Wednesday, 9 May 2012

Being an Author: Inspiration

I struggle sometimes with inspiration. On occasion it is swift, unforgiving, and cut-throat, it's blade dancing with me in a ballet of passion and lust, it's righteous hunt for a bard to find it's words... it's forthrightfulness striking at the pure of heart... waitng... waiting to bleed onto the page.

And other times... meh.

It's not so much something that I can talk about in any meaningful way, so much as tell you how it hits me, and whether or not you should worry about it.

These last few months my inspiration has sort of, well, jumped ship. I've tried everything just to arouse the sensation of the word in me. Honestly? Nothing has worked. Not really. So what have I tried?

The Odd Watch

Ah yes. My strange fascination with strange movies. Yeah. That didn't work. I mean, let me count the ways.

I've had oddball Spanish horror imported from the US. Odd? Yes. Interesting? Yes. Worth the Watch? Definately. Inspiring? No, not really.

Old horror TV. You know, Tales from the Crypt and that sort of stuff. Good? Yes... blah, blah, blah... and the list goes on.


I hit up the Tate Modern in London. Damien Hirst has an exibit there. I won't go on to tell you about it, lest to say some of it might be considered icky. No dice on the inspiration though. But the food was nice.


Oh surely, books can inspire any writer? No. (and don't call me Shirley.) I'm reading a lot at the moment, especially for me. I'm editing for Wicked East, my own shorts, looking long and hard at something else, and of course, reading for fun. (James Herbert's Once, FYI)

But no, alas, none of it helps.

So what inspires me to write? Alcohol? Drugs? Fast cars? Faster women?


Writing does.

'til next time.

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