Tag: writer

7 Reasons That You Shouldn’t Read (on the toilet)

This is a subject that totally divides the sexes. For some reason, reading in the toilet is something that women just don’t do, and they’re right. I agree. I read a lot. I’m also a man. To some people, this could mean that I might reasonably be expected to be found reading on the toilet, or would be, if people were in the habit of finding other people on the toilet which fortunately – for the most part – they’re not. But I won’t be found reading in the toilet ever, because I won’t be reading on the toilet in the first place – unless I’m dealing with some sort of emergency that requires me to use the toilet and read important instructions simultaneously. Like coming face to face with a self-assembly lion. Other than that, however, reading while using the toilet is something that shouldn’t ever be done. Here are seven reasons why.

This: Don’t do it.

1. It’s Disgusting. We’ve all seen those shock-docs in which restaurant toilets are subjected to ultra violet/infra-red/magic-poo-seeing light, and they don’t make comfortable viewing. They show specks of faecal matter (close your eyes if you’re at all squeamish) spattered (you can open them again now) on far walls, high ceilings, behind sinks and well, just about everywhere, and the nearer to the toilet the surface is, the more bottom-mud there will be on it. So if you’re reading a book while you’re using the toilet, or even leaving a book near the toilet, it’s going to get faeces on it. That is an undesirable trait in a book.

2. It’s Disgusting Multiplied. Having left your excrement all over your book, once you’ve finished it you’ll return it to your library or lend it to a friend or a colleague who’ll probably read it in a normal place like a chair or a bed or something. So not only are they taking your shit with them into their bed, they could well become ill while reading it. “I seem to have picked up a horrible stomach bug,” your colleague will tell you as they call in sick,” still, at least it gives me some time to read the book you lent me.” You’ll have poisoned them. And you’ll probably end up covering their workload at the office too, while they lounge around at home. The only winner in this scenario is Jeremy Kyle.

3. It’s Just Weird. Well it is. Why, out of all the things that men do so brilliantly well, is the only example of their multi-tasking prowess the ability to poo and read simultaneously? Is it that the very act of sitting down on the toilet feminises them and renders them suddenly capable of doing more than one thing at once? And why don’t women read on the toilet? They’re always telling us they can do fifteen things at the same time (often while they’re burning something in the kitchen or standing on the cat’s tail) but put them on the toilet – where no one can see them – and they suddenly become mono-taskers. Does this mean that the multi-tasking stuff is all for show? If you put a toilet and a book together in the same place and you get more questions than answers. Unless, of course, the book is a book of answers. They can only be trumped by a toilet of questions.

4. What If Someone Else Wants The Bathroom? There are other people in the world too. Other people that might conceivably want to use the toilet for the actual purpose of using the toilet. It’s no fun for someone to have to hang around outside the bathroom crossing their legs and screwing up their face while shrieking, “I need the toilet! I need the toilet!” with increasing desperation (well, it is, but not for them). It’s like Superman. Does he ever think about people that need to make a phone call when he’s using a phone box to change into his costume? No he bloody doesn’t. And their phone call might be an emergency. He’s an inconsiderate bastard. Essentially, if you read on the toilet you’re just like Superman.*

5. Health & Safety. It’s not just about books any more. There are hi-tech reading devices out there that the hapless and misguided might conceivably try to use while in the smallest room. Kindles, for example. But no one knows what possible effects would occur if they dropped an electronic book into the toilet (I googled it**). It would stop working, that’s obvious, but it also contains a battery so, I assume, it’s possible that it could short-circuit and send a small electrical charge through the water in the toilet bowl if dropped. Now if you were connected to the water in the bowl in some way (by a stream of liquid perhaps, you are in the toilet, after all), you’d get an electrical shock. Right in the very last place you’d want one. They’re not even allowed to torture people like that at Guantanamo Bay. They’re restricted to water-boarding them there, or forcing them to spell Guantanamo. The monsters.

