You can tell you’re a writer when everything becomes a possible inclusion in a current or future story, blog, or poem.
Go on, wriggle a little in discomfort if you know it’s true…
Your friend is going through the world’s most vicious breakup and you’re thinking this is the perfect twist for that character. You’re stranded on a train station in the wilds of India with not a rupee to your name and darkness falling and you think, at least if I survive I can write about it. You listen to a couple having a full-on barney on the train. Everything, everything becomes material.
Case in point:
I was standing in Lowes Menswear in Lismore Plaza today, buying work socks for the farm. Two old ladies came into the shop and spotted a row of bright Hawaiian and other equally special print shirts.
“They’re nice, love,” said one old dear.
They walked closer to investigate.
“Oh, said the other old dear, rubbing the fabric in her hand, her brow knotted in consternation. “Feel the flaminosity of this one, Shirl.”
“Dear, dear,” her friend replied as she also felt the shirt. She frowned. “No good at all. Imagine if hubby stood too close to the barbie in that!”
They both tut-tutted, shook their heads and moved on to the more sedate cotton line as I struggled to suppress a giggle. Flaminosity. Beautiful.
Later I was talking to a friend whose eleven year old son has to pick a musical instrument as his elective for next term. For months he has been harping on about getting an electric guitar. Today he announced to his mum that he wanted to learn the drums.
Why the change of heart?
“Because I want to be the next Filled Columns,” he said earnestly. “He’s bald like dad AND he gets all the chicks. Drummers rule.”
It took his mum about ten minutes to figure it out.
By the way, Lachie, it’s Phil Collins, and yes, he does look a lot like your dad!