945, Grandma Moses (Anna Mary Robertson Moses)