6. What If You Run Out Of Paper? Outside of Kerry Katona, is there anything more tragic and desperate than someone that has just discovered there’s no toilet paper once they’ve completed a movement? Probably not. At that moment, people will use anything that’s near to hand (perhaps even their hand). If they’re reading a book, there’s no question that they’ll tear a page or two out and use that to wipe themselves with. But what if they’re reading the Bible? That would be blasphemous. What if they’re reading the Encyclopedia Britannica? They could end up ignorant about aardvarks or Zurich. What if they’re reading Dan Brown? That would be hopeless as the pages are covered in shit already. It’s just better not to have a book within reach in the first place.

7. Pity The Writers. At 7 Reasons, we’re generally just happy and flattered that people read us at all. But we’re also British and, as such, feel duty-bound to uphold notions of taste and decency and to urge our readers toward decorous behaviour. So we have to draw a line. And that line is at the bathroom door. We can’t write while imagining our readers on the toilet and you probably don’t want to be imagined using the toilet by us while we write***. For our sake, as well as yours, you should never – even though you probably weren’t considering it anyway – read 7 Reasons in the toilet. You should, of course, continue to outfit yourself in your Sunday best before settling down in your parlours and libraries to read us, just as you’re doing now. Nice hat, madam, by the way.

*This argument hasn’t gone well.

**I did find many instances of people dropping their iPhones down the toilet but that just made me laugh a lot. Or is it lAugh?

***That sentence took nine rewrites before it even made partial sense.

February 22, 2011
7 Reasons That Writer’s Block is Frustrating

Whether you’re a blogger, a journalist, a novelist, a playwright or a poet, writer’s block can be both debilitating and frustrating. Here are seven reasons why.

Yes, It's Microsoft Word 1897!

1. Because You Call Yourself A Writer. I sometimes call myself a writer. Mostly because that’s what I do. I write. Every day. I didn’t start doing it regularly until my thirties, but I’ve studied literature my whole life, from pre-school to university. And I feel comfortable when I refer to myself as a writer; because I do it all the time and, I like to imagine, quite well. I don’t make my living from writing: I’ve never even been paid for writing; in fact – owing to the vagaries of the publishing system – I’ve been offered more money not to write than I have to write. Yes, actual soft cash (made of paper, so better than hard cash), and I turned it down. Because I’m an idiot. And I would have had to have called myself a not-writer. A professional not-writer. And that’s not who I am. But you can only call yourself a writer if you actually write something.

2. Because It’s Hard To Explain. It’s hard to explain not being able to write to non-writers, because – to them – it’s a natural state. How would you explain the absence of writing to someone that isn’t a practitioner of the art? I’ll have a stab at it: Imagine that you’re reading a blank page. But that page is important. In fact, the words on that page are fundamental to your very life, soul, being, self-image and existence. But you can’t see them. And you need them. They’re vital. Oh, and you’re naked. Well that’s pretty much what it’s like. But much worse. Because your foot hurts and it’s cold where you are.

3. Because You Can Think Of Things To Write, They’re Just Not Appropriate. I could, right at this moment, fashion a discourse highlighting the influence of John Mayall on the British blues movement or analyse Romania’s under-reported role in the holocaust. But I’m not writing a piece on the development of British music, or on World War II, I’m writing for a humour site. Which is a shame as there’s very little else in my head except for: “There’s nothing in your head you silly man”, “My foot hurts” and “Oooh, I quite fancy a sandwich”; yet eating the sandwich won’t help you because…well…it’s eating a sandwich, which is different to writing (it’s more Marmitey and less like Tolstoy) and your audience probably won’t appreciate a piece entitled 7 Reasons I Stopped Staring Blankly at a Screen and had a Sandwich Instead as it would be at least six reasons light and it would probably make them hungry. Well, half of them, the other half probably don’t like Marmite.

