Stephen Fry and Me

The life of Mr Stephen Fry could hardly be more different from that of my own, yet reading his two autobiographies, I found he explained my inner most thoughts and feelings far better than I ever could. It was almost as if we were somehow separated at birth, separated by some 24 years and 16,800 kilometres, but none the less, I felt a connection.

The first instalment Moab is my washpot covers the first 20-years of his life and does so, like all his writings, with fantastic honesty and brilliant eloquence. It is this honesty more than anything that captivates, giving insight into the deepest thoughts and emotions of growing up long since forgotten by most.

The follow up Fry Chronicles follows Stephen out of prison and into the beginnings of the illustrious career he is so well know for but through all the name dropping and story telling, overwhelming honesty still prevails.

I have come to the conclusion that, take away the age difference, sexual preference, education and celebrity status, we are one and the same. I have found a kindred spirit and an insight into my own life that I can only hope to one day express my gratitude.

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File-New Blank Document… How appropriate. It has been nearly eleven weeks, thousands of words, and my brain chooses now to go blank. So in true writers fashion I am going to write about it.  I see no other way forward.

Writers block I guess is what most people call it, and I guess I have suffered from it before, but something is different this time. Quite possibly it is the fact that previously when I couldn’t think of anything to write I could justify it with the thought that I was no good at writing. Now I have this extremely unhelpful thing called confidence.  I expect my brain to work now when before I could accept that it was just broken. “That old thing? That hasn’t worked of years!” like a broken down tractor in a dusty corner of an old shed. When you know something is broken and then go to use it and subsequently it doesn’t work, it is fulfilling both its usefulness and potential. When you expect something to work, it automatically becomes a ‘pile of crap’ the moment it doesn’t live up to expectations.  Today my brain is a ‘pile of crap.’

There are many ways to beat the dreaded writer’s block, some make sense like ‘work on more than one project at a time’ or ‘take some time off’ whilst others just make the problem worse. I have two that I like to use but unfortunately there are no waves and I’m all out of gin.

Testament to the fact that it just isn’t working for me today is that even now I am struggling to write about nothing.  My mind wanders to thoughts of cleaning the house or mowing the lawns, only then to realise I only have an hour until the taxi service I run fires up and the calls of “I’m hungry” and “What can we do?” recommence.  I think it is time to call it a day; I have just spotted an unopened bottle of wine.

So if you see me in the street or feel inclined to email or message me via social networking sites, feel free to shout random words, phrases or ideas at me that you feel will spark some inspiration.