Auntie Doris’s Road to Publication #5: Searching for the Sweetcorn


Writing is easy. As far as I am concerned. Or at least it has been since I passed over to the other side. All I have to have is an idea and off I go. Manifesting myself in the body of my nephew Michael, I just sit him down in front of his computer and the words just flow out. I don’t hold with all this “I can’t think of any ideas” lark either. Everyone’s heads are crammed full of ideas. Aren’t they?  They must be having ruddy thoughts otherwise they wouldn’t exist. It’s standard Cartesian philosophy: “I think therefore I am.” Therefore if you don’t think, you’re not. Seeing as you are, you must be thinking. So all you have to do is write down what you are thinking.  Don’t worry about waiting for the first thought that comes into your head. You had it ages ago. You are already thinking. Write that down. And away you go.

Clever clogs Michael calls that “Stream of Consciousness.” I don’t care if it’s a stream of pittle. All the best writers agree; write it down, and you can edit it later.

And that’s where the ruddy problem arises. If you get into the habit of relieving yourself of that stream in front of the computer, sitting down and letting it flow once a day for a long period of time, you end up with a right ruddy sackload of writing. And a lot of it will be shite. But within the shite there will be a few golden kernels of sweetcorn. If you are a particularly wise and knowledgeable person like me, there will be quite a few golden kernels of sweetcorn, but even I produce a fair amount of shite just to squeeze those kernels out. Searching for the sweetcorn is quite a task.

When you do finally decide that it is time to edit, you suddenly realise that you have set yourself a bit of a task. I am not saying that I have bitten off more than I can chew. Far from it. I always was a good chewer, ever since I got my National Health dentures in the 1940s. But it is a real chew, with loads of gristle, and one or two bones to pick out if you don’t want them to get stuck in your throat.

(I am so good at them metaphor things me, I hardly ever get them mixed either. With my hand on the steering wheel I can drive any Clapham Omnibus you like all the way down the Grand Union Canal. And you can put that in your pipe and smoke it!)

Any road. My first thought when faced with all that editing was to just let my nephew get on with it. After all, he is the one who is supposed to have gone to university. But I had overlooked one important factor. He is bone idle and the world’s expert at avoiding anything difficult. That’s why he hasn’t got much further than about 1903 over the last five weeks. So it looks like I am going to have to do more than just give him a boot up the back passage. I am going to have to take on some of the work myself. I should have known. If you want a job doing properly, ask a ruddy woman!

So… If there are any writers out there who follow the rule “write it all down and edit it later” and have a few tips and whatnots for the editing process. I would be grateful for the assistance. I will return the favour with a few of my own tips and whatnots for writing shite with extra sweetcorn.

Auntie Doris’s Road To Publication #3: Talking to Grandma

GrandmaI have never been asked so many ruddy questions. I thought that I was in for a quiet life after I stopped writing a little homily every day, and let my nephew Michael edit the ones that I have already written. But ohh no! That would be too much to ask. Now he’s at me even more than he was before, incessant questioning about stuff. “What did they call my mother’s brothers and sisters? Did I know both my grandmas and granddads? Where did they live? When did they die? What did they ruddy well do for a living. How the hell should I know? It was all such a long time ago. Some of the people he is asking about have been dead that long that they have gone into The Meld.

For those of you that haven’t read all my little homilies, The Meld is the place where people go after they feel that they have been on the other side for long enough. When you decide to go into The Meld, you lose your personal identity, you just meld with everyone else in there. You can find out all about it in my little series “Auntie Doris’s Life on the Other Side

Any road once people have gone into the meld, it is difficult to ask them questions. Difficult, but not impossible. I have been learning how to do it. I suppose it’s nice to have a little hobby, and like I say, I am not writing every day now, so I have a bit of time on my hands, and it helps me answer all those ruddy questions our Michael keeps asking.

When I discovered that I could contact the land of the living from the other side (through my nephew) it was like learning a new skill. A bit like when young kids go to ruddy Hai Karate classes or whatever it is they do when they aren’t ruddy skateboarding in virtual reality or whatever it is that they get up these days. The thing is, they get better and better at it with practice and they get different coloured belts to show everyone how good they are.

Some of them don’t progress much. Some of them collect all the ruddy belts, and then give up. But some of them progress to the next level and start doing kung fu, and maybe even go on to become ninjas, and then do secret missions or what nots for the government or other ruddy clandestine organisations.

Any road, I have progressed to the next level of contacting other dimensions where you start learning how to contact The Meld. Course, I’m not much good at it yet. I’m only a beginner, and it’s not all that easy. You have to know what to ask, and how to ask it, but I can now just about manage summon up and speak to people who have gone into it. Well, as long as I have some connection to them. Family and that.

It’s not really them of course. It’s a version of them created by all the knowledge in The Meld. But then again, its as near as you are going to get, without actually going in yourself. And I’m not ready for that yet. I’m having too much fun where I am.

Any road, I had a chat with my Grandmother the other day. Or some spirit that was to all intents and purposes pretty much like my grandmother (on my mother’s side) It was a funny ruddy business, because I hadn’t seen her since about 1918 when I was about 4 years old. She seemed a nice old soul though, and was able to fill me in on one or two things that the nephew had been asking me about.

I reckon that eventually I might be able to do people that I have no connection with. Like Napoleon, or Genghis Khan. Not that I am all that bothered. I wouldn’t know what I would even have to say to either one of them, although I have always been fascinated by the Mongol Empire, I wouldn’t actually want to spend any time with its ruddy instigator. But you never know. I might be able to do requests one day. That would be a lark. But not until my nephew has finished the business in hand and got that ruddy book written!