It's been a bit of a quiet week really. The most interesting thing I've done is go and vote. That's what you call living wild, right? Right?
Seriously, I don't know. I was bumped on the head as a kid and I think my wild centre was knocked out of whack.
One of these days I'm going to fulfil the aim I didn't tell anyone about and use this blog to occasionally educate my three readers. It's an admirable aim. Certainly far better than navel-gazing or doing the circular let's-talk-about writing thing that'll come up.
This week I'd had it in my head to talk about the sad situation of the FHM sexiest woman of the year list and how dull the number one was. Then I realised it would only lead to a depressing discussion of how the media is turning entertainment into a mediocrity contest. And who wants to read that trotted out again? Not me. If I wanted to really depress you I'd dig up the sales figures for 'Fifty Shades of Grey' – although I might have dragged some controversy my way from the people who like the badly written fan-fic of badly written fiction*.
Yes, I know the truth, and unusually, I've exposed myself to a tiny bit of it, taking one for whatever team you care to name. The writing manages to make Dan Brown seem witty and poetic. And that takes some going, I can tell you. I can't imagine reading a whole book of such awkward prose. Take a look
here and get something of an insight into its terribleness, or you can go look at Amazon if you don't mind the books popping up as part of your recommendations (can you stand the stigma?). There
were excerpts that I now can't find, bugger. You get the gist.
And I've gone and digressed. I went and talked about bad erotica. Are you happy now?
I'm going back out onto the porch, stare up at the sky and whittle me some words.
* Which actually sounds like the start of something. Fan-fic replicating like facing mirrors so long that it breaks through into the real world and WE CAN'T FUCKING ESCAPE IT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Hold me, I'm scared.
Will
