Deadlines and nude oil paintings.
June 25th 2010 07:58
The affable columnist Tanya Lau once wrote about the difficulties on writing a column every week. At the time, I was a new columnist with a virtual mental hard drive full of humorous anecdotes and couldn’t imagine ever sitting in front of the computer screen staring blankly as the deadline approached.
Writer Douglas Adams once said, “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." I haven’t exactly heard the whooshing sound, but I blame that on the fact that perhaps Douglas didn’t have a one and three-year old trying to out-scream each other to see who could sound the most like a boiling tea kettle. They’re tied, in case you’re wondering.
My point is, is that most people who write, start writing at a young age when an emotion like sadness over a heartbreak, or happiness over a beautiful sunset hits them. Then the words organically come pouring out and we call ourselves writers from that moment on.
The problem with working as a writer – I won’t say earning a living as one since I have yet to discover how to do that – is that you work on a deadline most of the time. Even Bryce Courtenay has deadlines; he just gets paid really well to meet them now.
So I’ve found myself lately about two days to deadline putting myself or my loved ones in situations that could perhaps precipitate an amusing story.
My husband has unknowingly been a participant in a few of these fishing expeditions, as I like to refer to them. Just last week we took the girls to an indoor play park. But aside from some questionable chicken nuggets we had for lunch, the only thing to come out of it was one bruised forehead after the oldest collided with another little girl in the ball pit.
Then, a few days ago we went to the absolutely last hoorah at the Rocky Tender Centre. We (okay, maybe I) decided we would place a bid on the most obscure, ridiculous item we could find, place an equally ridiculously bid on said item, and roll the dice.
Although we didn’t win any of the items we really wanted, like the rowing machine or kid-sized doll, we are now the proud owners of a circa 1970’s, nude painting of a woman who only slightly resembles my Uncle Johnny if the light is right.
But for now I must bid you adieu as my deadline is fast approaching and I really need to find a place to hang this painting.
Cartoon credit: Roz Chast found at: Really Long Link
Writer Douglas Adams once said, “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." I haven’t exactly heard the whooshing sound, but I blame that on the fact that perhaps Douglas didn’t have a one and three-year old trying to out-scream each other to see who could sound the most like a boiling tea kettle. They’re tied, in case you’re wondering.
My point is, is that most people who write, start writing at a young age when an emotion like sadness over a heartbreak, or happiness over a beautiful sunset hits them. Then the words organically come pouring out and we call ourselves writers from that moment on.
The problem with working as a writer – I won’t say earning a living as one since I have yet to discover how to do that – is that you work on a deadline most of the time. Even Bryce Courtenay has deadlines; he just gets paid really well to meet them now.
So I’ve found myself lately about two days to deadline putting myself or my loved ones in situations that could perhaps precipitate an amusing story.
My husband has unknowingly been a participant in a few of these fishing expeditions, as I like to refer to them. Just last week we took the girls to an indoor play park. But aside from some questionable chicken nuggets we had for lunch, the only thing to come out of it was one bruised forehead after the oldest collided with another little girl in the ball pit.
Then, a few days ago we went to the absolutely last hoorah at the Rocky Tender Centre. We (okay, maybe I) decided we would place a bid on the most obscure, ridiculous item we could find, place an equally ridiculously bid on said item, and roll the dice.
Although we didn’t win any of the items we really wanted, like the rowing machine or kid-sized doll, we are now the proud owners of a circa 1970’s, nude painting of a woman who only slightly resembles my Uncle Johnny if the light is right.
But for now I must bid you adieu as my deadline is fast approaching and I really need to find a place to hang this painting.
Cartoon credit: Roz Chast found at: Really Long Link
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Comment by Shawnee
Comment by True1
A Day in LA - Things to do in Los Angeles County
The Friendly Vegetarian
breeze
What did you do with your prize?
You could tell your kids that she must be cold and let them paint clothes on her.
Or you could sell it on Ebay and see who else has a sense of humor or just maybe questionable taste.
Or you could wrap it up and give it to Uncle Johnny on his birthday