4. Because You Have A Deadline. Yes, there’s always a deadline that you need to hit. And, when I was staring at my blank screen it was imminent. After all, I have other things to do in addition to writing. I’m a man, I need simple things; that sandwich, sleep, words to magically appear on my screen (or in my head, I’m not lazy, I’ll happily type them out), but mostly sleep. Because I’ve been busy all day and I’m tired. But I need to write these words, so with bloodshot eyes I continue to stare at the screen, because inspiration will strike if I stare at it for long enough, surely?

5. Because Of Modern Technology. And I’m staring at the blank screen on a computer. That’s right, a computer. A machine connected to the world that contains many, many distractions. So when you find yourself failing to write words on a screen, you’ll soon find yourself watching people falling off bicycles on Youtube. And shortly, you’ll find yourself on Twitter. Not tweeting about WWII or John Mayall, but about other topical and funny stuff. And you’re actually being funny on Twitter. In the written word! But not in any way that inspires your next day’s piece, and that doesn’t help matters; in fact, it’s bloody frustrating, as the irony of the situation won’t escape you. You will briefly toy with the idea of tweeting tomorrow’s piece, and disregard it. Eventually. But not before you’ve wasted much precious writing time considering it, while sucking on a pencil: A pencil without any lead in it.

6. Because Of Self-Doubt. Why do I write? If you ever found yourself asking that, you would never, ever do it. Because writing defies all logical sense. Why, in the name of all that is holy, in the name of all that is unholy, or in the name of all that isn’t there (I think I’ve covered everyone) would anyone choose to spend their time spewing-forth words from their brains to their fingers to their screens. “I could be doing other things at the moment,” you’ll find yourself thinking. “I could be doing other things that normal people do like watching other people sitting in a “jungle” or watching other people dancing badly or watching other people that can’t sing, sing or”…and suddenly writing makes sense again.

7. Because You’ll Get There In The End. And eventually, you’ll think of something to write about. Because that’s what you do, you’re a writer. Even if you do end up writing about not-writing, even if you end up raw-eyed and sweaty, even if you end up writing with the rapier-like-insight and élan of an addled baboon, there’ll be something. Because however much you think you have nothing to say, however hard you think it is, there will always be something. And that’s when you know that you should write. And that you should have a shower.

November 23, 2010
7 Reasons Not to Write in the Park

Last week, I wrote a piece entitled 7 Reasons To Write In The Park. I did this because it was a nice day and I thought it would be a good idea to combine a visit to my local park with writing, Having come up with the title for the piece before I set off, I felt duty-bound to complete it, even though my experience showed me that the park isn’t the ideal place to write at all. This is why.

Picture by www.webbaviation.co.uk

1. Sunshine. It was sunny in the park. I discovered that sunlight is incompatible with writing as I couldn’t see what was on the screen of my laptop. I’m not the most accurate of typists and being able to see what I’m keying in is vital to me. After I’d finished writing, I returned home to find that I’d written this:

I had to spend hours rewriting it from memory. Indoors.

2. The Descent Of Man. There’s an ice cream vendor at my local park so I bought an ice cream which, as it was a hot sunny day, melted and made both of my hands very sticky. I needed to type but I didn’t have a tissue or a wet wipe with me; because I’m not very organised and also because I’m not a woman (I don’t even own a dress). I ended up having to clean my hands by dragging them around on the grass. And so it was that I, a modern man, was reduced to savagery by something as simple as a defrosting confection. Pathetic.

3. Women. There were scantily clad women sunbathing in the park; some of them were reading too. This is a distraction I never encounter when writing at home and I got quite hot under the collar (an idiomatic one, I’m not a dog). As I sat there trying to write, I found myself thinking about how attractive women with books are. For reasons that I can’t fathom, a woman reading Dostoyevsky is at least 70% more attractive than a similar looking woman that isn’t reading anything. I was supposed to be writing and instead, I found myself just sitting there, wondering if I’m a book fetishist or even if there is such a thing. Is it the paper? Is it the font? Is it the rustling sound of the turning pages? Anyway, the upshot was that I lost at least half an hour of writing time worrying that I’m some sort of biblio-pervert.

