I fell asleep watching Eraserhead the other day. At least, I think I did. Those were some weird dreams.
When I die, I want everyone else’s broadband to speed up, because of all the porn I’m no longer downloading. My gift to you all.
I love apostrophe’s, me – their rely gr8.
They should of made them, buy the crate.
With heavy irony, I made this poem.
A generation of illiterate’s, we seem 2 of grown.
I do not think it’s the school system,
There’s no way that they could have completely missed them.
Instead – it’s acceptance, of one’s peers subculture,
And the death of grammar and spelling is circled overhead,
By a great big vulture!
I’m sorry to be so profound,
but I know there are more brain cells to go around,
than is implied by parts of my Facebook feed,
Remember how to write, my friends,
And your words we will look forward to read!
Copyright © Dave Price – April 18 2013
Okay, not the best title for a review, but perhaps you will see what I mean by the end..
Those familiar with the cult classic Withnail And I will recall that a good deal of the film contains the internal mutterings of “I” (Paul McGann) to great comedic effect – I recall the scene in the pub toilet where “I” is reading the grafitti:
[voice-over] “I fuck arses.” Who fucks arses?
[aloud] Maybe *he* fucks arses!
[voice-over] Maybe he’s written this in some moment of drunken sincerity.
I was reminded in some parts of these paranoid thoughts. In fact most of the book felt like an extended scene in Withnail & I. That is very definitely a Good Thing.
There are many words of wisdom, very helpfully italicised.
I attempted to write a childrens story once “Keith and the Baby Dragon.” I ran out of steam quite quickly because I found writing with the level of surrealism I was going for was very taxing. But Craig has managed to keep up the stamina I lacked, and filled an entire book. That is also a Good Thing.
I think that’s why I enjoyed it so much. I was brought up on a healthy diet of Python, Milligan, Reeves & Mortimer, and The Mighty Boosh, so I found this style of writing very easy to enjoy.
I am unsure how much of this was based upon the author’s experiences and how much was fiction, but in my experiences as a Taxi Driver (How to Annoy a Taxi Driver) I can attest to the fact that people are very strange indeed!
In summary then, strange, delightful, touching and very enjoyable!
I almost forgot… what is the difference between this book and Fifty Shades?
I read about halfway through Fifty Shades before the writing equivalent of listening to Les Dawson on piano made my want to set fire to my Kindle, then sniff myself to death on the probably highly toxic ashes. 
The Squirrel That Dreamt Of Madness, I could *not* put down. 😉
Dave
This one rambles and jumps about a bit – but please read on. It will all make sense in the end..
By the way, some of it is about Vomit, you’ve been warned.
Today I awoke to the stabbing searing terror of my left calf convulsing in cramp.
“Hey folks! Do you know what time it is?! That’s right, i-i-i-i-it’s Cramp O’Clock!! Don’t hit that snooze button!!”
So I managed to get myself to a standing position without screaming, that usually sorts it. It did.
I had a revelation today. A moment of clarity. Well, several, but a couple of them were just inspired connections brought on by caffiene and chocolate I think, but more about that later.
Last night in my taxi I was on a rank, slowly making my way up to pole position outside one of Lancaster’s nightclubs.
Sorry to be specific here, but have you ever had a bit of bile try to force it’s way up, and you fight it back down by swallowing it? That happened. And it didn’t go well.
A girl tapped on the passenger window at that very moment to ask if I could carry five people in my taxi.
I was in the middle of winding the window down when my eyes started streaming.
My eyes were threatening to pop out.
“GLUG!!” I managed to say.
“Sorry?” she replied.
“I’M GONNA BE SICK!!” I rasped, turned away, and spat out of my window.
I turned back.
“Sorry! Sorry..” I croaked – but she had gone. Good – I couldn’t have fitted them all in my car, in any case.
It took me about ten minutes to recover completely. I drank a litre of water trying to sort myself out.
I wanted to write a funny Facebook status about it, as is my thing – “Death by Parmesan” or something like that. But it was busy, so I didn’t get round to it.
Lee Evans once likened the aroma of Parmesan cheese to vomit. As a result, Parmesan is definitely an acquired taste. I vividly remember as a child freaking out because the Spaghetti & Meatballs that my mum and dad had bought me at a restaurant smelled of sick, and I refused to eat it. I screamed the place down, if I remember..
But why is this? Why are vomit and parmesan so closely related, in a smell sense? Are there any biochemists reading that can help here?
Revelation Number One:
I remember being told by a college lecturer that cramp was something to do with the muscle being starved of oxygen. Lactic acid is produced so the muscle goes into a spasm and freezes up. When someone dies the heart stops and no oxygen flows. Lactic acid. Cramp. Rigor Mortis.
Hmmm. Lactic Acid. Lactose? Lactate. Milk. Cheese.
Parmesan Cheese.
Cheese is milk that has cramp.
Vomit smells of Parmesan which smells of Vomit. QED.
Have I gone insane, or does that make sense?
Back to my day, anyway.
I got up, went downstairs, and made a strong coffee. I drank it while eating the chocolate that I’d abandoned last night after my Parmesan Death Incident. Nice. That ties up nicely.
I’m told that starting the day with a chocolate breakfast is a bad thing. Being overweight, I’m a diabetes risk apparently. I hope not, because coffee and chocolate is the spinach to my internal creative Popeye. Or brain, to put it another way.
If you’ve ever met me after a high caffiene and chocolate intake, you can’t shut me up. I am on one, creatively speaking. That’s why I’m writing this.
