Posted by: docdenbow | July 20, 2013

The Joys Of Trying To Be A Writer


I’ve forgotten how to write stuff for this blog. I used to be able to write 1,000 words almost daily on a wide variety of subjects. To be honest in the last few weeks I just can’t find anything that drives me to write. Maybe it’s the weather? I don’t know. I do get distracted from writing far too easily, but at the moment I am actually reading. Reading is something I’ve not really done consistently throughout my life. Since my wife bought me a Kindle, I’ve barely put the thing down except to watch Finding Bigfoot, Storage Wars, Pawn Stars and other such televisual rubbish.

“So what are you reading, Denbow?” I hear you ask. Well I don’t hear you, I just imagine I hear you as then I can pretend that I have friends who actually talk to me. Well, friends I have been re visiting the works of Robert Rankin. Over the years I’ve read a goodly number of his novels and although they’re not highbrow they are as Rankin says himself “far fetched fiction.” Wickedly funny too. “Oh Denbow,” you say all disappointed, “You should be reading something with more depth.”

Why? I read for enjoyment and not to enrich my soul. I’d like my soul to be enriched, but I’m not entirely sure that reading a book will help. Yet just reading the works of Robert Rankin does disappoint. It disappoints me for sure. I aspire to be a *proper* writer, and to be a proper writer you need to be a proper reader. Does that mean if I want to write for a newspaper that I have to read the badly written, grammatically illiterate jingoistic sh*t spewed forth in The Daily Fail, for example? I don’t know, but perhaps it helps. As entertaining as Robert Rankin’s books are, I’m not sure that they’ll me learn how to put a novel, my novel, together.

Have I ever told you you about my novel(s)?

Yes, just like Brian Griffin (of Family Guy) I am trying to write a novel. About 10 years ago I was about 45,000 words in, about half way through, when my computer turned over and died. My attempt at a novel went up in smoke. “Hospitals Don’t Have Bars” exists in hard copy only and the thought of typing up 40,000 odd words seems futile, especially as no one will read it and those that do will think it’s crap. I do have about 20,000 rescued via a floppy disc. (remember them) so maybe I’ll shove on my *literature* blog on day.

I have begun again though. After several abortive attempts at a novel I feel that I have the seeds of something. I have put a bit of it on my other blog in very rough draft form and I’d appreciate a bit of feedback if anyone reads any of it. Trouble is I distracted myself by writing, for no reason at all, a play. Obviously it’s meant to be performed, not read which is why I’m very reluctant to put it on the internet. Plus the fact it’s the best thing I’ve written by a mile and I think it may get nicked especially when I’ve finished all the stage direction stuff with. I’m about midway through at the moment, but I know exactly where I’m going with it.

Doc Denbow the playwright! Yeah!

But at the end of the day, bottom line, sick as a parrot and all of those cliches, what’s the point? Why should I care if someone steals what I write? I have said over and over on this blog that I would like to write for a living. Now let’s consider that for a moment. We’ll put to one side the the type of this writing that I want to be paid for. Let’s just say writing. Now what chance do I have of earning even 2p from writing? I’ll you how much. None! First and foremost I have no confidence that what I write is anything other than plain mediocre. That is across the board. Blog posts, short stories, whatever. A legend in his own mind. That’s what I am. I think that I’m God’s gift because it suits me to think that way. It suits me to want to be a *proper* writer rather than actually be one. It’s easier because then you can bullsh*t yourself senseless. You can tell yourself that you’re a bloody genius. Just an undiscovered genius, simple as. Besides it’s too hard to try and get a job writing. Even unpaid, even to entertain. And God forbid joining a writers circle or Forum or website thingy. Loads of sexually repressed 30 somethings all writing about being out of step with the modern world or some other turgid nonsense. Too f*cking precious for my liking. Page after page writing effete bollocks about windswept bus stops and urban vistas. Oh yes, and they’d all tell you to keep working at it whilst they stole your ideas, your prose and then your soul. Truly the dissection of dreams.

So when I’ve finished my novel, what the f*ck do I do with it? Do I pay someone to proofread it giving me a fine manuscript and emptying my pockets slightly or a lot. How much does it cost to get a novel proofread? No idea. Do I send the first chapter or excerpts off to publishers, and hope? The inevitable rejection letters then arrive, save for one who suggests a complete rewrite and then they *might* be interested. So I say no thanks and take a big step and launch it on Amazon as a virtual book. A eBook is it? It can then become a virtual flop (an eFlop?) and only the terminally stupid will add it to their Kindles. It may the only Kindle book to be remaindered, there’s a thought.

Coming back to this blog, I will write when I’ve something to say. There is a lot that I want to say, but somehow sharing what I think with the world somehow feels inappropriate these days. Who am I? Why should anyone bother taking time out of their days to read the opinions of a man like me? Perhaps that in time that drive to express my thoughts on current events will come again, but I really don’t know.

If you’ve got this far and are interested in looking at my other blog, it here @ Pure Fiction

You may find what’s there entertaining and interesting………….

But then again

Ciao For Now

Your Ever Loving Denbow

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Responses

  1. I think you worry too much. You need to write for the fun of writing and blog for the fun of blogging. Like you say you’re not paid to do it so it shouldn’t be a chore. If it is walk away and try again later, or tomorrow, or next week.


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