You love the cops in crime novels. So careworn, and yet mysterious. They have money, and yet never spend it on themselves. Granted, being married to one is just asking for trouble. But you could just share a house with one, right? That would be exciting, and spice up your humdrum existence no end!
Let’s take a look, and see if you might want to think this through a little more…
Three Narrative Points of View attend their regular Writer’s Group meeting in a licensed premises, and proceed to have an argument. If you think that sounds like a very contrived joke, you’d be right. The punchline, however, is what you might least expect.
Where did pieces of glorious human creativity go, before the internet? Where were the cat pictures, the listicles and the punny prose, before they appeared on our Facebook news feeds? The internet has had a lot to do with the way we consume our entertainment – but it’s done even more for how we produce it.
Ever had a difficult flatmate? Perhaps you’ve wished that instead of a detergent-deprived insomniac, a tone-deaf reptile enthusiast or a fiscally challenged Snoremaster, you lived with the hilarious heroine from one of your favourite novels. That would be so much better! Much more fun!
Or would it?
Oh, dear. There you are, minding your own business, when along comes another needy whiny blog post asking for support. Do you want to vote for me? It’s doesn’t really matter, because I’m asking you to do it anyway. Which is only logical. Also, Donald Trump naked on the toilet. It’s true. It’s the truth.
And now, ladies and gentle man: in the grand old tradition of Lazy Summer Journalism, I present to you a list of potential blog posts I didn’t write this week, followed in some cases by a half-assed explanation for why I didn’t write them, and sometimes no explanation at all.
You’re welcome.
When customers want things, they want things now. They don’t want to wait for things to be manufactured or delivered or tested or marketed. If the fashion industry is now managing to get from catwalk to customer in six weeks, why does it take a year for a book which has already been written to get on the market? Also, naked men. Honest.
What makes a comedy black? And why are black comedies so black these days? Is life itself a black comedy? Is there any comedy left in black comedy? Is this excerpt getting too repetitive? Am I asking too many questions? Don’t expect any answers, but you might get a (slightly choked) laugh.
Dear Mister Publisher, I have written the best book. My book will be bigger than the bible. It will make cynics laugh, optimists cry, and toast. Before he died, David Bowie said he wished he had written it. Anyone who does not want to read my book is a potential terrorist.
Why is Young Adult Fiction pigeon-holed into a daftly narrow age category? If so-called General Fiction is a mirror held up to society which helps us to cope with what we are – how better to do this, than to look at ourselves while we are becoming what we are? But don’t worry, it’s not all serious. Or perhaps it all is, except for that last sentence. Hmmmm.
Tara Sparling writes 