Inspiration

For some writers thoughts and ideas show up perfectly formed, raring to go. All smooth hairless limbs and seamless tans. Perfect tens. Just waiting to be dressed up in the right words and admired by a crowd of doting readers.

Very very occasionally those ideas will flit past my doorstep but they rarely deign to pay me a visit. Most real ideas know that I am only an amateur idea catcher. A back alley hack who has never owned a thesaurus.

So these well heeled ideas with larger significance and high brow meanings opt for real writers. Writers with by-lines and blogs .Writers with books and experience.

Most of the ideas which do show up at my doorstep, tend to be humdrum, dogged little rejects ,looking for an amateur idea-catcher willing to give them a little shape and substance on the fly.

They furtively look around to see no ones watching and lurch up the alleyway after dark ,waiting a while before knocking. They’re generally not based on very big, self-important thoughts and they know this about themselves.

Some are a little shy, others a little shifty, Some have been kicked around by other writers quite a bit and are threadbare and dusty but still willing to be made-over despite the absence of a limb or three. Still others are embryonic, barely half-formed ,phantom strays of fledgling possibility which follow me around and trip me up on unexpected occassions.

Here’s how it generally goes.

Its 3am, Im still up and there’s another idea skulking at my doorstep.

”Go away you reject, I’m trying to sleep.”

‘No you’re not, you’re rewatching the real housewives .”

“I’m asleep," louder this time

‘You are reading through an interminable thread written by 3 complete strangers under a Facebook post," I know all about you.

"So? Its my life."

“Come on don’t be like that, I have potential, just give me a whirl”

I open the door and look down at it dubiously.

“A gelatinous blob of indeterminate gender, wobbles lopsidedly on the pavement, transparent and amorphous. If there is any potential there, I don’t see it.

Are you a… jellyfish? What are you even?

“Look, I’m something or at least I’m pretty sure I could be something, remember that threesome of books you decided to read back to back last month ,well actions have consequences.

"Trilogy you mean?"

"Nope, I'm pretty sure they called themselves a threesome.All three of them demanded a paternity test, and you stopped at that line -pregnant with possibility-I'm fairly sure I belong to you.You have to adopt me, now, you know you want to."

I squint," are you saying youre my illegitimate brain child because , i’m fairly sure I’ve never seen you or your parents before in my life”

Recognize me now?It shimmies suggestively , wobbling precariously close to the sidewalks edge, a solitary eyeball appears on the surface of the viscous sludge and winks at me saucily before slowly rolling of the pavement.

"There goes your eyeball. You do know that as something which only exists as a potentiality you should be more careful."

“C'mon, don’t be like that,We can re-attach the eyeball or find a new one, You know most of us are fixer uppers and I'm your baby you cant just throw me out, talk about irresponsible parenting. Anyway, its not like there’s anyone else queuing up to be let into this shithole”

I'm telling you I'm not interested. You can't just show up like this at this hour, claiming to be mine. You have no proof of parentage, no proper outline, no idea where you want to go or who you want to be. I’m not entertaining loiterers or illegitimate brain children, I slam the door resolutely shut and go to sleep

I wake up ,there’s a muffled tapping at the door, "What now?"

I peer out. "Look, I’m becoming!", It squeals delightedly.

The blob-thing now has a host of ghostly malformed little limbs kicking out at awkward angles.

I sigh, "I still don’t know WHAT you are ,but I do know what you’re trying to do .I’m not adopting you, I'm definitely not giving you ANY words."

"I’m TRYING to make something of myself and you lady are not helping ,Look, give me a few sentences , help me take baby steps, walk me around in public for a while and if everyone hates me, we can pretend we never met, disown me by all means."

Look blob-thing/ jellyfish/potentiality .You know and I know that on the internet everything is forever and you are frankly an embarrassment.

"What if someone screenshots us together, unlike you, I have a reputation to maintain"

"No one cares you old hack.You don’t actually exist on the internet. You barely exist here, the blob being counters.

"Well there’s that.” I shrug.

