'Wake-Me-Up Before You Go-Go,' opening lines from the much sung song of the 1980's here in the Uk, 'Wake- Me-Up Before You Go-Go' London serves to encapsulate a metaphorical literary call to arms for me. London is after all, such a large dollop of creativity and opportunity all in one large dollop. Did I write dollop? Did anyone read the word dollop?
With ears ever open to the world around me, constantly embracing/recognising little snippets of a conversation, replaying mini-scenes over and over in my mind up to and including set design with enter/exit moments upstage left or downstage right, creating from these snippets lines of dialogue, plot-lines one two three four and sometimes five. Themes, more often than not mind-mapping an entire detailed synopsis complete with back-story, locations and character descriptions complete with back-story, embracing visually any and all sights I happen across all subconsciously and indeed more-often-than-not, consciously mind-mapping them into words in my mind then at the first available opportunity, to a page.
Then of course we have networking. Who needs to read these words to stand the best possible chance of someone reading something they enjoy, have a use for, and ultimately feel passionately enough to allow me the honour of writing for them. In itself I then start to compose my own accurate back-story, a much hoped for and soul and heart dedicated to, period of longevity thus breeding more faith in my work, in the life I strive to live within. A life spent with words.On and off script shall we say.
As January bumbles along, most the country here in England eagerly awaiting pay day at the end of this month, personally I await the turn of a new decade of adventures. The big 3 0 looms ever closer (six more sleeps away). Introspective thought processes, a perpetual source of emotion for me, some good, some not, It is fair to write 30 looks to be the making of the man year for me. No longer 'an old boy' it will be with an unflinching nod of self-approval, self-verification in the world, I now belong somewhere, again, at last, 'crumbs you took your time didn't you.' Passing what limited experiences I have down through the generations whilst still sprightly and youthful, embracing such nuggets of wisdom from a wide-ranging network of peers. Namely mum and dad, I write jovially.
For whatever it may or may not be worth, this seems to a technology frustrated Yorkshire man currently skipping about in London (UK) at least, a right of passage year. Having eventually mind-mapped myself to the pathway the Robert of some decades ago would have, should have, could have stepped on, that of spending life with words, it fills me with untold pleasures. For richer or poorer (richer would be nice - not to be confused with affluent, just comfortably off), in sickness and in health (In Stirling health for as long as is possible would be a god send - best give up smoking then hadn't I), for better or worse (plainly better is my desired and much longed for option) I shall recline into the third chapter of this book of a life of mine, with words.
Oh and Ps.
Single thirty something man of words seeking to become a family man
Is this socially acceptable? I don't know. I write in humble whimsicality, making the final piece of my life jigsaw. To become a loving family man. Again. For good. In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse. Will my thirties afford this? Who knows. Best dust off my confidence in this sphere of life and face the world with my head held high. Oh and neatly polished shoes to boot.
Pps. I am proud not to fit in any particular box (currently carrying my winter weight boxes prove something of a mis-fit for me), under any particular label. Conformity, what's this?
Until we meet again through this page, I trust this finds you in good health and a happiness
Peace Friends X
