Miserable Fucking Scots…

Well it’s been interesting few days… was chatting to me old Ma on the phone the other day, and in her typical fashion she was passing on her little bits of advice and encouragement… You got to love parents don’t ya?… Hmm, actually what a stupid fucking thing to say… You don’t got to love parent’s at all, some parents (and I’ve known a few) are fucking cunts… Anyway, I, at least, got to love my parents… you know, that endless stream of positivity about who you are and what you do… brilliant.

Fuck, I do get sidetracked… so the point was that, as she does, Ma was passing on this little tidbit of someone else’s writing process(some famous Aussie author/feminist, that I would most certainly know, if only she could remember the bloody woman’s name… anyhoo…), having heard them interviewed on the radio… (knowing full well how little I’ve managed to write over the last… fuck, really?… 5 years since finishing uni…) And this tidbit was that, this whoevershewas, wrote every day. Now, that, in and of itself is no great revelation… Jesus, every fucking writer on earth (as in real writer, you know, that is published and all that) says the same thing… you got to write every day, every fucking day man, or you never get there man… blah de fucking blah. But it wasn’t just that she wrote every day, it was that it didn’t matter what she wrote… if she had some thing she was working on, but couldn’t get into, or whatever, she just wrote something else, some other piece, or stream of consiousness crap or something…

Again… no great revelation, but I harkened back to my UTS writerly days, and thunk, well… I used to write every bloody day too… I never finished a fucking thing, and sometimes it was shit, but I did it daily, and I bloody well enjoyed it… I mean, hell, I would sit somewhere random and just write what I heard around me, gradually moving out, so in the end I was describing minute little sounds born on winds from fucking miles away… just for the hell of it, just to write…

What the fuck happened? Well… if I knew the answer to that it probably wouldn’t have happened… or maybe, at the least, I might have done something about it by now… but still, great stinking piles of shit… learning things about myself that, quite frankly, SUCK SHIT… Moving to a cold, grey miserable fucking country, full of miserable fucking Scots… ooh I didn’t give that away did I?… Fuck, whatever, but in the end several years of wallowing deep pits of personal shit doesn’t help one’s inspiration for doing something, well, inspirational…

Anyway, back to the point again… so in response to this little tidbit of writerly advice (and no, I have no fucking idea why I had a listen to this bit as opposed to the scores of others I’ve been given over the last few years)… I thought, well, fuck it, why not?

And you know… you’ve nae idea the surge of strength ya get when ya bite your ain willy… no, really, it’s been fucking enjoyable – ooh didn’t fucking see that coming did ya? – I haven’t actually enjoyed scrawling words on a page so much in years… perhaps because I haven’t been scrawling about how miserable (my) existence is – funny that.

Today, of course, as is it’s wont, my good old melancholy (fueled, I believe, by a wee bout of homesickness for the Sydney sunshine, and afore mentioned dear old Ma) reared its fugly head, and out poured the bullshit again… but it was a bit more poetical than it’s been in a long while… and I kind of enjoyed it… and I knew the whole time (as opposed to afterwards when I was a bit less of a miserable cunt) that it was self-indulgent, melancholic, utter-fucking-bullshit…

I might be getting somewhere… but dinnae worry folks (or you Lores)… I will never forget how much accustomed to miserable cunthood you’ve become… I’ll just have to endeavour to take more joy in my rantage 🙂

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on July 10th, 2009.

3 Responses to “Miserable Fucking Scots…”

  1. So your inspiration is misery? That makes sense!

    My writing in bloody appalling, but I find I write a lot better if it is about something I care about – sometimes positively but mostly negatively.

    Meh.

    I always got the impression that you were American for some reason.

    • American, my god, what gave you that unfortunate impression…
      As much as I enjoy the place, and am happily an in-law to a bunch of them… and, for reasons unavoidable, I’ll eventually be a citizen of the bloody country, well, all I can say is: God Bless the fact I’m not naturally one…

  2. Hmmm…not sure why I thought you were American…possibly because you say ‘man’ alot. I stereotype like that you see.

    So I’ve been reading your posts in a generic American accent (in my head – not out loud that would be weird)…so now I’ll have to read them in an Australian accent I suppose, although the generic Australian accent I have in my head sadly is very very similar to that of Crocodile Dundee. Shame…

    (I’m sure I’m not alone in giving people voices that I think they should have when I read)

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