Thinking about creative stuff. Again.
I’m not sure I actually enjoy writing all that much… the results can be pleasing on occasion, but the process itself, I’m not so sure about… I have a strong feeling I’m just grasping at something a few people seem to think I do well. I’ve read interviews with lots of writers and they always say, ‘I just have to write. Even if I was penniless and a complete failure, I’d still have a write. It’s a need.’ I don’t feel that. I’m just trying to find something that I can earn money from.
I did enjoy drawing. A long time ago. But once I realised I was crap, the enjoyment disappeared a good deal, because I’d spent several years chasing something I wasn’t real good at.
I don’t know what I’m saying, in all truth. Just that I suppose my financial situation is so messed up that I’m not really interested in any of this stuff just for the sake of it. If I can’t earn from it, it can all go to hell. It means nothing to me because it’s doing nothing to help me improve my life in any respect. I can’t enjoy something if I’m growing to resent it.
Distractions: I read a lot. TV? I don’t watch much TV, really. There doesn’t seem to be a running theme in what I do watch, either. Let’s see… I usually watch EastEnders, as far the soaps go, but there isn’t a hell of lot to be said about that. I watched the Birdman of Alcatraz movie last night. It’s been years since I saw it, and I didn’t remember much about it. It was really good. Burt Lancaster could be great on occasion. Graham Norton’s usually amusing, but he badly needs some new ideas at this point. I watch bits and pieces of TV. I’m sick of all this junk like house makeovers, gardening, Big Brother, blah blah blah, so not much else left these days. I have it switched on a lot but I’m mostly detached from it—just background fuzz.
More rambling whenever.