Category Archives: comedy

I am Writer!

I have often heard the phrase, “write what you know” and currently, I know blank white pages, so here is an exaggerated version of someone’s attempt to write something. Happy Reading …

I am staring into the abyss that is every writer’s worst nightmare… The blank white page.

Whether it’s actual paper or the representation of one on a computer screen, the blank white page will mock you, taunt you as the words fail to materialize in your mind and through your fingertips.

I know of many writers who have died this way, refusing to move until that page has some little black markings on it; but the words never came for them. They simply wasted away, not eating, not drinking, not showering, just rotting away until they were skeletons, festering amongst dust and rodent droppings. Scratch marks on their desks where they dug out their frustration. The stench of decay and failure occupying the stale air.

I know I should move away, avoid that fate, but I can’t. I am immovable; stuck here until I overcome that blank white page. I can’t let it win. It’s not writer’s block… I don’t believe in it. The words are in me, they are just intimidated, refusing to come out, to put the blank white page in its place; refusing to master the white demon before me. I manage to look away sometimes but I can feel it watching me, drawing me back into its game. The desperation for words overtakes me; I can feel it rising up, making me more aggravated. I start shaking my legs, trying to release this bad energy from my body without lashing out at the blank white page; because the minute I show it my frustrations, I will lose.

I think of George Orwell, when he described the act of writing “like a long bout of some painful illness”. I wonder how he overcame it; how he tamed the blank white page before him? He was obviously a better writer than me. Maybe I’m not talented enough to overcome it? That only the real writers can push through and cover that blank white page with their dribble. That’s it! The blank white page is a test. If you don’t fill it then you are not a writer. Hard luck, find another hobby, don’t give up the day job, thank you and goodnight.

That thought of never writing again scares me to the soul though, tears my heart apart. I must force a positive attitude upon myself. I will ruin this blank white page. It will not defeat me!

I continue the struggle to find the story within me when I finally get my eureka moment. I finally start writing. Ferociously putting my mark on that page; it is no longer blank; no longer pure virginal white. My words start to cover that page, telling it exactly what I think about it. How dare that page mock me! Who does that page think he is? I am writer, hear me roar!

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29/365 – The Retard Bug

Day 29 – Inspired by a phrase my sister said, I built up this story around it, commenting on society and culture, and how intelligence doesn’t win over anymore. It’s supposed to be something silly, so please don’t get offended by my use of the word retard. Hope you enjoy it…

There once was an exceedingly intelligent girl, her name, Elena. She was playing the violin by aged 4; had read the complete works of Shakespeare by 6; and by aged 9, she was doing the homework of those in college, for a tidy little profit. She was exceptionally bright, and having completed her studies through to graduate level in medical science by the time she 14, and on the cusp of great scientific discoveries, she decided to go back to school to interact with people her own age; maybe observe them for her own research; she had to do something whilst she waited to come of age, and could finally legally work at a science research facility.

However, interacting with people who were not as clever as her had bad consequences for Elena. She found it difficult to penetrate the social circles of her class mates at first so she decided to act more like them, not being so brainy and condescending around them. But what she thought was all for the good of research was Elena’s undoing. Getting so involved in the behaviour of these class mates meant watching a lot of TV, reading magazines about frivolous things, and eating junk; becoming shallow, unhealthy, impolite… stupid.

Her research ended; she stopped reading the literary greats, stopped playing the violin and didn’t appreciate the finer things in life anymore. Instead, she held conversations about her hair; bitched about the wannabe celebrities on reality TV, was not dismayed to hear one of classmates was pregnant, and was permanently attached to her new Iphone.

Elena had caught the retard bug.

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26/365 – Crimewave

Day 26 – Here’s something a little silly and sarcastic, because sometimes you just need to get silly and not take life too seriously. Hope you like it…

I was spending Easter Sunday with friends; we were talking, laughing, and eating; the best way to spend any day. I had helped myself to some chocolate cake, which, when I’ve had it in the past, has been microwaved to make the chocolate icing melt and go runny and creamy, but today I couldn’t be bothered; it was too warm to have warm cake. Seeing this, one of my ‘friends’ (I use the term loosely) called me a Neanderthal. Apparently you have to obey the rules of the cardboard box the cake came in. I tried to ignore him but he kept calling me a Neanderthal; he was annoying me so much, so in the end I stabbed him in the eye with my chocolate covered fork for being so pathetic. I went to prison for GBH, not for failure to microwave cake when it tells you to on the box.

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25/365 – First Impressions

Day 25 – Inspired by real life, when I held an interesting conversation with a girl I had written off as a complete airhead; reminding me that first impressions aren’t always correct. The character in this piece probably needs a little more developing, so you can really see how snobbish she is in my mind, but as it is, I think this story is rather good…

Vivian sat listening to the conversations being held around her, observing the people as they spoke. She didn’t really want to be at a pub with these people but her friend Larissa had demanded her attendance, not wanting Vivian to be sitting home alone on a Friday night now that she was newly single.

