I have so much to write about that my ideas are like policemen in a 1920’s slapstick film – running around, falling over each other and getting into a terrible pickle. I have no idea how to write about it all. Fantastic!
One moment I think I’ll tell you about the response to the Short Story Club, and who won the August round of ideas – the idea that is haunting me now.
But then I want to tell you about the most exciting thing that has ever happened to my fiction writer self; I’ve been commissioned to write a short story for an anthology! And not just any anthology, no; one formed from a brilliant, original, veritable gem of an idea that just makes my toes curl every time I think about it.
Then my mind lurches over to thoughts of a post by the gently delicious Tony Noland about when you’re officially a “real” writer, which I’ve been meaning to comment on for ages. Lots of thoughts there.
But just as I start to form those ideas, another keystone-esque cop crashes in and they all spill into the street, truncheons waving madly as I remember that I want to enthuse about my new business too and all that’s been happening over there in the real world bit of my life.
I’m exhausted already and I still haven’t told you anything! I need a cup of tea.
<Returns with steaming mug>
Ok. Calm down officers. You over there, get up and stop shouting! And you, yes you with the fat cheeks and the jacket with buttons about to pop, calm down for heaven’s sake, and help your colleagues up!
I watch these keystone cops topics line up and realise that there is a villain lurking nearby. One I know well.
Fear.
And then behind him is his partner in crime, Self-Doubt. They’re watching from the shadows, and Fear is pulling a roll of paper out of his pocket. He holds it up to me, with letters scrawled on it in blood-red ink. I read them and bite my lip nervously.
“The publisher might be reading this.”
Oh dear. Now Fear and Self-Doubt have a new weapon. And who is this stepping out from behind them into the street but my arch-nemesis; the dreaded (internal) Censor.
Fear doesn’t have a face. He wears one of those black half-masks, but with no features underneath it, just a pale grey oval. One moment he looms, ten feet tall, casting a cold shadow over me. The next he is dissolving into a crack in the ground, zipping across the pavement to pop up behind me and chill me to my bones.
Self-Doubt is a grotesque middle aged man, grown fat on the high-calorie food I have given him over the years. He just watches and laughs every time I try to be brave. His new girlfriend, Censor, dressed in a black cat suit with sharp talons of fingernails, snatches at the sentences that form in my mind. She’s trying to steal them away from the page, choke these thoughts before they even become written words.
Yes, I think I might be mad. I came here to tell you all about these amazing things, and yet find myself in the middle of a comic-book crime in progress. Oh dear, they’re waving that banner again…
There’s something in my hand. Ah yes, that’s right, I have a sword. And here’s my shield and oh, look at the beautiful spots of sunlight that my armour reflects on to the dark alley walls.
Let’s be brave. Fear shrinks back to the other side of the street. Self-Doubt stops laughing and that evil Censor retracts her claws.
This is my space. These are my words. And if you don’t like them, there are a million other places to go. They tremble at my assertion. Hah!
Look, here’s one of the policemen! Taller and stouter than before, he piles in and starts beating at them with his truncheon. I catch a glimpse of his badge, emblazoned with the list of people in the short story club. Over thirty names are on there, people investing time in my dream, all giving this fellow the strength to batter at the criminal gang.
Another wades in, a brutal fellow made of terracotta – ah! The one made by the Chinese Whisperings anthology. Yes, his sword is sharp – and he goes straight for Self-Doubt. He’s not even a member of my personal force – he came in from another town altogether. I feel honoured. He thinks I am worth defending.
And then the rest pile in, yelling with such a din that the three villains throw down smoke bombs and make their escape. I put my sword away and smile, but I know they’ll be back. They always come back. But now I have allies. The terracotta soldier’s boss, Paul Anderson, for one, who asked me to step in to replace a writer that had to drop out of the Chinese Whisperings Anthology. And the officer from the Short Story Club precinct, a place full of energy and enthusiasm. He’s coming over, and hands me a piece of paper. Oooh, it’s an old-fashioned telegram.
EMMA JUST IN CASE THINGS GET HAIRY DOWN TOWN THOUGHT YOU MIGHT NEED A REMINDER STOP THE WINNER OF THE AUGUST IDEAS ROUND FOR THE SHORT STORY CLUB IS JASON WEAVER WITH THE OPENING LINE ‘SHE CARRIED A SMALL CLAW HAMMER AND SEVEN GALVANIZED BOX NAILS WRAPPED IN A HANDKERCHIEF’ STOP ALL THE BEST FROM SSC PRECINCT STOP
So there you have it. There’s lots going on and it’s all great. And I am insane. But brave enough (at this moment) to let even the potential publisher see it. After all, I can’t stop being who I am.
