Writer so worthy

Tonight I was swayed by several options. Number one was, given the latish hour (it's approaching five to nine), to give the job up as being beyond me. Options two to five were respectively to liken writing to making music, writing blues (what to do when the Muse has fled along with Mr Motivation), novel i.e. unusual writing systems such as shorthand, a book review of The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman, and lastly, an investigation into what imagination actually is.

Instead, I plumped for - drum roll please - the urge to write worthy fiction. After all, don't you agree? it would be very nice indeed in years to come to be seen as the literary equivalent of a fulcrum, to turning world event to a positive moral angle by virtue of one's exquisite craft. Like a judo master using one's opponent's own weight to undo him.

The only difficulty I think in banging on about issues is, A. it seems a bit passé and B. it won't lead to any great creative work. After all, nobody read Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four or Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. They weren't inventive and they weren't widely read or appreciated. Dickens did no good with his endless carping on and on and on about the terrible conditions endured by the poor in Victoria's reign. David Peace did nothing to spur middle England to reassess its recent history. All these works were boring, boring, boring drivel. They had no impact. A shocking waste of ink.

So who are we kidding?

We must get to grips with our weird flipping times and pen works that swim in the miasma of the absurd. How that's done is a mystery to me right now, but I've no doubt it must be done. Someone, somewhere is going to do it. Might as well be me or you. It should be us. Why wait? Let's jump to it! Whether it's in the form of a fantasy novel with mega-dwarves or a gritty police procedural, or a science fiction epic playing out inside a black hole (plenty of that in politico heads), or a love story set amongst the ruined embers of a post-Covid world - whatever. Whatever. We must get on with it. We must aim for higher aspirations than mere financial rewards. Higher aspirations than a mere place in the literary canon. Higher aspirations than producing a readable book with a few good characters. Our work must make our readers choke with emotion. They should be hurling the volumes in the wall in rage and frustration. Weeping at the insight we've allowed them to have into their lives. Dancing with joy that someone, someone - you - was able to tap into their spiritual need and nourish them. With words. With narrative. With ballerina-like dexterity and strongman strength. With cunning. With daring. With absolute unbridled audacity and unflinching accuracy.

You - get on with it. Start today. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop!

So, nothing high minded, please.