I’m vying for medal status with two posts in one day but since I’ve been so lax over the last couple of months I thought I’d kill two birds while getting stoned (if anyone can reference where that saying comes from, there’s a dope trailer filled with kitties waiting for you).
I would say that was writer’s block. It would be correct but since it extended to all aspects of life I would say it was a full-on, full body and mind block. Now, my mind is racing with a million ideas but I’ll save you and only tell you one today. I’ve had it in my head to write a book based on a few characters I met while on holiday in England. These names are not made up but I could hardly pass up claiming them for a character in one of my soon-to-be-unveiled (and written) stories.
I’ll be honest in that I have not written a real-life book. I worked as editor on an amazing book written by an amazing friend and I always marveled at how inspired she was and the twists and turns her wicked, wicked mind would take. I won’t dare mention the romance novel I wrote at 15, which were full of throbbing manhoods. Yes, I even used the term more than once in the pages of my naïve freshman, never-to-see-the-light-of-day novel.
So what would possess me now? Well, my imagination is just as fresh as it was when I was chasing dancing penises around in my wild, pre-pubescent dreams. And, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do but was nervous to try. But more importantly, how could I pass up a story that involves such characters as Earthworm Jim and Nick the Nicker.
People, I did not create these names. They were created long before I came into contact with these individuals. Earthworm Jim looked like his name. With a smattering of dust and a layer of dirt and a large, bulbous nose, so when I did my usual “Cheers Big Ears, Same Goes Big Nose” toast over a pint of Cheddar Valley cider I had to stifle a laugh as he turned to me and said with a grin: “Are you making fun of my nose?” I did feel contrite as I actually had not noticed it but then couldn’t hold back my laughter as I looked over his veiny, round and red nose. He looked like he’d been thrown into a vat of tomato juice, which he’d snorted up until it was all gone. Either that, or he hadn’t met a brick of cocaine he didn’t like.
The next night I met Nick the Nicker, who got his name from nicking copper wiring from job sites. He was a little rough around the edges, like life had dragged him around by the fingernails for a few dozen years. But, under the gruff mannerisms and the fact that he took cider intravenously, he was a kind man who would have your back at every turn.
Now I need a brainstorming session to figure out the plot, the lesson learned (since it is going to be a children’s book) and the situations in which they find themselves.