4. Ducks. It’s not possible to write anything near a duck. I know, I’ve tried. They do three things that are distracting; they quack, they waddle and they sleep with their heads facing backwards. How are you supposed to write anything near a creature like that?

5. Words. I overheard a man and a woman that were seated near me on a bench. I listened, because you never know if you might be able to use what you hear as dialogue later on. The woman had a very distracted, slightly disconnected, manner of speech; she would leave long pauses mid-sentence before eventually resuming. At one point she said “…of course, Mike would fall for her…she’s very…”. It was during the final pause that the word bendy popped into my head and caused me to burst into – what outwardly appeared to be spontaneous – laughter. The couple – who had previously observed me dragging my hands around on the ground – soon moved on, presumably a little concerned. Or even a lot concerned.

6. Tan. I thought I’d tanned slightly while I was writing in the park but it turns out that I hadn’t. The following morning I woke with one red arm. It’s a completely different colour to my other arm but, as my highly amused wife pointed out to me, it does go better with the kitchen.

7. Just Because. I don’t know what I was thinking, Trying to write in the park was clearly a foolish act. It’s the wrong thing to do there: it’s not what parks are for. I should have been running around with a ball or a Frisbee (again, I feel I should stress that I’m not a dog) or reading or feeding the ducks. Writing there was a disaster. In conclusion; if you need to write anything, the park’s the wrong place to do it.*

*And it’s full of book-perverts.

May 24, 2010
7 Reasons To Write In The Park

Something amazing happened yesterday; the sun came out in Yorkshire. With a mixture of delirium, excitement and astonishment I abandoned my plans and headed off to my local park. I decided to justify this dereliction of home improvement duty by coming up with 7 Reasons To Write In The Park.

Picture by www.webbaviation.co.uk

1. Fitness. I walked to the park, something that probably counts as one of my five portions of exercise per day. Had I stayed at home to write I would have had to have paced up-and-down to achieve the same effect. Not for very long, the park’s just around the corner, but still, it all helps.

2. Ice Cream. There is no ice cream in my house, but my local park has an ice cream vendor. I love ice cream, and it turns out that it’s a brilliant accompaniment to writing, better even than the bananas that usually fuel my compositions. Obviously your local park might not have ice cream, but it’s not my fault if your park sucks and mine doesn’t.

3. Inspiration. While I was writing in the park two middle-aged men, deep in conversation, walked past me and I overheard one of them exclaim, “…I don’t even own a dress!” I have no idea what the context was, but at some point I’ll be able to use this in something. It’s currently a monologue, but eventually, I may be able to use it as dialogue – or perhaps even trialogue – if such a thing exists. Those words came free at the park; I wouldn’t have heard anyone say them at home. And by that, I don’t mean that I own a dress, I mean that I wouldn’t be saying it aloud to myself while writing. My wife wouldn’t say it either. She has loads of the things. They’re everywhere.

4. Sunlight. Often, when writing, the location of the writer means that they don’t see much sunlight. In my case, I usually write near a window in a West facing room in North Yorkshire so I’m more likely to see a unicorn piloting a zeppelin to Greenland than I am to see the sun. Yesterday, however, as I emerged from my house blinking and startled into the sunlight and headed off to the park it felt good. I may have even tanned slightly while writing! Extraordinary.

5. Ducks. There are ducks in the park. Ducks are among the cutest animals in the world; they’re amazing. Right about now, you’re probably asking yourself: How did the ducks help with the writing? Well, if I hadn’t seen the ducks, I wouldn’t have mentioned them and these words wouldn’t be here and you’d just be staring at a blank screen. That’s how the ducks helped. Bet you’re glad I didn’t see geese.

6. Comparison. When I write at home I write in a room full of books. From my desk I can see a sizable collection of exalted works by a canon of noteworthy authors. This is intimidating company for anyone trying to write anything. In the park, I was free from any feelings of inferiority and was able to scrawl my hackneyed musings…er…compose my insightful witticisms unabashed. I did briefly sight a man that resembled the late poet Philip Larkin, but it wasn’t him. The real Philip Larkin would never have tripped over a sunbather.

