An Appeal for Free Booze

Jesse emerging from his shed

There was a show I used to enjoy that featured a series of sketches. You got to know the characters and, even when they said something inane, it became hilarious the more often you watched it. One sketch was entirely centered around an old man coming out of his shed in a painfully slow, meticulously deliberate way, finally turning to the camera and rattling off in his thick Irish accent, “This week, I have been mostly eating {insert a random ingredient, such as acorns, here}”, and then turning around to enter his shed the same way he came out. Painful. Hilarious.

My point? This week, I have been mostly thinking about writing a book. This isn’t the first time that this has crossed my mind. Usually, though, I’m too busy with other people’s novels to contemplate my own. The realisation dawned on me that, while I encourage others to write (for love, for money, for sheer catharsis), I am really quite nervous about venturing down this road myself. It can be soul-destroying. And that’s not even when the rejection letters from potential publishers start. It’s the emotion of writing. It reminds me of those operations that they need to do that require the surgeon to haul your intestines out and lay them in a dish next to them while they work on the deepest, darkest crevices of your insides. It’s just so…personal, intrusive. But, in a way that doesn’t quite relate to colorectal surgery, it is strangely enticing.

I’m very open to encouragement, ideas, feedback and donations of Shiraz to assist in my new adventure. Please feel free to email me (amelia{at}voxate{dot}co{za} with insights and, as I say, some sort of access to free wine.

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