P.S. When things calm down a little, I promise to tell you about each one much more sensibly.
Thoughts running around like Keystone Cops! Now THAT’S funny, Emma! And, er, um… been there too. :-\
Thanks Robert – you’ve reassured me that I’m not the only one
Ah, Emma. You rock. You rock so much, rocking horses are envious. GO GET ‘EM, queen of imagery. We’ll be cheering you on all the way.
Brilliant post Emma, don’t know what you were worrying about! I love the mental picture I now have of the Keystone cops, what a great way to describe all those ideas falling over themselves to get out. I get this too, it’s like trying to juggle a dozen eggs which keep hatching in midair and trying to fly off!
Emma, never have random thoughts been so wonderfully put together to illustrate the writer’s mind. If the publisher does read this, they will only be convinced that they have selected one whose pen is her sword and it is mighty indeed!
P.S. I told you this post would be brilliant!
Emma, you had my heart skidding around with nerves for you! Vivid! Absolutely fantastic about the anthology. I’m so excited (and for Mr Storrs, as well). It’s great news for us all, really. I like how people’s posts get funnier when they have a bit of a confidence booster. Most thrilling of all is waiting for ‘my’ short story! I wish I could pay you to write it. I’d love to be a patron… The anticipation!!!
Marvelous! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think about my own internal critic again without picturing a black cat- suited femme fatale. Begone, boggart!
And I must say that while I’ve been called gentle, and I’ve been called delicious [once or twice
], I’ve never had the two put together for me. Thanks!
I don’t know if you read my blog, but the other day an actual publisher read it and wasn’t impressed. Don’t worry about it. That censor needs to be thrown in the clink never to return.
Ah, Emma, you are amazing! Huge congratulations on the short story anthology commission! And I can’t wait to read ‘Jason’s’ short story too ’cause I loved the line when I read it and it thoroughly deserved to win. (Well done, Jason!)
You rock, lady! Go for it all! I do want to hear about your new business sometime.
Wishing you many large cups of steaming tea to settle all those cops’n'robbers down …
Good to hear you so WOUND UP and HAPPY! You deserve it!
Congrats on all that is yours at the present!
Emma, this is brilliant. You are brilliant.
Teach us all how to turn our gremlins into comic book villains, won’t you?
Hey, thanks, Jack!
Em, I was going to mention Iapetus999′s cautionary tale too – but you’e right – and he’s right – if we start letting fear of who’s looking over our shoulder control what we write, there isn’t much point in it any more. It certainly won’t have that straight-from-the-id vividness we all come here looking for.
Good luck with the anthology piece.
I’ll send you along the terracotta solider’s girl friend – a courtesan of unimaginable beauty and intelligence – who will breathe confidence in the face of Self Doubt and intoxicate him so she can have her way with him (he’s now bound up behind the back sheds and on a low carb, no fat, no dairy diet!)
It is such a pleasure to have you with us for the ride Emma – I haven’t had so much fun in a long time coming along to read your blog.
I love the analogy of the keystone cops. There is such spark and creative vigour in the air at the moment – in the space of just a couple of hours have had two writers mention all the ideas falling over themselves.
When my compete it is like chirping birds or small children badgering me. They are currently quiet having fallen victim to the tedium of administration – oh and editing. But might let them out to play for Fiction Friday tomorrow.
And I will be referring plenty more people on to your short story club having been blown away by the story offered up as part of the sign up package.
Wow. I feel like a knight in shining armour that’s come along to rescue the damsel in distress. Only she has long vacated the premises.
Good riddance too.
Now. What was that move you did, where you smacked fear and then turned and did something to self-doubt…
Marc tries vainly to imitate the sweet fighting moves but falls flat on his face.
This is a wonderful (and simultaneously really informative post). Battle well fought Madam Knight!
I can’t believe I missed replying to you guys (blushes). Thank you everyone – so wonderful that this was well received when I almost didn’t publish it. So much for me worrying that you’ll all think I’m mad. It seems you don’t mind at all, you darlings you…
You’re right, Emma, I did like this. In fact, I loved it.
I’m always a bit nervous when I stumble across a writer taking a lead with an idea and their treatment seems faultless.
When I develop the Editor, the Block and Comic Sans I shall have to read and re-read this article. It’s got such a lovely feel to it.
thanks for checking out my #fridayflash, too. Stay in touch!