The List of Things I Didn’t Write

I’m a good writer, me. I work hard to produce content you’ll enjoy. Yes, including you, reading this now.

So, when I sat down to write a new piece, I had a long list of ideas. A list longer than a long list, but a bit shorter than an epic list. An epic list is one that’s longer than your standard list by an undisclosed number of entries.

Now that’s cleared up, let me continue.

I decided — then and there and there and then — to write something worth a pound.

No, sorry. Something profound.

Because, you see, I tend to write short stories about simple stuff. Writing something serious, with more words and maybe a point? Felt like a good idea. I don’t do it often.

—You don’t do that, ever.

—Ah, notebook! How are you, mate?

—Don’t mate me. You’ve been a bit slack again.

Harsh.

(Your notebooks don’t talk to you? They do. You just don’t listen.)

Right, onwards.

I started out strong:

A grand intro about the mood and atmosphere of the day. How writers can capture emotion through their senses…

Ooooh no.

That wasn’t going to happen.

My mind yelled:

—Add a bit about that magpie that crapped on the bush!

Which I ignored. (Although that did happen.)

I carried on, trying to stay profound.

Then my brain piped up:

—Tell them about that time you farted in the same note as the washing machine!

(That DID NOT happen.)

So I distracted it.

—Let’s make a list of ideas.

—Cool!!! Start with that story about the bloke who forgot his trousers.

(True story. Wasn’t me.)

—Add that one about the woman who rode her bicycle into a hedgerow!

(Also true. Also funny. She wasn’t hurt, her dignity was and the hedgerow was well pissed off.)

And we kept going. Riffing on every odd memory, every half-formed thought. Before I knew it, I had a substantial list.

But not a single profound post. Nowhere near.

So I put my thinking cap on. It didn’t fit.

I tried the tea cosy instead. A perfect fit.

I looked back at my grand intro.

• Mood.
• Atmosphere.
• Sensory detail.

—Shite, mate. Nobody wants to read that.

—Not helpful, Notebook.

—Sure. Rip that page out and bloody burn it.

So I took stock. But I didn’t have any. Instead, I reviewed what I did have:

• A list of bad ideas (probably)
• A pile of overthinking
• No custard creams (I don’t remember eating the last one)

And still — Not a single profound post.

So, fellow scribblers, the lesson here? Don’t try to write profound blog posts. Or if you do, don’t ask your notebook for feedback. Now if you’ll excuse me — I’m off to make a profound mug of tea. And find the good biscuits.