Vivian had met a few of the friends of Larissa’s boyfriend before but she didn’t know them that well and wasn’t particularly interested in getting to know them. Their conversations seemed inane and boring; football blah blah, cars blah blah, rubbish TV blah blah. Why couldn’t they hold a conversation about literature or the theatre; something cultural and less idiotic?

She did attempt to partake in such idiocies but she really didn’t have a clue of how to communicate with these chavvy louts. She was about to give up all attempts, thinking of a quote from Abraham Lincoln, “better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt”, even though she was the smartest one there, when she gave conversation one last go with the quietest one of the group, who wasn’t currently talking to anybody else.

“What do you do?” she asked him, expecting to be bored,

“I’m a research scientist” he replied, “life sciences”

Vivian was stunned. Out of all the professions in the world, she didn’t think for one second that he would respond with that; she expected he would be some kind of office drone, with no real skill at all. She was very impressed that someone so smart was sitting with the group of imbeciles Larissa’s boyfriend cared to associate with. She suddenly found herself very attracted to this man,

“I’m Vivian” she smiled,

“Troy” he smiled back.

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22/365 – At Death’s Door

Day 22 – I wrote this surrounded by tissues and tablets, inspired by my own illness. I chose to make it a drabble, so there isn’t a lot of description, and like yesterday’s piece it’s a stream of consciousness. Happy Reading…

It’s consuming my entire body. Feel like I won’t make it through the night; the pain, the dizziness; feel so uncomfortable. My bedside table, an array of tablets and tissues and empty mugs, but there isn’t enough medicine and tea in the world to help cure what I’ve got. My heart beats hard and slow, like it’s gradually giving up, not getting enough blood around my body, letting my skin break out in cold sweats.

My girlfriend gets into bed beside my dying body, I ask how she’ll cope without me, she says,

“Oh man up. It’s just a cold”

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14/365 – The Mystery of Sunny Day Care

Day 14 – A friend of mine gave me the idea for this piece. Inspired by my job cleaning a children’s nursery. It’s my second piece about a nursery in 4 days, so definately going to branch out more for my settings in the future.

Every morning when the nursery nurses of Sunny Day Care arrived they would find the place in a complete state of disarray. Toys would be scattered everywhere; paint would be dripping off every available surface; and their paperwork would be torn and shredded. It would be a complete nightmare, and wasn’t a very good thing for the parents to be seeing when they came to drop off their little monsters. An absolutely horrible day ensued, juggling childcare and cleaning the tip the nursery had become overnight.

The first time it happened, everybody pointed their finger at the cleaner, the last person to leave the nursery at the end of the day. She pleaded innocence but the management quickly disposed of her; sending her away to a jobless existence; they weren’t going to believe her when it was obviously her; it could not have been anybody else.

When it happened for a second time, they all blamed the cleaner again, suggesting she had a copy of the key and did it because she was angry at being sacked; but that theory didn’t explain why she would have done it in the first place.

It happened many more times, with the management even contacting the police, wanting them to search the cleaner’s possessions for the key. However, there was no key to be found.

The owner of the nursery finally decided to place hidden cameras around the place to film any nightly activities. What they showed the next morning was astonishing. The staff would not have believed it if they weren’t looking at cold hard proof.

The cause of the nightly shenanigans, the perpetrator, the one causing chaos at this little neighbourhood nursery… a beanbag.

A somehow enchanted beanbag would stir, as if it was awaking and then proceed to trash the nursery; spoiling the children’s artwork, breaking toys, toppling the bins over. The beanbag seemed to hate the nursery with a passion, enjoying its rampage of the place. Trashing everything from dusk until dawn.

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12/365 – Exam Day

Day 12 – A piece of flash fiction to note that my last ever exam at university was one year ago today, on the 12th January 2011. I still had essays to do, and a dissertation, but going to your last ever exam feels like an absolute milestone…

It was her last ever exam. Today was Maria’s last ever exam. She was so excited about exams being over that she was mentally planning her graduation instead of taking one last look at her revision notes; there wasn’t any doubt that she would pass anyway.

Being just one exam away felt like such a weight had been lifted. The last three years of hard work, getting lost in notes, buried under hundreds of sheets of paper, was about to pay off. Goodbye University, hello real world. No more education for Maria.

She awoke, dazed and confused, surrounded by people.

“What’s going on?” she croaked

“You fell and banged your head coming into the exam hall” replied the university’s first aider

“Think you’ll have to do your first exam at a later date” said her English tutor, “you should go to hospital and make sure you don’t have a concussion”

First exam! Maria was nowhere near finishing her degree. She felt deflated and disappointed, knowing that the remaining 2 and a half years at uni were going to drag.

 

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