Facebook needs me to tell you something; anything. You see, they got extremely upset because I hadn’t told you anything in a while. I left them to suffer a bit, but now I’m back, with a meditation on Hong Kong, social media, designer brands, and get this – I have only gone and written you a POEM…
The lovely folk of The Annual Blogger’s Bash Awards have sashed me up with the Funniest Blogger prize. Just to prove that I’m an equal opportunities blogger, I’m posting something which might be more funny-peculiar than funny-haha. And why wouldn’t I? What else is a blog for, if not the ill-fitting and bizarre?
I have some things to tell you. They might even be interesting. However, none of these things would warrant a full post on their own, so I’m employing a cunning and never-before-seen trick of grouping them together. Today’s post concerns political tactics and vote-bashing; the Dublin Writer’s Conference; the fiction of literary fiction, and why it’s SO difficult to be right all the time.
Ever feel like nobody’s listening to you? Ever feel like nobody understands how you FEEL? Well, maybe you need to get yourself a Women’s Fiction Husband (TM). They’ll understand you right off the page. Every home should have one!
…Or should it? What would this mean in terms of arguments? Spontaneity? Your couch? Your KITCHEN?
Historical fiction can be a refuge for people exhausted by modern problems or fearful for the future. A panacea for all today’s ills. Nobody is more reassuring than the hero of a historical fiction novel – the man who has the answers to everything whilst somehow also understanding the consequences of his actions.
But what would it be like to live with a historical fiction hero? Would it make life simpler? Or might dead pigeons and his fear of toasters make it a generation gap too far?
We’re told that by far the best training for writers is reading. But what happens when what you’re reading is being a big bully? Tempting you with sweet nothings? Calling you names? Interfering with your confidence and ability to write? I have a conversation with an unbearably smug book to explore the concept, and discover something nasty.
Romantic heroes. Sigh. All that tortured power in a designer shirt. So much angst and wealth. So little practicality, and mental health. Because they’ve been hurt before – y’know? But you would never do that. It’s different with you.
But what really happens after ‘The End’? When dietary fibre and la vie quotidienne get in the way? What would it really be like to LIVE with a tortured romantic hero?