A Write New Year.

Here's the latest cut chapter from Booker's World.

Friday, January 1, 2010

I stepped out at midnight into the cold air. Next door to me, a fraternity of foreigners were ringing in the New Year with the thundering vibration of thump-thump music. It is the sort of noise one would have to be soporific to enjoy.
In the distance a crowd of drunken revellers of my own nationality stepped outside and sang their merry hearts out. We won't be hearing any of them audition at the X Factor later in the year. There were no fireworks.
I went back inside and drank a coffee to heat the bones. It was hours before I slept with the racket going on next door. I thought about going out and complaining. Visions of a scene best written by the great Alfred Hitchcock, had me deciding against it.
I'd let them have their fun. With the passing of the year I figured there was good reason to celebrate. There still seemed to be money for merriment, so maybe things are not that bad.

I had a mid-day three mile walk. It was an effort to go outside and do it. I had a short conversation with myself and weighed up the options. One, I could stay indoors and maybe get fit next year. Or two, get up off my arse and begin today. I went for option two, as I really need to turn a corner in terms of my condition. I've put it off for too long.
I'm sorry, I just find walking incredibly boring. Why can't we all be just given a decent embodiment to carry us through life? If they insist on death being the end of it all that is then perhaps they could cut that privilege off at about the 125 year mark. I reckon I could get through most things I want to do in that time span if I didn't have to take up precious time of my day in a battle against cardiac arrest.

I wondered as I walked if other writers feel tired after time spent being creative. I've done some pretty hard labour in my past, but i have never felt the weariness I feel after sitting for a number of hours tapping away at my computer keys. The best way I can describe it is old.
As the air burnt away at the remaining hair on my head, I slowly warmed to it and spent the next half an hour taking in the beauty of a frozen day under an eternal blue sky. I cleared my mind of thought and just enjoyed it. I am not going to look upon it as a chore. If I do that I'll be through with the exercise come the end of the week. With a bit of luck I'll put twenty miles on the clock this week and shake the old bones out. Next week, I'll lift the pace a little. I hope it works and I don't get some old niggles back.
“One step at a time,” as Leon used to do, on occasion.

Mitch was just leaving when I got back to the house. He was sporting scratches on his face, the result of two girls tearing strips off each other over some dude who was already heading down the street with someone else. It was something Leon would have done. The next generation of players already on the loose. I wondered how Leon might have fared against this generation. I wondered what lines they used.
Mitch told me he was getting out of the bouncing game. It just was not worth it anymore and that he had handed in his notice.
“Ireland’s mental on alcohol,” he claimed.
He said he had a long time ambition to be an actor and felt it was time to pursue that. I should say so too Mitch, you're no spring chicken. You may be built like a brick shit house, but what you aiming for here? Bruce Willis' arse double? Mitch left without mentioning what we had discussed the other night. I guess neither of us want to bring it up.

I ate an apple for breakfast. I flirted with the thought of not showering until the house had heated up a little, but I thought if people in their 80's can jump into freezing and polluted seas on the coldest days of the year then i should not be such a wimp.
I was the better for the decision as I made my way back to my room and spent an afternoon in editing hell. I don't think I would make a good editor.
Thoughts of avenues open to me with regard how I'm going to put a book together and make the process more enjoyable for myself are now beginning to come at pace. I need a plan. One I'll stick with. One that does not place me in the negative to quickly. I lean toward negativity with each passing year. Another flaw that need rectifying.
I'm happiest when I'm here, tapping away. But when it comes down to nit picking through material and trying to accomplish what all writers desire, a structured narrative that some people may want to read, I get the feeling the ultimate pursuit will take far more out of me than any film script ever did or days working with concrete.

I admire those people who chase that end. Often times for little reward in a saturated market. I want to count myself among them. I won't say I gave up a solid job to pursue it. The job gave me up. If anything this recession has provided me with, is the time to learn ten times more about the workings of this world than I had ever garnered laying pipes in dangerous holes. I get the chance to chase a dream, for the time being anyway.

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