What happened next? I drove to work – well, to be specific, I drove my car to where the taxi is parked that I drive. On the way I passed Adele on a Stick.
Okay, that really deserves an explanation.
A large part of Morecambe has recently been made into a 20MPH zone. I get this, there are schools, and kids. Kids on BMXs already own the roads in this area, riding out into the road without looking. In groups usually.
ET, but with twats.
I wrote about that in my book, How to Annoy a Taxi Driver (Only 98p on Amazon – very reasonably priced and a funny read – plug over.)
There are a couple of devices that have been erected on poles in the area. As a car approaches them, it displays their speed, and either a happy face or a sad face, depending on whether they are above or below the non-enforcable speed limit. The police don’t prosecute under 30MPH.
At 3am, when the roads are clearly empty, this machine scowls at everyone passing. She’s never happy to see me.
As I approached Adele she piped up with 19 and smiled at me. 🙂
I hate machines telling me what to do. At a previous job, a desktop computer once told me that I was “Not Authorised to Shut Down this Workstation” – “Really?!” I squeaked. Power switch off. Job done.
So I gently accelerated my car to 21, and of course she scowled at me. 😦
Adele on a stick.
Revelation Number Two:
Anyone care to recall the name of Adele’s two albums?
19 and 21. QED.
Conclusion
My main moment of clarity then, is that this stuff pops into my head under the influence of coffee and chocolate, which are apparently bad for my body, but good for my creativity.
Oh, and I love Parmesan cheese. Funny, that.
And Adele is pregnant.
Congratulations, love. When the baby inevitably pukes, I wonder if a penny will drop… 😉
Dave
I almost hurl my Kindle across the box-like room I am sitting in.
The simile spills unnecessarily from my fingers, desperately striving to sound like classic literature, but actually sounding like the spinster-like gushings of Mary from Corrie.
I am stood on a motorway bridge, at a gigantic pile-up taking place in slow motion.
I have momentarily taken on the guise of J G Ballard describing a road accident.
The comparison is being used to illustrate how I rapidly began to feel while reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
I am watching a hideous pile of steel, rubber, chrome, blood, bone and flesh being created before me.
Yet I have not been able to stop experiencing the spectacle.
Until now.
I audibly gasp.
Is there honestly any other way? Ah hang on…
I tried visually gasping – mixing up the senses a bit, but I just looked like a fucking goldfish.
I tried to gasp olfactorially* – nearly causing myself a serious injury, I might add.
*Olfactorially – adverb. “To do something that you can smell”
Okay, okay, the word doesn’t exist I’ll admit – but if it did, it would be spelled that way. It would be the adverb of “olfactory”. As visually is to visual, audibly is to audible, olfactorially is to olfactory.
Hey, at least I’m making up new words instead of flogging old ones to death!! Ha!
I am struggling to deliberately make some of the terrible writing mistakes I have read in the book, but it is very, very difficult.
It is the reading equivalent of listening to Les Dawson playing the piano.
Where would we be without good writing?
Fifty Shades.
And yet it’s the top-selling Kindle book.
Congratulations, you have motivated me to try to write better.
I thought it was about time that I revealed that work on my debut novel has begun.
The working title is Earthrise (edit: How cheesy! It’s gone), but I think that Resource 323 could be more intriguing and less clichéd, especially if the cover design just shows this:
By the way, it’s a Science Fiction / Mystery.
I read On Writing by Stephen King again last week, to see if I was doing things correctly. I wasn’t!
I was getting bogged down in plot and story arcs etc, when I should really have been just hitting the keyboard and letting the first draft determine the direction of the story.
So that’s what I’ve been doing. Chapter One is complete, and I’m on Chapter Two.
I’m deliberately being obscure about what it’s about at the moment. I’ve chatted the ears off quite a few people talking about it, and I always seem to end up getting over excited and ranting. Sorry everyone 😉
Those I’ve spoken to have been intrigued by the concept behind the story – that not everything is as it seems, and the lives we all lead are actually serving a higher purpose – see I’m doing it again!! Calm down, Dave.
More tidbits will follow, I am sure – I can’t help it.
Woohaa!!
Dave x
Not bloody likely… I was asked today by one of my friends how to write an autobiography, presumably because of my reputation as a highly successful author(!)
So as I sit here sipping ice cold champagne served to me by dusky maidens on the deck of my great big freakin’ yacht…
Yeah, whatever…
If I was writing my autobiography, the first thing i’d do is buy three cardfiles and obviously cards. One for Childhood, one for the last couple of years up until recently, and one for everything else in between.
Then I’d put the boxes somewhere safe, yet within easy reach, and every time I thought of something significant, I’d write a card with a couple of words or a phrase to remind me for later. You could even put photos in there.
I’d leave the boxes there for a year maybe. Also I’d start up a Word document in case something big wants to come out. Stick a shortcut to it on your desktop, so you can always open it quickly. Recollections are like diarrhoea, you have to get to the pot quickly..
Later, I’d take out a card at random, and write about each thing. You’ll find that more stuff randomly spills out, like bats in a cave; stick em on a card for later, and carry on with what you were doing.
The thing with writing about your memories – is that once you start, it’s hard to stop. Sorry about the diarrhoea reference by the way.
There comes a point, however, when you have to draw a line under it, arrange it into chronological order, print it out, get someone to proofread it, let them write all over it, then go back and edit/rewrite as necessary till you are happy with it.
That’s my advice anyway.
Dave
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