' You cant just sit down and write stuff', James said.
'Why the hell not?'
'Cuz thats not how people write', he said as I walked him out the door.
'Well thats just how I write then. I am going to just sit down and think of stuff to write about and you guys can go and do whatever the hell you want.'
'You bet we are, we are going to get all the clunge while you sit here like a fuckin bender.'
'Get lost' I said as I shut the door on his face.
I grabbed a glass of orange juice and walked upstairs.
A lot of ideas crossed my mind as I thought of ways to organise and write them into a story.
So I sat at my computer and I opened a new document as I prepared myself to write a story.
I remembered this situation only too well.
I remembered wanting to be sophisticated, wanting to be like those other guys, like Nick Drake or somebody.
Wanting to be that guy who could spin tales and carry people to different worlds, to draw their minds to the matter, whether it was consentual or not.
Wanting to be the closest that we can be to magicians and wizards and oracles and prophets, a writer.
But I guess sophistication is an aquired thing.
I remember spending the last 5 hours in front of the blank screen, trying to produce ideas perfect enough to deserve writing.
So today I guessed I wouldnt try so hard, as so many thoughts crossed my mind I drifted off to sleep.