I look around the battered interior of my skull. There’s really not much going on. The ironing board of domesticity is propped up against the over flowing laundry hamper of existential angst .Many piles of books, both read and unread weigh down the surface of the only table. In the corner there’s a gaggle of leftover superlatives from the last idea I made-over, cheerfully frolicking with the tumbleweed. A few corpses from ideas I caught and then neglected to feed take pride of place in the center. There are no other live ideas in sight.

It’s still dark out. Plus,I'm very pro choice.Maybe I can just smother it quietly and no one will be any the wiser. After all there is no penalty for murdering what doesn’t yet exist.

What the hell. I shrug, Smile widely and let it wobble inside.

"Just one thing? " It squeaks.

Yeah?

“ Go easy on the superlatives . I heard the last one you adopted, walked out of here looking like a drag queen.”

"Look blob, for something that has no idea where its going in life or even what it is, you have some cheek,”.

“Okay, okay, superlatives, nouns, adjectives, whatever , just make me visible. I want to Be. I need people to see me! its excitement is palpable ”

It oozes onto the only available chair ,what are the wardrobe options here? ,its wobble-head tilts quizzically"

I consider it , eyebrows raised "You know I'm not a real.writer , right? anymore than you're a real idea.And you're definitely not MY idea. I just have the usual, y'know words, all pre-loved. Mostly sweaty. Not very pretty, Don’t hold your breath for miraculous glow-ups "

“All words are pre-loved. Narrative now, THAT can change. I think I’d look great as an op-ed maybe, or a novella even . Something to give me that edge.” It squeaks excitedly , preening insomuch as a blob can.

Look, I sigh, “you have no edges, you are a jellyfish/blob thing. If you wanted to be all fancy and edgy you should have tried that blogger down the street. I heard he got published recently.”

The blob-being slumps, dejected, wobble-head disappearing with a depressing gloomphing sound into itself.

I soften " Look kid. You came to me.You know how I work. We’ll play this by ear. I’ll hammer on the words which look least wonky , no anesthesia, we’ll chisel off a few chunks and if you're still alive and look even remotely recognizable to me or yourself by the time I’m finished, We’ll consider it a job well done .Plus , if anything is too crooked there's always the abattoir...

I motion wordlessly to the haphazard carcasses of former ideas decaying in the center of the room.

A couple of ghostly apostrophes rise up where its eyebrows would have been.

“Okay lady, salty much? You should really think about investing in therapy. Maybe even a subscription to a writers app so you could construct a proper plot arc. Or at the very least a chest of drawers to sort your thoughts out. Your visitors might have a longer shelf life that way.”

I motion towards the door, You , blob-thing are both tiresome and ungrateful. Illegitimate brain child or not. I am done humoring you, blogger man awaits. I don’t even have the strength to strangle you anymore."

Blob-thing sighs. "Blogger man is y’know , a man.He won’t take me on. I did try. He tried to pin me to a page with a pair of perky silicone tits and then faffed on about erect nipples for the length of an ENTIRE page. "

So? "you’re an idea. You’re not gendered."

There’s a sudden shift in the air. Blob-thing blushes or at least its ghostly tentacles take on a (vaguely feminizing?) pale-pinkish hue. "I think…well I don't know if this is technically allowed but I feel like my chosen pronouns could be she, her and occasionally they .Does that count?"

I pause for a moment, “You know what, I think it actually might.”

Then? Do you still want me to go?

I consider for a moment…weeeell...”he will almost certainly slut you up with language which is both sleazy and anatomically inaccurate and then proceed to surround you with male pronouns who will hijack the plot and relegate you to the position of lobotomized eye-candy.”

“So, I get to stay?.” Uttered hopefully ,another eyeball floats back to the surface and bats an eyelash”

“ Grudgingly, Ok, stay and don’t be batting your weird ass eyelashes at me, its disconcerting. I’m done for tonight, lets see what you become tomorrow.”

“One last thing lady?”

Yes?

“Please don’t kill me.”

"Let's see.""