The Blogging Stream

It’s Saturday evening and I’m blogging. Not the medical condition called blogging. Where you get big bulging eyes and a fixed facial expression that looks like you may have released a blast of wind. 

No, no that. The other blogging. Where you write things by tapping keys on a keyboard. Although I did get confused. I heard about writing a blog post and searched everywhere for a fence post called blog. I didn’t find one. 

Anyway, when it comes to blasts of wind...

A mate of mine did that on a train a while back. It was a busy train. And the fart? It had a mind of its own. No way was it staying in. He clenched. He strained. But no. So, in pure desperation, He let it go. 

PPPPPFFFFFFFTTTTT!!!

Everyone looked at him in horror. So he made his eyes go all goggled and bulging. And then, in a robotic voice he said:

—I’m from the planet Zorg. That was a nanites emission to clear my circuits. 

This young lad piped up:

—I like your planet mister. I always get told off when I fart in public. 

While I sit here, wondering what to write, a glance at my screen shows me...

I’m already writing!

How does that happen? I thought I was thinking. Preparing, like a proper writer does. But instead, my brain was saying:

—Screw waiting for him, let’s go!

—Yeah, I’m on it! Said my mind. 

And the two of them conspired to write whatever the hell this is. 

So, I’ll try and get to the point. Ouch, the bugger is sharp. 

What I’m actually doing is writing from a stream of consciousness. I do that a lot. In fact, I reckon it is the only way I can write. It's not an actual stream, of course. Or it doesn't seem to be. My feet aren't getting wet. 

I do worry that it might sound unhinged. 

But, you know what? It’s okay. Because it is raw, of course. But also, and I have a feeling this is important, it makes it natural. I don’t mean like that yoghurt with lumps in it. More like: not overworked. 

See, I don’t want to write anything that feels overworked. Or contrived. DO NOT try to con Trives, I learned that a while back. They don't like it. 

—What’s he on about?

—No idea, we’ll fix it when he stops waffling.

—Tell him to get to the point.

—He's a lost cause, he'll shut up in a minute. 

Ah, excuse the interruption. That was the auld brain and mind combo getting grumpy.

My point is simple. Letting the words out is not a bad thing. In fact, the more you let it be a natural process, the better. Because when you try to hard it reads like you're trying to hard.

But being honest, you should try it. Sit down, open your favourite editor or notebook and write whatever comes out. It might be complete bollocks. But that is fine. Keep going, the good stuff is lurking there. Keep going, it will appear. Like an apparition. Helped by your inner muse. 

I have one. Her name is Thalia, named after Thalia, the Greek goddess of comedy and light verse. She told me once that her brother named Thumpus looked after heavy verse. Because he was the only one who could lift it. 

Right, this stream is drying up. Catch you in the next one. I caught no fish in the stream. I'd have thrown them back if I did.