7. Just Because. It’s just nice in the park. It was a glorious day and had I stayed at home I’d have been obliged to varnish the garden furniture or paint a wall or something. But I didn’t. I went to the park, had a good time writing and was nearer to the pub when I’d finished. The whole experience left me feeling thoroughly happy and with a great sense of well-being. In conclusion; if you need to write anything, the park’s the place to do it.*

*Unless you’re Philip Roth or James Ellroy, I don’t need the pressure.

May 20, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: How To Write A 7 Reasons Post

Since the inception of 7 Reasons, we have – as often as possible – given our Saturdays over to one of you. It helps mix it up and I am sure it’s always good to have a different tone of voice to enjoy your breakfast with. However, the feedback we always get from our guest writers is, ‘it was really hard to think of 7 reasons’. The answer we usually get from people we approach to write for us is, ‘no, I won’t be able to think of 7 reasons for anything’. Well by way of an education, this is my attempt at showing you how it can be done.

1. Everything is a possible subject. Wherever you are, look around you. (Though come back to the screen in 10 seconds because I still require your attention). Whatever you can see could be a subject. A vase. A chair. A window. A packet of chocolate digestives. Just pick one.

2. Question Time. Ask yourself questions about your chosen subject. Let’s say it’s a vase. (I haven’t thought about this before. I am writing it as I go. If it goes horribly wrong I’ll rewrite using biscuits, but that won’t happen because I have faith in my ability to write about vases). a) What would I do to that vase to make it better? b) Why is it made out of glass? c) What else could it be used for?

3. Answer your questions. a) Make it bigger. Make it stronger. Paint it a different colour. b) Because cardboard would get damp. Because that’s what glassmakers make things out of. c) Holding pencils. Carrying water. Carrying petrol. Knocking a robber over the head.

4. Analysis. Which answers do you like better? Which do you feel you could write most confidentally about? Which answers did you enjoy writing more. For me, it was probably the answer to ‘c)’.

5. Conclusion. Work out what you’ve written. In this instance I have written down four uses for a vase. Well I can’t do, 7 Uses For a Vase, the poxy website is called 7 Reasons. How am I going to get reasons in there? Play around with it. Make different words the subject of your title. 7 Reasons To Use A Vase. 7 Reasons A Vase Is Useful. 7 Reasons To Own A Vase. And there it is. 7 Reasons To Own A Vase.

6. Expand. You already have four reasons for this. Okay so carrying water and carrying petrol are very similar so maybe that’s one reason. You need four more. What’s the obvious reason? To put flowers in. At this point you’re probably thinking that’s not funny. That’s because it’s not. So twist it. What would happen if you didn’t have a vase and someone bought you flowers? Where would you put them? In the plug hole? Probably not. That’ll be a nuisance when doing the dishes. In a glass? A cocktail umbrella is probably better. That’s four reasons. What else could you use it as? Again look around. It’s sunny. You could use it to magnify the suns rays and make a small fire. That chair, the leg is a bit wobbly. Put the shorter leg in the vase. Look at the vase. The shape of it. It makes your face look a funny shape. A bit like those funny mirrors at fairgrounds. What a great way to keep the children entertained. And for free! I don’t have children? So what? We don’t mind lies. This isn’t the Chilcott enquiry.

7. Shape It. Suddenly you have your 7 reasons. Write them out. Keep them short(ish). Decide an order. The more obvious reasons first, the wild ones later. Above all though, be you and be your writing style. Then send it to us. Done.

And that is all there is to it. You want a go now don’t you? Good. We’ll look forward to reading it. (Oh, and if you want to use us to plug your business/blog/twitter account, well Jon is quite happy to take payment, write your reasons and put your name on it. Just don’t tell Marc).

March 7, 2010