gullybogan

Dear Reader,

As promised, i skived a few days off “work” and went down to the Island with Princess and Tess, ostensibly to “get away from it all”, but actually to research a writing project i’m currently slow-cooking in the fevered crock pot of my brain.

I woke up this morning and mentioned to Princess how my head was full of ideas, all running over each other, clamouring like fingerlings in a trout farm breeding pond.

“Well, what are they, these thoughts? Would it help if you told me about them?”

“Punkin, if my problem was that i had too many thoughts in my head, listing them out wouldn’t really help, would it?”

“It sometimes helps to share problems. You know that.”

“These aren’t problems. They’re just ideas,” i assured her, and slowly the discussion moved on to other things.

[It was stupid of me to have said that out loud, about having a head full of ideas. Sunday mornings are historically bad for me in the matter of such areas. Back when i was sick (my coy euphemism for the year or two when i was inexplicably constantly wracked by severe anxiety complexes; a time when i basically had to sit helplessly and watch myself unravelling), Sundays were the worst. Sunday is too far away from the Routines. Now, i have my OCD to keep me sane, but evenso Sundays are still problematic, since it is still too far away from the Routines. I've built Sunday Routines, sure, but for some reason they generally don't seem to work...]

So now i have an SD card full of reference images, and my head is full of setting and place [you can discuss between yourself the difference betwixt setting and place, dear Reader], and ideas for new characters as well.

The problem now, then, is to find what i want this writing project, this Text, to be About.

The Theme.

I know what i want to happen in the story (it is, of course, a fictional narrative, and not a treatise on the shipwrecks of Westernport), and i know who i want it all to happen to, and how, but now, with my head full of the smells and sounds of mangrove swamps and surf shops, the story is mutating.

Anyway. Just thought i’d share that with you.

As well as reference photos of streets and houses and beaches and laneways and sanddunes, i also have other snapshots that i intend sharing with you, just as soon as i can get my shit together in that area.

Sadly, none of these snapshots are of Tess wringing wet and nipply in her togs, staring down a wild pelican half her size with beakish designs on her lunch, or of Princess – stark naked – flinging open the blind to our room on Thursday morning only to discover that we now had neighbours who hadn’t been there the night before.

More’s the pity.

Yours littorally,
Gullybogan